The sunset wind carried the scent of frost-kissed blossoms as the eastern sky bled softly into hues of amber and rose. The Snow Flower Sect shimmered like a suspended dream, half-sunlight, half-snow.
Kell stood with his hands behind his back at the edge of the cliffside, the vastness of the world rolling beneath his gaze. Clouds drifted lazily through the valleys below like wandering thoughts. Fuzi stood beside him, his robes swaying in the breeze, face unreadable.
"Master…" Kell's voice broke the silence. "Why can't peace exist in this world without war? Why is sacrifice always the price?"
Fuzi didn't answer at once. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if drawing breath not just from the air, but from the very soul of the mountain. Then he spoke—softly at first, like distant thunder, then rising into something ageless.
"Because peace is not the absence of war… but the shape it leaves behind.
Fire must devour the forest so the seeds buried deepest can grow.
Rivers must flood to renew the earth.
And stars… stars must die to birth the light that guides new worlds.
Peace without sacrifice is a garden without roots,
a silence without song,
a sky without storms.
In this universe, balance is written in blood and breath,
in ash and bloom.
We do not fight because we love war—
we fight because only through pain does peace remember its worth."
As Fuzi's voice faded into the wind, the world seemed to pause.
The golden light slipped lower, casting long shadows across the snow-laced trees.
The horizon drank the last of the fire, and the sun folded behind the mountains like an ancient scroll.
Amber deepened into indigo. Rose into wine-dark violet.
And in the hush that followed, night bloomed like ink dropped into still water.
The twilight held its breath.
Lanterns flickered to life like scattered stars,
and wind chimes sang a gentler song—one meant not for ears,
but for memory.
Somewhere far below, a bell echoed once, then was lost in the quiet.
A small wooden pavilion stood at the edge of a frozen lake—its roof covered in snow, its corners dangling wind chimes that whispered with the breath of night. Here, in this forgotten corner of the sect, Kell and Fuzi resided.
Their dwelling was modest, built of old cedar and jade-pressed stone. Warm lanterns hung by the entrance, their glow flickering like stars caught in glass. Inside, the air smelled faintly of sandalwood, pine, and the quiet serenity of undisturbed time.
Kell sat by the open window, knees pulled close, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The lake reflected the last breath of dusk, transforming the world into a painting—one where shadows whispered and every flake of snow seemed to pause in flight. His breath misted faintly in the cold, but he didn't mind. He felt weightless, a feather in the hands of something vast and unspoken.
His thoughts wandered.
So much has changed. And yet… I still feel hollow sometimes.
Am I strong enough to move forward? Or am I only pretending to walk a path meant for someone else?
Behind him, the soft shuffle of robes signaled Fuzi's return. The old man carried two cups of hot tea, their steam rising like memories. He set one gently beside Kell, then walked to the far end of the room and sat cross-legged in silence, gazing at the snow that began to fall again.
Neither spoke. Words felt too heavy for the moment.
Outside, the moon began to rise, pale and round, bathing the world in silver. The wind swept through the trees, carrying the scent of plum blossoms blooming out of season—an omen, or perhaps just a reminder that beauty often defies logic.
Kell eventually whispered, "It's so peaceful here, Master."
Fuzi didn't respond immediately. His gaze remained distant, as though watching time pass in reverse.
"Peace is a gentle lie," Fuzi finally said, his voice like the crackle of old pages. "Or perhaps... a momentary truth stolen from the storm. Cherish it, but never cling to it. The world doesn't wait for peace to bloom."
Kell nodded slowly. The old man's words always felt like riddles made of wind and ink. Yet somehow, they resonated.
The night deepened. Stars stitched themselves across the sky like forgotten runes. Kell lay on his side beneath a thick woolen blanket, watching his breath fade into the dim glow of the lanterns. His eyes stayed open longer than they should have, his mind replaying memories: laughter from a distant life, blood in the snow, Jacob's voice at the orphanage gate, Karlos screaming in the rain.
Can we ever find peace... without blood to buy it?
Meanwhile, Fuzi remained still, unmoving by the hearth. He was not asleep. His eyes were closed, but his mind wandered elsewhere—to a time long past, when he, too, had stood on the edge of something unknown, haunted by a failing heart and an impossible destiny.
The boy reminds me of myself... but brighter, more fragile.
He carries a cosmic wound... yet refuses to bow beneath it.
That courage will either save him or destroy him.
A light wind creaked the wooden beams. Somewhere beyond the trees, a snow fox howled once, then vanished into the hush of moonlight. Night wrapped the world in velvet silence.
By morning, frost had touched every leaf. The lake was frozen solid, blanketed in mist. Kell stirred as the first ray of sun filtered through the thin curtains.
A new day had begun.
And so had his true path.
And as the sun rose, bathing the mountain in gold…
And the wind answered with silence...