The seventh morning arrived quietly, draped in fog and dew.
A pale mist clung to the forest floor like a silken veil, curling around roots and stones in slow, deliberate waves. The trees, tall and ancient, stood in reverent stillness, their trunks slick with moisture, bark darkened by the night's breath. Above, delicate beams of early sunlight pierced through the canopy in golden slants, casting shifting halos across the moss-laden ground.
Every leaf glistened with droplets of condensed Qi, humming faintly with energy. The air was cool, almost sacred, filled with the scent of damp earth and wild blossoms, an aroma that spoke of life renewed.
Birdcalls returned cautiously, soft and melodic, echoing from deep within the trees like a song half-remembered. In the distance, a brook whispered over smooth stones, its surface silvered by the morning haze. Spirit fireflies drifted lazily through the mist, their soft glows blinking in and out of sight like stars caught between realms.
Ryu woke first.
He sat cross-legged on a mossy rock, overlooking the sprawling valley below. The earth here shimmered faintly, barely visible to the untrained eye, but to Ryu, the spirit veins danced like distant rivers of light beneath the soil.
His senses had grown sharper since the inheritance. He could feel the energy rising through the ground, gentle currents flowing in steady rhythm, like blood beneath skin.
This place was special.
Yan stirred behind him, wrapping her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she approached. "You feel it too."
Ryu nodded. "There's a convergence nearby. Not a massive one, but enough that it feeds this entire valley."
She sat beside him. "Could be a minor vein line. Might even have a waystone."
Ryu tilted his head. "Waystone?"
Yan smiled faintly. "Old concept. Cultivators used to mark places like this, points where spirit energy was dense enough to act as anchor points. They built small obelisks, embedded them with soul markers. Some could be used for long-distance communication… others to connect the warp gate networks."
"That's real?"
"It was," she said. "Before the world veins went dormant."
They exchanged a glance.
But the veins were no longer dormant.
They broke camp quickly, eating a quick meal of reheated broth and sweet root, packed tightly in fire-sealed leaf wrappers. Yan offered Ryu a piece of dried lotus cake from her personal stores, a rare treat she'd saved. It tasted like childhood, like spring festival mornings in the palace gardens.
Kalavan scouted ahead while Ryu and Yan tracked the energy flow, moving quietly through the dense underbrush and rocky outcrops. The terrain had shifted again, evidence of Qi saturation. Trees grew in spiralled patterns, their bark glowing faintly. Even the insects buzzed with a curious frequency, their movements unnaturally precise.
By midday, they found it.
The waystone stood in a grove of crystal-leafed trees, its stone surface cracked but intact. It was no taller than Ryu's chest, worn by time but still marked by ancient runes.
It pulsed softly, like a heart still beating after centuries of slumber.
Kalavan crouched beside it, brushing away moss. "This is old. Very old."
Ryu ran a hand across the runes, instinct guiding him. They shifted under his touch, glowing faintly in response to his energy. "I think… I can activate it."
Yan raised an eyebrow. "Be careful. Some were tied to defensive arrays. Or… worse."
Ryu exhaled and placed both palms on the stone.
The runes flared.
A low hum resonated across the grove. Trees bent inward slightly, pulled by unseen force. And then, a ghostly image rose from the stone, a map.
Flickering, unstable, but visible.
What they saw stunned them.
The image showed a vast continent, their continent, but not as it appeared on modern maps. This one was webbed with glowing lines, thousands of them, connecting mountain ranges, cities, and temples now long forgotten.
Each line was a spirit vein. And where they converged, marked by larger, radiant nodes, were the great cultivator cities of the old era.
TyLing was there.
But not as a city.
As a node.
A place of power.
And there, further north, deeper into Ayon territory, a great central light pulsed.
The capital. Phoenix City.
And even further off the known map, one line curved into the ocean, toward unmarked land.
The land that once housed the Seat of the Transcendent.
The vision faded.
Ryu pulled his hands back, breath short.
Kalavan was already analyzing what they'd seen. "That map changes everything."
Yan nodded slowly. "If these waystones are scattered through the world, and if we can reactivate them, we could uncover the entire cultivation grid. The warp network. Forgotten cities."
"And the enemies that wait there," Kalavan added quietly.
Ryu stood. "Then we find the next one."
Yan turned toward him. "Which one?"
Phoenix City.
Far ahead, where the mist parted in the rising sun, the ancient capital emerged like a vision from legend. Perched atop a sloped mesa surrounded by glowing rivers and forest-veiled cliffs, the city stretched outward and upward in radiant tiers, its architecture a harmony of elegance and might. Tall jade towers pierced the sky like feathered spears, each one shaped in the likeness of a phoenix plume. Red and gold stone shimmered in the light, and at the city's heart stood the Phoenix Palace itself, an ornate citadel crowned by a vast domed roof etched with ancient seals and the crest of the eternal flame.
Spirit lanterns floated gently above the skyline, drifting between spires like silent prayers, and though the distance masked the sound, Ryu could imagine the echo of bells from temple towers carved into the cliffs. The city breathed power, tradition, and vigilance. Even from afar, its martial legacy could be felt, watchtowers crowned the perimeter, and the faint outlines of ward circles glimmered in the stone below.
This was no simple city. It was the heart of a kingdom. The cradle of a bloodline. A place scarred by siege, strengthened by fire, and still healing beneath its gleaming surface.
Yan stretched, brushing a few strands of silver-white hair from her face as the morning sun filtered through the mist.
"We'll be back in the capital soon," she said, her voice soft with anticipation. "I wonder if Father's still keeping my sketchbooks hidden in that drawer that he thinks I don't know about."
She smiled gently, the memory warming her more than the rising sun. She had spent entire summers drawing beside him in the royal study, her father, Emperor of Ayon, watching over her not as ruler, but as a parent. He had taught her history with storybooks, let her paint phoenixes across his scrolls, and whispered secrets of the Flame Crest when the palace guards weren't listening.
Kalavan chuckled, adjusting the strap on his pack. "I haven't been back in years. The food alone might be worth the trip."
Yan grinned. "You just want the dumplings from the east garden market."
"Guilty," Kalavan admitted. "They're still the best in the kingdom."
She turned to Ryu. "What about you? Anyone waiting for you back home?"
Ryu paused for a moment, then shook his head with a small smile. "Not really. I never had much of a home to go back to in TyLing City."
The moment lingered. Not heavy. Just real.
Yan stepped closer and bumped her shoulder gently against his. "Then you'll have one now. We're dragging you in, whether you like it or not."
Kalavan smirked. "Careful, Princess. That sounded suspiciously like affection."
Yan rolled her eyes. "Must be the altitude."
They continued toward the capital, toward memories and change, toward family and legacy, and into the unknown.