Beneath the moonlit waters

The stars shimmered over Yanlu City, scattered like brushstrokes across the ink-dark sky. A soft mist crept in from the northern riverbanks, weaving through alleys and temple rooftops. The night had grown quieter now—lanterns dimmed, music faded. But for those who stayed awake, the world had shifted. There was a hum in the air, like something old and forgotten was beginning to stir again.

Far from the city’s heart, a hidden path curved through a grove of ghost-pines. The trees were tall, narrow, and oddly silent—as though even the wind dared not disturb them. And at the end of that path, nestled in the roots of the mountain, was the Moon Pool Cavern.

Few knew it existed. Fewer dared to enter.

But Tyan Shi did.

A Memory Beneath the Surface

He stepped through the stone archway, ducking slightly as he entered the narrow mouth of the cave. Water trickled along the walls, glowing faintly with spirit moss—blue-green veins of light pulsing like breath. The air was cool and damp, carrying the scent of ancient incense and cold stone.

He walked slowly, careful not to disturb the silence.

He wasn’t sure why he was here. He had been tracking Gulan’s trail for hours, but the clues had turned to smoke. Instead of leading to vengeance, they had led… here.

To stillness.

To memory.

At the center of the cavern, a shallow pool reflected the moonlight streaming from a crack in the ceiling above. The surface was so clear it looked like glass. In the center of the pool stood a single stone lantern—unlit, moss-covered, worn by time.

Tyan knelt by the edge, letting his fingers hover above the water. The ripples of his presence spread outward, and for a moment, the reflection staring back at him wasn’t his.

“...Xuneer?”

He blinked.

The image vanished.

Only his own weary face remained.

He let out a breath and sat back. The old wound over his heart pulsed—slowly, rhythmically, like it remembered something he didn’t.

He closed his eyes.

Somewhere Else, Not Far

Up on a distant ridge, hidden among the brush and watching the same cave entrance through a veil of leaves, Xuneer sat quietly with her knees pulled to her chest.

She had followed the same path from a different direction. Traces of celestial energy had led her here—unfamiliar, but unmistakably... tied to him.

She hadn’t stepped into the cave. Not yet.

She couldn’t bring herself to.

“Why are you here?” she whispered to the wind, though she already knew.

She had sensed his presence days ago. Not directly. Not through the eyes or ears. Through something deeper. A thread that never truly broke.

The same scar on her hand—left from a night long buried—had begun to ache the moment she stepped into Yanlu.

And now, he was only a few feet away. A thin wall of earth and silence between them.

But still, she waited.

Her spirit beast, the fox made of mist and light, curled around her protectively.

“I’m not ready,” she whispered, though it hurt to say it.

“He shouldn’t see me like this. Not yet.”

She remembered the last time she saw him—not as he is now, cloaked in mystery and fire—but as he was then, smiling beneath cherry blossoms, dragging his guqin through muddy roads, humming songs out of tune.

He had loved her.

And she…

She had let him fall.

The Water Moves

Inside the cavern, Tyan stood again, walking slowly around the pool’s edge. His sword, slung across his back, pulsed once with a dull crimson light—just enough to cast his shadow long across the far wall.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t cry.

But he did hum.

Just a note. Two. A fragment of a tune from long ago.

A song she used to sing when she couldn’t sleep.

The melody was off. His voice was hoarse. But it was enough.

Outside, in the trees, Xuneer stiffened. Her eyes widened, and her hand flew to her chest.

“That song…”

She closed her eyes and let the sound drift to her like wind over water.

He’s really here.

He remembers.

Fate’s Whisper

Neither of them crossed the line that night.