The wind carried a silence that pressed on the skin like cold iron. The stranger's smile—thin, polite, yet unyielding—hung in the air between worlds.
Qi Shan Wei straightened from his bow, golden eyes meeting the stranger's without trembling. The mountain path was narrow; to one side, a sheer drop swallowed the river's distant gleam. To the other, ancient cedars leaned close as if listening for prophecy.
Elder Lu's lantern wavered, the flame bending toward the gray-robed man instead of away.
"You're not from the Pavilion," Elder Lu said softly.
"No," the man replied, voice smooth as untouched ink. "Nor am I bound by it."
Qi Duan's knuckles whitened on the haft of his walking stick. "Then why come for my son?"
The stranger looked at him with a kind of gentle disdain. "Because your son already breathes as the heavens breathe. Do you think such resonance can hide in a valley of rice and fog?"
He raised a hand, and the world seemed to pause. The air rippled, revealing faint lines of power—threads of energy interwoven across the path like invisible strings of a zither.
Elder Lu stepped forward, calm but firm. "This road is under the Pavilion's protection. Draw one more breath of intent, and I will—"
The stranger's sleeve flicked. No explosion followed. No flash of power. Yet Elder Lu's lantern shuddered and dimmed as though it had inhaled its own flame.
"Elder," the man said, "you mistake courtesy for weakness."
Qi Shan Wei's gaze darted between them. The energies that shimmered unseen to normal eyes now vibrated at the edge of his perception. He could feel the current running beneath their words—one ancient, deliberate, and cold; the other disciplined but wavering, like an arrow notched too soon.
The boy's chest tightened. He remembered his father's voice: Breath one—arrive. Breath two—agree. Breath three—anchor.
He inhaled.
The world slowed. His senses expanded—not outward, but inward, into the rhythm of wind brushing pine needles, of soil humming under his bare feet, of lightning sleeping beneath his pulse.
The gray man's eyes flicked toward him.
"So," the stranger murmured, "it stirs already."
The mountain groaned. A swirl of dust rose around the child, faint threads of crimson and gold winding through it like sparks seeking escape.
"Enough!" Elder Lu barked, sweeping his sleeve. Runes of pale green light burst from his cuff and formed a barrier between them—a translucent wall that shimmered like rain frozen in midair.
The stranger regarded it with faint amusement. "Green Spring's signature technique. Elegant, but brittle."
He pressed two fingers to the barrier. It sang—a mournful, crystalline tone—and cracked like thin ice.
Qi Duan moved without thought. His walking stick swung forward, wrapped in the desperate will of a father protecting his blood. The blow met air—and stopped. The gray man's gaze alone seemed to halt it mid-swing.
"A mortal's courage," the stranger said, not unkindly. "Commendable. Futile."
But before the man could lower his hand, something else intervened.
A sound, soft yet immense—the deep rumble of a mountain shifting in its sleep. The prismatic energy around Qi Shan Wei erupted. Crimson fire licked the dust. Golden lightning veined through it. And beneath both, an undertone of cold void rippled outward, warping light itself.
The stranger's expression changed for the first time.
"Impossible… so young—"
The energy flared, uncontrolled. The path beneath the boy's feet split, stone turning molten at the edges. Qi Duan's voice reached him through the roar. "Shan Wei! Anchor it! Remember the river!"
The boy clenched his fists. The power within him thrashed like a living thing. It wanted release—wanted the sky, the storm, the infinite above.
"No," he whispered through gritted teeth. "Not yet."
He forced his breath downward. The light bent. The flames folded inward, compressing into a sphere of pulsing color that hovered at his chest. When it faded, the mountain air smelled faintly of ozone and ash.
Silence returned.
The stranger studied him for a long moment, then turned to Elder Lu. "You were right to hide him."
Elder Lu's eyes narrowed. "And you were right to fear him."
The man inclined his head, as though acknowledging a worthy opponent. "I am no enemy. But there are others who will not treat him as a child." His gaze drifted back to Qi Shan Wei. "When the heavens begin to whisper, remember this: Power that bows to fear becomes a chain. Power that bows to wisdom becomes a throne."
With that, the man stepped backward. The air folded around him, gray robes fading into mist until nothing remained but the echo of his words.
For a while, none of them spoke.
Qi Duan finally exhaled, his breath shaky but firm. "What… was he?"
Elder Lu looked toward the mountain peaks where the mist had swallowed the path. "A shadow from the old sects. The kind that appears only when destinies are being written."
He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Your path is no longer yours alone, Qi Shan Wei. But that does not mean it cannot be walked with care. From this night on, your breath will shape more than air."
The boy nodded, eyes downcast but mind ablaze. In the stillness of his heart, he felt the Prismatic Flame murmur like a restless dragon—sleeping, but never still.
When they resumed their climb, the stars had shifted, forming a faint pattern above the clouds—a crown of seven points, gleaming like an unseen promise.
Far behind, in the valley below, the villagers of Lingtian saw the brief shimmer of gold and red in the sky and whispered the omen's name once more:
The Child of the Crimson Comet.
To be continued..
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