The wind stirred faint golden dust as Little Light stepped off the narrow spirit path, gazing up at the ethereal gates of Holy Light Land. Towers of glass-like crystal stretched into the sky, basking in a constant shimmer of holy radiance that blanketed the land like the touch of a benevolent god.
Yet, Little Light's robes were plain, travel-worn. His face, calm but unreadable, reflected the serenity of someone who hid great power. Within his soul, the Holy Light element—gained from a forbidden furnace in the Light Market—burned bright. But he concealed it beneath the guise of an ordinary light element, masking it so carefully that not even the gate guardians spared him more than a nod.
Outside the gates stood the Light Market Inn, a bustling crossroad for traveling cultivators, traders, and pilgrims seeking the blessing of the holy lands. He checked in quietly and stayed a few days, helping an injured traveler by healing his broken ribs with light energy. The traveler tried to offer payment, but Little Light only smiled and said, "Keep your coin. Walk carefully next time."
That same night, as moonlight seeped through his window, he reflected on his journey. He remembered the Void—floating alongside his brothers. The beatings from Little Water and Little Death still echoed in his bones. A drop of cold sweat trailed down his back just thinking of them. He chuckled to himself bitterly.
"Strong fists, stronger tempers," he muttered. "Best not to provoke them again."
After three days, he departed the inn and passed through the holy gates, stepping into the fabled Holy Light Land. The roads were wide, lined with prayer trees, and illuminated by natural glowstones embedded into the earth. Peaceful hymns played in the distance—light-based cultivators believed sound guided the soul.
As he explored, he purposefully kept his cultivation aura dim. No one suspected that the young man walking the streets was someone who once tamed a forbidden holy furnace.
In a few days, he reached the outskirts of the capital city: a sprawling expanse wrapped around a massive glowing tower known as the Holy Beacon. It was said to be the axis of the world, a divine pillar that reached the heavens.
However, Little Light avoided heading straight to the beacon. Instead, he wandered into the lesser districts, where the cobbled roads were cracked, and children played barefoot. One morning, he saw an old woman coughing blood by the roadside. Others walked past, avoiding her. Little Light knelt beside her, held her hand, and whispered soft chants. A radiant glow seeped from his fingertips.
Light entered her veins, and her pain faded.
"You should rest," he said gently. "Boil ginger and pepper root for three nights."
Tears welled in her eyes. "What do I owe you, kind one?"
He shook his head. "Nothing."
Word spread fast. Within days, people began calling him the Gentle Priest. Though he still hadn't joined a church officially, commoners sought him out.
One morning, an official sent by the Holy Church noticed his work and handed him a parchment. "You've been granted probationary priesthood. Go to the southern church district and select your base."
There were nine small churches. Eight were well-maintained, claimed quickly by ambitious priests. Only one was left—a ruined structure of shattered glass windows, faded banners, and a house with a sagging roof attached to the side.
Everyone mocked it. "Who'd want that haunted place?"
Little Light smiled.
"I'll take that one."
He moved in that very night.
For days, he repaired beams, swept dust, and scrubbed holy sigils clean with light energy. Every morning, he walked to the nearby village and healed the sick. He stitched wounds, restored bones, and even blessed animals.
One day, while repairing a cracked light formation in the church, he heard muffled crying outside.
He followed the sound and found a boy—no older than eight—clutching a ragged blanket, sitting beneath a dying prayer tree.
"What's your name?" Little Light asked softly.
The boy sniffled. "Lan. I have no home."
"Do you want one?" he asked, offering his hand.
The boy hesitated, then took it.
From that day on, Lan lived with Little Light in the small house beside the church. He helped clean, fetch water, and even tried copying his new guardian's healing chants. Villagers, once wary, started visiting more often, bringing food and offerings. They left blessings and even handmade candles.
Soon, the once-abandoned church lit up with laughter, warmth, and light energy. It became a sanctuary for the poor.
But not everyone was pleased.
One afternoon, while returning from healing a young girl with lung fever, Little Light was stopped by three middle-ranking priests in pale golden robes.
"You're drawing too much attention," the tallest one sneered. "Using your power without reporting it. Are you even licensed to heal?"
"I am," Little Light replied calmly, pulling out his parchment. "Probationary status."
The priest snatched it and read it mockingly. "Low rank. Barely a priest."
Another leaned in. "Your church is trash. Give it up and serve someone more worthy."
"I serve those who need it," Little Light said, his tone still calm but his eyes sharp as polished obsidian.
They scoffed and left.
Later that evening, Lan brought him warm soup and asked, "Are you angry, Teacher?"
Little Light smiled and ruffled his hair. "No. Only rats squeak when they see light."
At night, he gazed out the broken window, stars reflected in his eyes. "This land hides something dark beneath the light," he whispered. "But not now. Not yet."
He focused on growing the church. He trained Lan in basic cultivation, taught him about herbs, and even built a small garden. During the annual Light Festival, Little Light handed out charms he made himself—imbued with small blessings. Children loved them. Elders wept with gratitude.
One particularly rainy night, a pregnant woman was brought to his church by desperate villagers. Complications. Pain. Danger.
With steady hands, Little Light summoned threads of holy energy, using every ounce of skill he possessed. After hours of chanting and effort, a healthy baby girl was born. The mother survived.
The village elders bowed before him. "You are more than a priest," one said.
"I'm just someone trying to make a difference," he replied.
Months passed. The church now had followers, visitors, even a few acolytes. Lan had grown stronger and smarter. Yet, despite all the light, a quiet shadow remained in Little Light's heart.
Not fear.
But memory.
Of brothers stronger than him. Of the Void. Of what lay beyond peace.
He knew this calm would not last forever.
-[To Be Continued]-