(Liang Yu's POV)
Night draped softly over the forest. The moon hung low, its silver light washing over moss and leaf until everything shimmered faintly — as though the world itself waited, holding its breath.
The small fire crackled within the cave mouth, its warmth dancing over four familiar silhouettes. For once, there were no beasts to fear, no howling wind — only the quiet rhythm of hearts that knew tomorrow would part them.
The children had fallen asleep against each other, little bodies curled beneath a cloak Lian had woven from beast hide. The faint mana of his thunder essence still pulsed inside the threads, forming a gentle barrier to keep the night chill away.
I watched them, every breath heavy with reluctance.
"They're still so small," I whispered.
Lian was sharpening his blade by the fire, but paused. "They're stronger than they look. You've seen it — they're already sensing mana on their own. The Guardian wasn't wrong."
His tone was calm, yet beneath it I heard the same ache that churned inside me.
Outside, the forest rustled faintly — the wind carrying the distant scent of rain and something holier, the faint pulse of the Silver Qilin's lingering aura. The beast had remained nearby, silently guarding us even as it prepared to claim the children come dawn.
I turned toward Lian, words trembling in my chest.
"Do you ever think we were… chosen too soon?"
He sheathed the blade, leaned forward, elbows on knees. The firelight caught the gold flecks in his eyes — those eyes that had weathered too much loss and still glowed steady.
"Fate never waits for people to be ready," he said softly. "It just throws you into the storm — and you either drown, or you learn to breathe beneath the waves."
A faint smile tugged at my lips. "You always make it sound so simple."
"It's not," he admitted. "But we've already survived worse storms."
His gaze softened as it drifted to the sleeping children. "We'll survive this one too."
Silence stretched — the kind that hums with unspoken things. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust the strength of our bond more than the prophecy of an ancient beast. Yet, as the fire popped and shadows danced over stone, fear coiled quietly beneath my ribs.
He reached over, fingers brushing mine. "Yu," he murmured. "Even if this journey takes everything, don't regret it. The path you've chosen — it's yours. That's what makes it sacred."
My throat tightened. "Then promise me you won't let go."
He didn't answer — only turned his hand, interlocking our fingers. His mana flared faintly, warm lightning merging with my calm wood essence. In that moment, two opposing elements found harmony — thunder within forest, fire within life.
---
Later That Night, the children stirred, half-awake, rubbing their eyes.
"Papa, where are you going?" the older one murmured sleepily.
I smiled, kneeling beside them. "Your papa and I need to go find something important — something that will heal this land. The Guardian will stay with you until we return."
Their eyes welled up, fear flickering behind innocence. "But… what if you don't come back?"
My heart clenched. I brushed a strand of hair from their forehead and whispered, "Then follow the wind. It will carry our voices wherever you go."
Lian knelt beside me, resting a hand on each of their heads. His voice was low but steady — the kind of voice that could anchor even a trembling heart.
"Be brave. Train well. Listen to the Guardian. When we return, I expect you to have awakened your first mana thread."
The children nodded, though their small hands clutched tightly to his sleeve.
Lian chuckled softly, prying them off with surprising gentleness. "You'll ruin my robe, you know that?"
That earned a watery giggle — the sound made my chest ache.
The Guardian appeared not long after — a shimmer of silver light weaving into form near the cave's edge. The Qilin lowered its head, its antlers faintly aglow beneath the moon.
"It is almost time," it said quietly. "The veil to the secret realm stirs with each breath. When dawn breaks, you must depart."
Lian rose to his feet, bowing slightly. "We're ready."
I stood too, though my legs felt weak. "Guardian," I began hesitantly, "If something happens to us…"
The beast's luminous eyes turned toward me, warm yet unyielding.
"Then your legacy will not fade. I will protect them as my own. You have my vow upon the ancient oaths."
Its voice carried a weight that seemed to vibrate through the ground — an oath bound by mana and heaven's law itself. I felt my anxiety ease, just a little.
The children ran to the Qilin, tiny hands brushing its fur. The silver light rippled around them, harmless and pure.
"They'll be safe," Lian said beside me. "He meant that vow."
"I know."
I did — but knowing didn't stop the ache in my chest.
---
Before Dawn
The fire had burned low, leaving only embers. Lian finished tightening the straps of his pack, checking the few meager supplies we had — dried herbs, spiritual ink, a few beast cores of low rank. Everything else would have to come from what we found on the road.
He looked up as I approached. "You've packed the cauldron?"
I nodded. "The portable form's sealed within a spatial token."
He gave a low whistle. "Still strange, thinking you carry a divine artifact in your sleeve."
"Don't remind me," I muttered, earning a faint laugh from him.
We stood there, facing each other in the dim light, words hovering unsaid. I could see it in his eyes — the quiet fear he would never admit aloud, the fierce protectiveness he tried to bury beneath calm.
So I reached out, touching his cheek. "If the trials test our hearts," I whispered, "then ours will pass. Because mine already belongs to you."
He caught my hand, pressing it against his lips. "You always say things like that right before doing something reckless."
"Maybe," I smiled faintly. "But you love it."
"Unfortunately," he murmured, voice rough with affection, "I do."
---
When the first light of dawn touched the canopy, the Guardian stepped forward. The forest glowed faintly silver, every leaf shimmering as though blessed by the moon's last breath.
"It is time," said the Qilin, its voice a soft tremor through the trees.
The children clung to us one last time — arms tight, faces buried against our robes. I whispered promises that felt both fragile and eternal.
"Remember," I said, voice trembling, "we'll follow the same moon. Look up when you miss us."
They nodded, tears clinging to their lashes.
Lian bent down, brushing a kiss to each forehead before straightening. The sunlight caught in his hair, turning the dark strands gold.
"Guardian," he said, "They're yours until we return."
"And when you return," the deer replied solemnly, "they will have grown strong enough to protect others."
A pulse of silver light spread around the children, forming a gentle barrier of divine mana. They blinked in awe, the sadness in their eyes softening into quiet wonder.
I inhaled deeply, forcing my voice steady. "Let's go."
Lian nodded. "Stay behind me until we clear the outer perimeter."
The Qilin inclined its head, antlers shimmering as it opened a narrow passage between the trees — a path infused with protective energy, guiding us safely toward the distant mountains.
The moment we stepped past the threshold, the air shifted — heavier, older. The faint hum of leyline energy began to thrum beneath our feet.
I turned once — just once — to look back.
The Guardian stood before the cave, the children at its side, all bathed in pale light. It was a picture I wanted to carve into memory forever.
Then the path sealed behind us. The forest swallowed its own silence again.
---
"Journey Begins"
The forest deepened as we walked. Mist curled low around our ankles; the scent of spirit herbs drifted faintly through the air. Every step forward, mana thickened — as though we were crossing an unseen threshold between mortal land and ancient domain.
Lian walked ahead, blade at his hip, eyes scanning the horizon. I followed, my thoughts heavy yet oddly calm.
"Yu," he said after a while, not turning. "If the trials are as dangerous as the Guardian implied, we'll face them together. Don't wander off inside your spiritual sea again like last time."
I rolled my eyes. "That was one time. And I found an entire refining method inside that trance."
"And almost burned your consciousness doing it," he muttered.
I smiled faintly. "You worry too much."
He glanced over his shoulder, smirk faint but affectionate. "And you worry too little."
The banter eased the tension — if only for a moment.
We continued deeper, the sound of rushing water growing louder until we reached a clearing. There, beneath a massive tree with silver leaves, lay a crystalline lake. Its surface shimmered even in shadow — just as the Guardian had described.
"The Gate of Verdant Echo."
I stopped at the edge, breath catching. "It's beautiful…"
Lian stood beside me, his mana flaring faintly in recognition. "Beautiful things usually hide danger," he said quietly.
"Then we'll find beauty in surviving it," I murmured.
Our eyes met. For a moment, the world stilled. Only the soft whisper of water and the faint hum of the portal beneath.
Then, with a shared breath, we stepped forward — together.
The surface of the lake rippled, silver light blooming outward like a thousand lotus petals opening in unison.
And in that instant before we vanished, I thought I heard the faint echo of the Guardian's voice — distant but clear.
"Creation is born of courage… and love."
The world turned white.
And the next trial began.
---
To be continued…