The team's coordination hadn't been that bad. They passed for what he didn't know, Shun had tasked Xin to train volunteers for some type of future mission, and they'd pulled through. After clearing out a few more mirror monsters and securing a decent haul of resources, shards of crystalline ore, vials of luminescent sap—in the past year Xin helped discover that the sap can be used for a pseudo antibiotics for some poisons. They made their way back to the summit, Spirits were high, and even though their limbs were sore and their clothes were coated in dust, blood and grime, they wore quiet grins. The kind that came from surviving together. From getting better. The rocky cliffs loomed above them, their edges softened by the pale light of the dome's barrier, a faint shimmer that pulsed like a heartbeat.
The volunteers trailed behind Xin, their steps uneven but determined. Raven, had taken point during the mission, spotting the mirror monsters' ambushes before they could close in. Toren, quick handed and steady, had anchored the group, hauling the resources and keeping the newer recruits from panicking when a monster's scream echoed too close. Xin had watched them work, noting their strengths, their hesitations. He'd adjusted their formation on the fly, pairing the skittish with the bold, the quick with the strong. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough. They'd returned with everyone alive and a haul that would keep the summit's forges burning for another week.
As they climbed the final slope back to the settlement, a murmur ran through the gathered crowd at the gates. The sound was low at first, like a breeze rustling through dry leaves, but it grew louder, sharper. Then the murmurs became a cheer, rolling over the stone paths and echoing off the cliffs. Xin looked up, alert. For a moment, his stomach tightened. Something was happening. Something that pulled everyone's attention from the returning team to the heart of the summit.
He broke into a light jog, his boots scraping against the uneven stone. The crowd was thick, a press of bodies clad in patched cloaks and scavenged armor, their faces lit with excitement. Xin wove through them, his height giving him just enough view to scan for the source of the commotion. His pulse quickened, not from fear but from a gut sense that this was big. He pushed past a cluster of people, their baskets of glowing herbs forgotten, until he caught sight of what had sparked the uproar.
Silver hair. Calm blue eyes. A radiant presence that seemed to command the space around him without trying to.
Shun had returned.
Relief washed over Xin like a tide, cool and heavy, followed closely by something warm and unspoken, a quiet spark in his chest. The people around them surged forward, their voices overlapping in a wave of greetings. Hands reached out to touch Shun's arms or shoulder, as if his presence alone could ward off the darkness beyond the dome. Laughter and tears mingled as voices rose with joy, some calling his name, others recounting stories of his deeds in hurried, reverent tones.
They adored him.
How could they not?
He was the one who had created the dome that kept this place safe, a shimmering barrier forged from his will and Regalia, something tied to the Silver Jian. He was the one who had led them through the calamity that shattered the world beyond, who had stayed behind to protect them when the mirror monsters first clawed their way into being.
Half the population of the summit had come from the southern territories, where Shun had made his stand. They'd seen him face the tide of reflective beasts, his blade flashing like a storm of light, carving through creatures that mirrored their victims' fears. To them, he was more than a leader. He was hope, a living promise that survival was possible. Xin had heard the stories—how Shun had held the line alone for three days, how the ground had trembled under the weight of his resolve. The southerners spoke of him in hushed tones, their eyes bright with something close to worship.
Xin stood quietly to the side, his hands loose at his sides, letting the moment play out. The crowd's energy was a living thing, pulsing with gratitude and awe. He didn't need to join it. He'd seen Shun's strength up close, had fought beside him in the caverns below the summit, where the air was thick with miasma and the walls wept in soothing calmness. That was a year ago, when Xin had lost what he though was a friend.... Regressing back to his past guilts had nearly broken him, the scene playing in his mind like a wound that wouldn't close. Shun had pulled him through that darkness, his steady voice cutting through Xin's doubt like a blade through mist.
The crowd began to thin as people reunited and specialists returned to their stalls. Shun broke from the throng with a gentle excuse, his movements smooth, unhurried. He moved toward Xin, his presence parting the remaining onlookers like water. His approach was casual, as if no time had passed, as if he hadn't just returned from whatever perilous task had called him away. He patted Xin on the back with familiar warmth, his smile as effortless as always, a curve of lips that carried both strength and ease.
"Hey buddy! How have you been holding up?" Shun asked, his tone bright and full of life, as if he'd just stepped out for an afternoon stroll.
"It's been fine. You've only been gone a couple of days," Xin replied, his voice steady but quieter than he meant it to be. He shifted his weight, the ache in his legs reminding him of the day's work.
"True," Shun said, chuckling, a sound that seemed to lighten the air around them. "But managing this place feels like aging a year every day."
Xin gave a small smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes but felt real enough. "I had Raven and Toren helping me."
Shun gave a satisfied nod, his eyes glinting with approval. "Good. They're solid. But you're the one who kept it together."
He turned then, gesturing for Xin to follow, and they moved through the lower streets of the settlement, flanked by scattered houses built from salvaged stone and reinforced with glowing runes. Supply depots lined the paths, their doors marked with symbols of protection. Here, away from the main gates, it was quieter. The cheering behind them grew distant, replaced by the soft creak of windmills and the occasional clatter of tools from a nearby forge.
Even without his regalia's miasma or the heavy cloaks of ritual, Shun's presence still pulled attention like gravity. People paused as he passed, their gazes lingering—not out of fear, but out of something deeper, a quiet respect that bordered on reverence. Xin had seen it before, had felt it himself in the early days. Something about Shun didn't fade with time, didn't dim even after months of absence. It wasn't just his power, though the Silver Jian at his side hummed with an energy that made the air feel alive. It was him—his calm, his certainty, the way he carried the weight of the summit without letting it bend his shoulders.
Xin had spent much of the past year recovering from what happened in the caverns below. The near-loss of Belial had left scars deeper than the ones on his skin. The guilt had been a weight, heavy and unrelenting, and the screams of his team had haunted his dreams, looping endlessly into doubt. Shun had helped him through that. Had sat with him in the quiet hours, offering no grand speeches, just a steady presence and words that cut through the fog. "You're still here," Shun had said once, his voice low but firm. "That's enough to start again."
"You've grown, Xin," Shun said now, his voice softer, pulling Xin from his thoughts. They'd reached a quieter stretch of the street, where the cliffs cast long shadows over the path. "I've been watching the reports. These trainees trust you."
Xin's steps slowed slightly. He kept his eyes forward, his jaw tight. "I just gave them room to learn," he replied, his voice low, almost dismissive.
"No. You gave them structure," Shun said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You saw how to divide them into roles. How to balance the risk. How to rely on Toren and Raven without losing control. You've grown into someone others can follow."
Xin didn't know what to say. His face felt hot, a flush creeping up his neck. He glanced away, pretending to study a flowering tree that leaned over a stone railing, its petals glowing faintly in the dusk. The compliment settled in his chest, heavy and warm, but he didn't know how to carry it.
They walked the next few steps in comfortable silence, the kind that didn't need filling. The settlement's sounds faded further, replaced by the soft rush of wind through the cliffs. Eventually, they reached a wide area, where the ether was calm, bringing the smell of steel and incense. Ahead, standing tall and unmoving, was the heart of the summit.
The Silver Jian.