Elsewhere…
In a dimly lit chamber, a middle-aged man sat in silence. Before him, a circular stone disk bore a parchment etched with intricate, crimson-lined patterns. His hands rested upon it, fingers lightly tracing its surface, while his eyes remained closed—as if attuned to something beyond the physical realm.
The man had short black hair, and his sharp features carried an air of quiet authority. He was draped in a high-collared coat of deep charcoal, embroidered with intricate crimson threadwork that shimmered faintly under the soft glow of floating crystal lanterns suspended above.
Then—
A sharp, violent snap.
His body tensed. His breath hitched. Black eyes flew open, pupils shrinking as a piercing pain lanced through his mind. A hollow, frigid emptiness settled deep in his core, and his fingers twitched toward his temple.
Without hesitation, he surged to his feet in one fluid motion, crossing the chamber in long, purposeful strides. His boots struck the polished stone floor with sharp, echoing steps as he entered a grand hallway illuminated by suspended crystalline lights, their soft blue luminescence casting a faint, ethereal glow.
Pushing forward, he emerged into a vast open courtyard. Above, the sky loomed heavy with thick, winter clouds, their weight pressing down upon the land. Beyond the courtyard, perched at the edge of a towering hill, stood a magnificent open-air pavilion—a structure of elegant marble columns and intricately carved eaves, adorned with inlaid gold filigree. Silk banners swayed gently in the cold wind, whispering against the quiet expanse. From here, the world unfolded in breathtaking splendor—rolling mountains veiled in mist, valleys carved by winding rivers that shimmered faintly beneath the overcast sky.
Within the pavilion, two elderly figures sat in contemplative silence, their backs turned to him.
One was clad in flowing black robes, his very presence exuding an authority that made the air feel heavier. Seated beside him was an old man in simple white robes, his posture composed as he calmly sipped tea. Neither spoke, their gazes fixed on the vast horizon before them.
The middle-aged man inhaled deeply, steadying himself before stepping forward.
As his boots met the pavilion's smooth stone floor, he halted just at the threshold, bowing his head slightly in deference. Though his voice remained steady, urgency simmered beneath his words.
"Patriarch, the connection with the Shadow Whisper was severed just now."
The elder in black stiffened. His gaze, sharp as a blade, turned slightly.
"What?" His voice was low, but it carried the weight of authority. "How?"
The man shook his head, frustration flickering across his face. "I'm not certain, Patriarch. His presence… it's gone."
Silence fell between them, thick and oppressive. Then, the patriarch's voice cut through the stillness.
"What was his last report?"
The middle-aged man exhaled, recalling the final transmission. "He reported that the target had suddenly begun moving—far faster than anticipated. The Shadow Whisper struggled to keep up and resorted to trailing from a distance. That was early this morning. And now… nothing. The connection is completely severed."
The patriarch's expression darkened, his voice taking on a grave edge. "Could it be that the target sensed him?" His fingers curled slightly against the armrest. "Since you can no longer reach him, we must assume the worst—he's likely dead."
A grim look crossed the middle-aged man's face, his brows knitting together.
The patriarch's next words came slower, edged with disbelief. "Unbelievable. The Shadow Whispers are masters of concealment—blending seamlessly into nature and shadow alike. Even if he was discovered, he shouldn't have been eliminated so swiftly… without resistance, without even leaving a message behind."
The middle-aged man stood at the edge of the pavilion, slightly behind the two elder figures who faced away from him. He could only watch their backs.
The Patriarch's voice broke the silence, with hesitation he said, "If I may be so bold to ask, Highmoon—who is this man you requested us to watch?"
The middle-aged man stiffened at his patriarch's words. 'Highmoon?' The way the patriarch addressed this guest sent a shiver down his spine. The respect in the Patriarch's tone, despite his own formidable stature, made it clear that this Highmoon was a person of great importance.
The elder in white spoke after a pause, his voice calm but carrying a subtle weight, "I do not know."
The middle-aged man's brows furrowed slightly at the brevity of the response, but he remained silent, waiting for more. After a beat, Highmoon continued, his tone almost dismissive, yet underlined with an air of subtle calculation,
"I met him by chance. He struck me as... suspicious. His presence reminded me of a place I once visited long ago. I merely wished to keep an eye on him, but it seems I may have underestimated him."
The Patriarch's back stiffened, though the middle-aged man could not see his expression. His voice sharpened as he inquired,
"Should we dispatch a squad to track him? If he remains in the eastern region, capturing him should be simple."
Highmoon hummed softly, a sound that carried no particular urgency or worry. He shook his head, "No."
The middle-aged man observed as Highmoon rose slowly to his feet, his hands clasped behind his back. The Patriarch, almost instinctively, stood as well, in a gesture of respect. The exchange between the two elders, though brief, carried a certain weight.
Highmoon's voice, still light yet authoritative, echoed across the pavilion as he spoke,
"Forget this matter. I will handle it myself."
A subtle tension rippled through the air as the Patriarch responded quickly, "By yourself?" His voice was laced with concern. "Highmoon, there is no need to trouble yourself with such trifles. If you wish to question him, we can simply send a squad to capture him."
A low, almost playful chuckle escaped Highmoon, his voice lilting with amusement.
"Hoho—no need. No need to worry, Patriarch Vesper. Besides, my instincts tell me we should tread carefully with this man."
He walked forward toward the edge of the pavilion, the wind tugging gently at his robes. Highmoon spoke again, his words cutting through the air with quiet authority.
"Ah, before I leave—keep an eye on the Academy. Their intentions may be clear, but caution is still necessary. Report to me if they make any move."
The Patriarch nodded, his tone respectful but resolute. "Do not worry. They will not act without our noticing."
Before the middle-aged man could gather his thoughts, Highmoon's body suddenly lifted into the air with effortless grace. His heart skipped a beat, shocked inwardly. 'S-Sky Realm?'
Highmoon rose with astonishing speed, vanishing beyond the clouds in the blink of an eye.
Stunned, the middle-aged man turned toward the Patriarch, his voice wavering. "P-Patriarch... who is that man?"
Without even turning to acknowledge the question, the Patriarch waved a dismissive hand, his voice cold and commanding. "Do not ask what you shouldn't know."
The middle-aged man immediately lowered his gaze, though a storm of questions raged within him. The mystery of Highmoon—his presence, his power—was a riddle the middle-aged man could not solve. Yet, he dared not ask further.