The Forbidden Moon Courtyard lay in tranquil seclusion, hidden behind nine layers of wards within the Ye Clan's pocket world. Beyond its vermilion walls, the Holy Mountain stirred with unseen tensions; within, the air was hushed, touched only by the rustle of leaves and the slow turn of seasons.
Servants who passed near its sealed gates lowered their voices instinctively. "The wards hum louder these days," one whispered as she swept fallen petals. "It feels like a storm waiting."
"Don't speak too much," another warned, glancing nervously at the glowing seals. "The walls have ears."
Yet even hushed, their eyes flickered toward the courtyard. All felt the pull of the child.
Each morning before the first bell, Ye Xuan sat cross-legged beneath the sakura tree. His breathing was even, his small hands resting on his knees. Faint streams of qi drifted toward him with every inhale, as though the courtyard itself bent to his rhythm. Array masters reinforced the seals more often now, though they said nothing aloud.
This morning, the peace shifted. A cold current swept from the north, thin and sharp as an arrow. Blossoms bowed unnaturally, petals spiraling together as if drawn by an unseen force. Ye Xuan's eyes narrowed.
Somewhere deep in his blood, the sensation was familiar.
He closed his eyes — and the vision came.
A cliff beneath a silver moon. A lone figure with a frost-white bow, robes streaming like banners. She loosed an arrow into the heavens, soundless but absolute. The wind it left brushed his cheek like a mother's hand.
His breath caught. Warmth lingered even as the vision faded. Blossoms lay scattered on the stones, though no branch had stirred.
Ye Xuan had felt these whispers of frost since he could walk. His grandmother's blessing was less a memory and more a guiding hand that seemed to stir whenever the wind turned cold. Though too young to remember her face, he felt the trace of her blessing pressed on his brow the day she ascended. Sometimes his visions showed her clearly: arrows streaking frost across battle skies, hair unbound, cloak torn, yet eyes fixed unyieldingly forward. Each glimpse filled him with pride — and an ache he could not name.
That evening, he sat again beneath the sakura tree. Moonlight spilled silver across the stones. He raised his hand toward the north, feeling frost wind pass through his fingers. Somewhere beyond mountains and realms, perhaps she felt it too.
Yue Lian, often sat with him, her plain white robes stirring faintly in the breeze, her gaze serene and distant as moonlight. She had been exiled from the Moonveil Court, her name struck from their rolls, her inheritance stripped away. But exile from her people was not exile from her son. The Ye Clan had given her sanctuary within Astralis's hidden pocket world, shielding her from Spirit Race eyes.
The Spirit Court had demanded her exile as a condition of peace, a term the Ye Clan had outwardly accepted to end the conflict. But instead of casting her out, they had simply hidden her. So, though the Spirit Court believed her erased, here in the Forbidden Moon Courtyard she remained—a mother still, quietly raising her child under the Ye's protection.
When the cold wind coiled through the courtyard that morning, she reached out, brushing a petal from her son's shoulder. Her touch carried the same quiet chill as the visions in his dreams.
"You feel it again, don't you, Xuan'er?" she asked softly.
He nodded, his small fingers tightening against his knees. "The wind… it spoke."
Her smile was gentle, her voice low as the rustle of leaves. "The wind remembers those who walk with it. Remember this — the bow of frost and moonlight does not belong to the past. One day, it will answer you."
Outside the vermilion walls, servants carried trays of herbs and jars of water, their footsteps quiet. Yet their hushed voices betrayed the unease that always clung to this courtyard.
"They say she walks here still," one murmured. "The Moonveil princess… though her own people cast her out."
"Hush," another snapped, glancing at the glowing ward-lines. "To her Court, she is erased. To us, she is a shadow. Speak too loudly, and even the walls may remember."
Yet as they moved on, both could not help but glance back at the sealed gates. Behind those layers of protection, the woman the world had cast aside still lived—not a fallen princess, not an exile, but a mother watching over her child.
In their quarters, the whispers spread like unseen roots. "They say the boy dreams of arrows."
"His eyes glowed silver-blue, someone saw."
"Foolish talk," an elder servant scolded, though she too glanced toward the sealed walls.
Gossip swirled around the war between Ye and Spirit Court. Some whispered the Moonfrost Bloodline had returned despite exile. None dared speak too loudly, but silence itself admitted the truth: this child carried weight beyond measure.
Elsewhere within the Holy Mountain, at the very heart of the Ye Clan's hidden sanctuary, another courtyard stirred.
This was no ordinary dwelling, but one of the Supreme Pavilions — residences reserved for the Council of Supreme Elders. Here, spirit rivers flowed like silver threads through the stone, feeding ancient trees whose roots were entwined with formations older than dynasties.
Two children trained beneath lanterns carved not from jade or crystal, but from fragments of fallen stars, each flame burning with immortal light.
The elder, Li Shen, six years old, carried himself with rooted gravity, every stance echoing the weight of mountains. His younger sister, Li Mei, five, danced across the training floor with a laugh like flowing water, her quick movements scattering droplets of qi like dew.
For their safety, and to temper their nascent gifts, the children had been brought to the dwelling of the Supremes. The very walls here glowed with protective arrays and the solemn will of ancestors.
The siblings' father belonged to the Immortal Li Clan, a powerful house of the Immortal Realm, feared for its influence yet fractured by internal feuds. So hot were these blood feuds that even children were not spared the risk of becoming pawns. Their mother, a daughter of the Ye, had seen the storm coming. To shield her son and daughter from that endless crossfire, she invoked her lineage and entrusted them to her father, Supreme Elder Ye Zhenyuan, one of Astralis's current pillars.
Thus, though their names bore the Li crest, their upbringing was bound to Astralis. Within the Supreme Pavilion of the Ye, they were raised beneath wards older than dynasties, their every step guarded by ancestral formations and the watchful authority of their grandfather.
The ancestral arrays bent faintly in welcome when they passed — proof Ye blood still pulsed within.
"Again," Shen urged sternly.
"You're bossy," Mei pouted.
"You're sloppy," he retorted.
That night, Ye Xuan opened his eyes to the moonlight. Frost curled faintly with his breath. The seals hummed louder on the courtyard walls, as though the world itself recognized his growing presence. He gazed upward, rainbow light flickering faintly in his irises. His small hand tightened.
If the heavens will it, I will walk where the wind takes me.
The Holy Mountain was still. But already, the threads of fate had begun to weave.