The mist curled like whispering spirits between the pine trees, clinging to the ancient mountain path. Wind rustled the branches overhead, sending faint echoes through the valley below. The sky was an overcast gray, as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath.
A lone figure walked steadily along the narrow trail.
His deep blue robes clung to him like shadows, the fabric woven with faint silver thread that shimmered with each step. Though the robes bore signs of wear—frayed edges and dust from the road—there was a quiet majesty to the way he wore them. He moved with the unshakable confidence of someone who had walked through storms and fire and lived to see the dawn.
Devran.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and lean with sinewy strength, he looked like a warrior carved from ancient stone. A scar ran down his left brow, fading into the sharp lines of his golden eyes—eyes that held the fury of a thunder god trapped behind calm restraint. His skin was sun-kissed bronze, a map of old wounds and battles fought. A low aura of restrained power clung to him like the hush before a predator's pounce.
He had many names. Mercenary. Outcast. Warrior.
But none of them mattered to him anymore.
What mattered was the destination—hidden deep within the sacred mountains of Xianvaara. A place whispered about in forgotten temples and half-burned scrolls. A place said to hold answers—or perhaps, redemption.
He didn't believe in fate. Not anymore.
And yet—today, something was different.
A pressure tugged faintly at his chest. A strange pull, like invisible threads wrapping around his soul.
Then he saw him.
Descending the trail from the opposite direction, parting the mist like a divine apparition, was a man clad in robes of silver and white. The fabric shimmered like starlight reflected on still water, untouched by dust or dirt. He moved not like a man, but a poem in motion—fluid, quiet, impossibly serene.
Tianlan.
His beauty was not of this world.
Porcelain skin so pale it seemed carved from moonlight. Raven-black hair fell down his back in an immaculate stream, bound by a silver clasp shaped like a crescent moon. He held himself with effortless grace, like a being sculpted by celestial hands. And then there were his eyes—icy gray, crystalline, ancient. They gazed ahead not with curiosity, but detachment. Like a god who had long stopped caring for mortal affairs.
Devran slowed.
A strange stillness swept the path as their eyes met.
Lightning without thunder. A flicker of something that felt too old, too heavy to name.
Devran's fingers brushed the hilt of his sword. Instinct.
He didn't like this stranger.
And yet… he couldn't look away.
The man's gaze flickered over him like snowfall brushing mountain rock—cold, disinterested… and oddly familiar.
"…Move," the silver-robed man said softly, voice low and elegant, but colder than the wind.
Devran raised a brow. "You have two feet. Walk around."
The stranger's lips barely moved. "You're in my path."
Devran smirked, folding his arms. "Then change your path."
The silence that followed was heavy, electric.
An invisible tension wound around them like fate's snare.
Neither of them understood it. Neither of them wanted it.
Yet both felt it.
A pull.
A thread.
Devran clicked his tongue. "Tch. Whatever."
He stepped aside—but brushed past the stranger's shoulder with deliberate defiance.
The man's eyes narrowed, barely.
They did not look back at each other.
But as they continued walking—one ascending, one descending—the world itself seemed to shift.
And somewhere, far beyond mortal hearing, fate's loom began to stir.
---
Later That Day — The Tea House
The mist had faded, but Devran's thoughts remained clouded.
He entered the town near the mountain pass with the weariness of a man who didn't belong anywhere. The scent of spices, roasted meat, and the chatter of crowds struck him like noise in a battlefield. His golden eyes scanned the crowd with cautious boredom.
He craved silence.
Instead, he found chaos.
The local tea house was alive with clamor. Dice clattered across wooden tables. Laughter rang out in bursts. The soft strum of a guqin echoed from the corner, weaving through the warmth and light.
And by the window, seated like a vision in a mortal world, was a woman who seemed to belong to a higher realm.
Saanvi.
She wore a robe the color of soft sakura petals, embroidered with delicate golden lotus blossoms. Her hair cascaded over her shoulder like a waterfall of night, and her dark eyes glimmered with knowing amusement. She looked like a story waiting to be told—one laced with riddles, prophecies, and divine secrets.
She sat with poise, a porcelain cup held gracefully in her fingers, sipping like she had all the time in the world.
She saw Devran before he saw her.
And she smiled.
Interesting, she thought. He arrived earlier than I expected.
Devran headed to an empty corner.
But the door opened again.
And the silver-robed man stepped inside.
The room changed.
A hush rippled through the tea house as heads turned.
Tianlan's presence was like a falling star—beautiful, distant, and inexplicably dangerous.
Children fell silent. Patrons paused mid-sentence. Even the music stopped.
Devran's mood curdled.
Seriously? Him again?
Tianlan's gaze swept the room… and stopped on Devran.
They locked eyes.
Tension flared.
Before anything could break, Saanvi's voice rang out like wind chimes. "You two! Sit here. There's space for both."
Devran scowled. "I'll stand."
Tianlan replied flatly. "No."
Saanvi giggled. "You're both so dramatic."
Still smiling, she waved at the waiter. "Three lotus teas, please."
Devran muttered, "This is why I hate tea houses."
Saanvi leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. "Tell me your names."
Devran frowned. "Why?"
"Because I asked nicely."
"Devran."
"…Tianlan," the other man said after a pause.
Saanvi's smile deepened.
"Ah. I see."
Both men turned to her.
"What do you see?" Devran asked.
Her gaze didn't waver.
"Threads," she whispered. "Very complicated threads."
Tianlan stood abruptly.
"I don't have time for riddles."
And just as he turned, the ground trembled beneath them.
The tea house went still.
A single porcelain cup cracked.
Only Saanvi looked unbothered.
She glanced at the floor. "The bond awakens," she murmured.
---
Elsewhere — Imperial City
The clang of steel echoed through the royal training yard.
A figure moved like lightning, his blade slicing the air with divine precision. Muscles coiled under every controlled breath, every motion a lesson in discipline and ruthlessness.
Prince Wei Zhan.
Royal blood flowed in his veins, but it was fire and steel that defined him.
His raven hair was bound high in a warrior's knot. His face—sharp jaw, intense brows, piercing obsidian eyes—was the type carved onto temple statues. His aura was like a tightly sealed volcano, waiting.
And then…
"Oi! You're supposed to be the best, right?"
A man lounged near the gate.
Xie Lian.
Golden skin, boyish grin, robes half-untucked. He spun a wooden sword with casual arrogance.
He looked like trouble—and lived like it too.
Wei Zhan narrowed his eyes. "Leave."
Xie Lian winked. "Only if you defeat me."
And without warning, he lunged forward with a reckless laugh.
---
Back at the Tea House — Ending Hook
Tianlan stepped outside into the fading golden hour.
But something was wrong.
The sky above the mountains darkened, though it wasn't yet dusk.
Wind tore through the streets like a scream.
Saanvi's robes fluttered as she rose beside Devran, her face suddenly grave.
Devran drew his sword half an inch from its sheath.
Tianlan turned, met Devran's eyes once more.
A spark. A memory. A truth buried in time.
Flames. A temple. A vow.
And a voice from a forgotten life:
"Find him. Protect him. Or the heavens will fall."