The mountain wind swept gently across the scorched remains of Duyin's Northern District. A field of ash stretched wide—once a battlefield, now only silence remained, with fading embers whispering of what had passed. The tension had ebbed, not because of peace, but from exhaustion and loss. Sorrow replaced the clash of blades—like a creeping fog, unseen yet inescapable.
The night sky rumbled. Not from the sounds of battle, but from memories that never truly died. Thunderclouds gathered thick overhead, hiding the stars and moon beneath the darkness. Lightning flashed in the distance, momentarily illuminating the field of ruin.
Lu Zhou had fallen asleep while sitting, his body slumped against a charred piece of stone. His breathing was heavy, his face weary. In the silence, his mind drifted into an uninvited dream.
In his dream, he stood in the middle of a silver grass field swaying gently in the breeze. Lightning danced across the sky like masterless dragons, yet none struck the earth. There was no sound but the whisper of the wind. Silence. Then—
> "Father…"
Lu Zhou turned. That voice… soft, but it trembled the core of his soul. At the edge of the field, a child stood with his back facing him. The small frame looked fragile, yet from his presence radiated an aura—cold, bitter, yet strangely… familiar. Too familiar.
> "You said you'd come home," said the boy.
Lu Zhou tried to step forward, but each step felt like a battle against the world. The ground beneath turned from firm earth to mud, then to an abyss that stole his footing. He was trapped, unable to reach.
> "I waited. But only your name returned—not your embrace. Not your love."
The sky above them shifted colors. From deep blue to blood red. Lightning flashed again, and within that light appeared silhouettes—memories. Lu Zhou saw himself: fighting, winning, being praised. But in every cheer, in every shadow of glory, stood that same small figure—left behind. Forgotten.
> "Who are you…?" Lu Zhou's voice cracked with fear. "Do I know you?"
The boy slowly turned. His face was young, unscarred—but his eyes were not. In them lived a broken world, wounds long since blackened. Eyes that seemed to pierce straight into his soul.
> "I am the mistake you left behind," the child said.
The wind returned, colder than before. Bone-chilling. As if the world itself mocked him.
> "I… am your shadow."
The sky shattered. The final bolt of lightning split the dream in two. Lu Zhou fell—and jolted awake.
His breath was ragged. The mountain air was frigid, yet his body was soaked in cold sweat. He wiped his face with a trembling hand, trying to separate dream from reality.
Mo Tian was still meditating outside the tent. So Lin He stood on guard in the distance, patient and silent.
Then—
> Boom!
A loud explosion rocked the ground from the north. Thick fog cloaked the ruins. All three rushed out, on high alert. From behind the rubble, someone walked slowly. A silhouette emerged through the mist, their cloak fluttering in the night breeze. Their steps were calm—too calm.
> "So, you've finally appeared…" Mo Tian hissed, his eyes narrowing like blades.
But Lu Zhou froze. His blood ran cold. That face—smiling gently, just like in the dream.
> "It's been a long time… Father," said the figure.
Time seemed to stop. Even the wind held its breath.
Mo Tian and So Lin He turned toward Lu Zhou, shocked. But Lu Zhou stood frozen, his voice caught in his throat.
> "You… Lu Tian… My son…"
But the figure shook his head slowly. The smile turned bitter.
> "No. I'm just a child… left behind by a father blinded by ambition. By the desire to become a legend."
Suddenly, the ground beneath them trembled violently. An underground assault erupted to the surface. The earth burst open, rubble flying in all directions. The three were thrown back.
Before everything vanished in dust and smoke, Lu Zhou saw one final thing—the boy's smile.
A warm smile… yet it cut deep. Like embracing a blade, knowing it will bleed.
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