The Calm Before the Storm — The Ansha's Gaze
The air trembled.
Not violently, not loudly—but subtly, as though the world itself had drawn a careful breath and was afraid to release it. The pressure pressed against Xiao Yan's skin, heavy and unseen, making even the simple act of breathing feel deliberate.
The figure in blue advanced.
Each step the Ansha took was slow, measured, and impossibly calm. There was no urgency in his movement, no trace of hostility in his posture, and yet every step carried a weight that crushed the ground beneath it. The chaos that had erupted moments earlier—the fear, the shouts, the panicked retreat of disciples—seemed irrelevant to him. He moved as if the storm did not exist, as if the heavens themselves had parted only to grant him space.
Xiao Yan's heart pounded violently in his chest.
Every instinct screamed at him to run.
To turn around, to flee, to hide—anything to escape the suffocating presence bearing down on him. His legs trembled uncontrollably, muscles tightening as though preparing to bolt, yet they refused to obey him. It felt as though invisible chains anchored his feet to the ground.
He forced in a breath.
It came out shallow and uneven.
The aura radiating from the Ansha pressed against him relentlessly, seeping into his bones, his blood, his very thoughts. Xiao Yan had never felt something so overwhelming—something so absolute. This was not merely power. It was dominance. Existence bending quietly around a single being.
Am I the first to die?
The thought came unbidden, sharp and cold, slicing through his racing mind.
Does he even recognize me?
The Ansha stopped.
His eyes—calm, piercing, and unreadable—settled on Xiao Yan. They were not filled with rage or cruelty. There was no hunger for blood within them. Instead, they carried an unsettling stillness, as though Xiao Yan were nothing more than an interesting ripple on an endless surface.
For a brief moment, time itself seemed to slow.
Then, slowly, the Ansha smiled.
It was not wide or exaggerated. Just a slight curve of the lips—controlled, deliberate, almost curious.
"You are such a weakling," he said.
His voice was smooth, carrying effortlessly through the trembling air. There was mockery in it, but also amusement, as though he were observing something faintly entertaining rather than threatening.
Xiao Yan's mind froze.
A demon.
A being feared across legends and whispered about in hushed terror.
And yet… calm. Composed. Almost beautiful in a terrifying way.
The realization unsettled him more than fear ever could.
"You…" The Ansha tilted his head slightly, studying him. "Would you join me?"
The question landed heavily.
Xiao Yan's pulse roared in his ears. For a fraction of a second, doubt flickered—not temptation, but disbelief. How could someone like him be asked such a thing?
"Never!" Xiao Yan shouted.
The word burst from his chest before he could think. His voice rang out across the space, steadier than he felt, louder than his fear. "If you are here to kill me… then just do it!"
Silence followed.
Then the Ansha laughed.
It was low and unrestrained, carrying effortlessly across the wind. The sound sent a chill crawling down Xiao Yan's spine, electric and cold. There was no anger in the laughter—only amusement, as though Xiao Yan's defiance had confirmed something he already knew.
"Why?" the Ansha asked lightly. "You think you can stand against me?"
"Yes!"
The reply left Xiao Yan almost instinctively. A tremor ran through his voice despite his resolve, but the word stood firm. Even as fear clawed at his chest, he refused to look away.
For a long moment, the Ansha simply watched him.
Then his grin widened, something unreadable flashing briefly in his eyes.
"Fine," he said calmly. "Let's watch."
And then—
He vanished.
Not with a sound. Not with a flash of light.
One moment he was there.
The next, the space he occupied was empty.
The pressure vanished instantly, like a weight lifted from Xiao Yan's chest. His legs finally gave way, and he staggered backward, gasping sharply for breath. The world tilted dangerously, forcing him to brace a hand against the wall to remain standing.
His entire body shook.
Nem approached quietly, his movements cautious, eyes scanning the surroundings before settling on Xiao Yan. He placed a firm, reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Everything will be fine," Nem said.
His voice was steady—but Xiao Yan could see it.
The tension.
The unease lurking behind his friend's eyes.
Xiao Yan swallowed hard, his gaze unfocused.
The storm had not yet arrived.
But he knew, deep within his bones—
Nothing was fine.