The First Enlightenment
The dawn before their departure carried a quiet sadness, as though the world itself hesitated to let them go. Mist clung to the cliffs behind them, rising from the sacred valley that had sheltered them until now. Kiaria bowed deeply before the Saint Elder Wolf, his right fist pressed against his chest, and spoke with solemn gratitude.
"Elder, you have guided us, protected us, and asked nothing in return. I have no way to repay such kindness."
The Elder's laughter rolled softly through the chamber like an echo of distant thunder. "Then do me one favor," he said, the weight of years behind his words. "Conquer this world if you must, but protect the weak. And no matter how dark the road grows, remain righteous."
The words settled in the air, heavy as fate itself. Kiaria bowed again, and in that single act, the Elder's gaze softened. He's still a child, the old Saint thought. Yet the fire of destiny already burns behind those calm eyes. The world will rest upon such hearts.
The Elder turned away, his back to them, muttering to himself. "The age of beasts has long passed. The age of men will decide whether the world breathes or dies."
Kiaria and Diala stood still for a while. The silence felt sacred, like standing before a grave that marked not death, but the end of an era. Then, to break the weight of it, Kiaria's lips curved into a faint grin.
"Elder Wolf," he said playfully, "before we go… I've always wondered, what does Phoenix meat taste like?"
Diala's face flushed red instantly. "You–! You stop right there or I swear I'll hit you!"
Her voice echoed against the ancient walls. The Elder chuckled softly under his breath, the sound like wind through old trees. The pair ran out of the cave, laughter chasing away the heaviness–if only for a fleeting moment.
Outside, the dawn shimmered faintly over the mist-laced mountains. Then Kiaria stopped suddenly, turning with unexpected seriousness. He caught her hand, his expression unreadable yet filled with sincerity.
"No matter the cost," he said quietly, "I will find your cure. That is my promise."
The words froze her in place. She turned away, eyes glistening. "I… I won't talk to you," she muttered, voice trembling. Yet even as she said it, her heart tightened with warmth she couldn't hide. Kiaria smiled faintly, letting her walk ahead. You say that now, Diala… but one day, you'll know what I meant.
The two left the valley together. Behind them, Saint Wolf's gaze followed until their forms vanished into the mist. "Let their hearts decide what even fate cannot," he whispered.
The journey stretched long and silent. They passed through narrow ridges, forests where the air shimmered faintly with unseen life and rivers that mirrored the rising sun. But after days of travel, the warmth of sunlight faded. The mountains grew barren, the trees sparse, until a faint haze began to cling to everything. The air turned strange, heavy, and tinged with rot.
By noon, they reached the last stone ridge. Beyond it sprawled a vast wasteland, veiled in mist so thick it shimmered like silver. The scent of decay and metal filled the air, sharp enough to sting their throats. In the far distance, black rivers wound through plains of gray earth. The land breathed sickness, yet beneath that corruption pulsed a quiet hum of power.
Kiaria stopped and scanned the horizon. "We've reached it," he murmured. "The Land of Miasma."
Diala shivered, clutching her sleeve. "It feels… alive."
Kiaria nodded. "It is. This land was once a city–The Broken Mirror City. They say its people sought immortality through alchemy and lost their souls instead."
They crossed through a fractured gate half buried in dust, its inscription faint but still legible. On the other side stretched ruins drowned in silence. Houses slumped like corpses of time; the windows were black hollows; the wind whispered through cracks like the breaths of ghosts.
"Dia…" Kiaria said softly.
Her steps faltered. "What did you call me?"
He blinked. "That slipped out by accident."
A faint smile touched her lips through the sadness. "When my mother was alive, she wanted me called Dia. Father never agreed. He said Diala sounded stronger." Her voice trembled. "She and Father fought about it so many times. Now… I can't even remember how her voice sounded."
Kiaria sighed quietly. "Then from today, you'll be Dia. If I don't, your mother might come haunting me for disobedience."
Her tears slipped down unbidden, but she laughed softly. "You'd better watch out, then."
The warmth between them lasted only a moment. Then Kiaria's expression darkened. His instincts prickled, sharp as blades.
"Dia," he said firmly, "don't move."
A chill passed through the air. The mist around them swirled unnaturally. He could feel it–eyes watching from the unseen, whispers sliding through the fog. He grasped her trembling hand. "Stay close. Don't let go."
They moved carefully through the desolate streets. Kiaria summoned his Fairy Nature Essence; his senses expanded like ripples on water. Even under the miasma's suppression, he could trace faint remnants of spirit energy, old seals, and the lingering hatred of whatever perished here.
Three hours passed before they found rest near the broken wall of a house. The roof had fallen in, vines crawling over shattered beams, but it gave shelter from the poisonous wind. Diala sat beside him, her small hands still gripping his sleeve.
She leaned lightly against his arm, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Her breathing steadied, and soon she drifted into sleep.
Kiaria watched her quietly. She looked fragile beneath the gray light–like a candle that burned bright only because it refused to surrender to the wind. He turned his gaze upward, whispering to himself. "She can't stay powerless forever. This world won't let innocence live."
His thought broke when his senses caught faint footsteps outside–soft but deliberate, two hundred meters away and closing. His eyes opened fully. He shook Diala awake and pulled her deeper into the ruins.
"Stay behind me," he whispered. "If I tell you to run, don't hesitate."
The steps drew nearer… and then stopped. The silence stretched until even the wind dared not breathe. Finally, they faded away, dissolving into the night.
Kiaria exhaled slowly, lowering himself cross-legged on the cold stone. He closed his eyes and focused inward.
Within the sea of his consciousness, the ancient scriptures of rune letters–stirred to life. One hundred and eleven letters glowed faintly like stars scattered across a night sky. He pressed his celestial psyche deeper into their radiance, and one of the letters burst into light.
In an instant, his mind plunged into a realm vast and endless. Space folded upon itself. Around him floated sixteen spectral figures marked with runes older than language. Each radiated power–calm, divine, and incomprehensible.
Then a voice, soft as wind and ancient as the mountains, spoke from the glowing rune.
"The Way of Heaven flows through six paths: Saint, Fairy, Spirit, Domain, Celestial Saint, and Celestial God. Beyond these lie ten lesser realms, from the Body-Soul Stage to the Supernatural Realm. Yet… there exists a seventh–the Demonic Path. To walk it is to grasp eternity through chaos. Few dare. Fewer return."
Kiaria's eyes widened. These realms… Saint Wolf never spoke of them. He only knew from Body-Soul to Immortal Realm.
The truth struck like lightning. The Saint Wolf had been a guardian, not the discoverer. The true understanding had always slumbered here, waiting for someone to awaken it.
One by one, the seven paths unfolded before his inner sight–vast stairways curving upward and then folding back upon themselves like an endless circle. Enlightenment was not climbing higher; it was returning to the source.
The light of the rune intensified, and new words etched themselves across his mind.
"The Shadow Ghost Technique."
At once, darkness coiled around his form, merging with faint threads of silver light. "This technique was once wielded by the assassins of the Divine Era–those who could kill gods and vanish before their shadows fell."
A shiver ran through Kiaria. The shadow's essence seeped into his blood, mingling with his Wolf and Fairy veins. He felt his body tremble as instinct, silence, and death itself took form inside him. The Shadow Ghost Technique–his first true enlightenment.
When he opened his eyes again, the night outside had deepened. The miasma shimmered under the cold moon like a sea of dying light. Diala stirred beside him, her breath unsteady.
"Kiaria," she whispered weakly, "what happened?"
He looked at her, his eyes faintly glowing with the reflection of moonlight. "Enlightenment," he said softly. "The first of many."
Inside, his heart beat with a new rhythm. The knowledge the rune had granted was more than power–it was revelation. These letters contained the remnants to true enlightenment, far beyond what even the immortals believed. Saint Wolf had guarded them without ever realizing their depth.
Kiaria rose, his shadow flickering faintly against the wall. "This place… it eats spirit energy," he murmured. "We can't stay long. The longer we breathe this air, the closer it drags us to death."
Diala rubbed her eyes, still drowsy. "Then where do we go next?"
He looked to the horizon where the mist swirled endlessly, the faint silhouettes of twisted trees fading into the dark. "Anywhere the wind leads," he said. "The Elder told us–two months of journey. Enlightenment doesn't come from walls. It's earned under heaven."
The wind carried the stench of decay, yet somewhere in it lay the faint scent of freedom. "But, you need something for self protection."
Diala hesitated, clutching his sleeve. "This land feels cursed."
As the mist thickened around them, the ruins of the old world disappeared behind their backs.