The stars shimmered like silver dust scattered across the velvet night sky, serene and distant above the summit. Their light cast faint shadows on the jagged stone paths, winding through the settlement carved into the mountain's heart. Shun smiled softly at the passing folk, nodding to a few as he stepped out from the warm glow of the mess hall. In his hands, he carried a bowl of steaming broth and roasted meat, the simple meal still fragrant despite the chill in the air. The aroma of herbs and charred wood mingled with the crisp bite of the high-altitude night, grounding him in this fleeting moment of calm.
The massive stone structures of the summit loomed around him, towering shelters hewn from the mountain's bones over centuries. Their surfaces, smoothed by time and etched with faint runes, gleamed faintly under the torchlight. Most of the settlement's inhabitants preferred to eat indoors, huddled together in the fire-lit halls where laughter and clinking mugs drowned out the silence of the world beyond. But Shun—he preferred the solitude, the cold, and the open sky. There was a kind of peace in the stars, one that couldn't be found within walls, no matter how sturdy or warm. The vastness above reminded him of what he fought for, a tether to the life he'd left behind.
He found his usual spot, a flat outcrop of stone overlooking the valley below, where the air was sharp and the stars felt closer. Settling down, he balanced the bowl on his knee, savoring the warmth seeping through the clay. The broth's steam curled upward, a fleeting ghost in the night air, and he took a slow sip, letting the heat spread through his chest. The summit was quiet tonight, save for the distant hum of voices from the hall and the occasional clatter of a cart rolling across the stone paths. It was a rare moment of stillness in a place that thrived on constant motion—survivors, warriors, and wanderers all bound by the shared struggle of this cursed land.
Not long after, Xin joined him.
The younger hunter appeared from the shadows, his boots scuffing lightly against the crystalline as he approached. He carried his own bowl, the contents sloshing slightly as he settled onto one of the carved stone benches nearby with a grunt. Xin was younger than Shun by a decade, his frame wiry but strong, his dark hair perpetually tousled from the summit's winds. They sat together without saying much, chewing through the meaty broth, letting the night wrap around them like a cloak. There was no wind tonight, only the flicker of torchlight dancing against the summit walls and the soft murmur of conversations drifting from the hall. The silence between them was comfortable, born of countless shared moments like this—meals under the stars, brief respites from the weight of their duties.
Xin glanced sideways, his sharp eyes catching the faint lines beneath Shun's. Darker than before, etched deeper into his weathered skin. Faint hollows shadowed his cheeks, a quiet testament to sleepless nights and relentless days. Shun's silver hair, though still radiant under the starlight, was a bit messier than usual, strands falling loose from the tie that held them back. Exhaustion lingered around him, masked behind the ever-present smile that had become his hallmark. Xin hadn't realized how much weight the man had been carrying until now, seeing him in this unguarded moment, the mask of warmth and strength just a little thinner.
He always smiled. Always laughed. Always helped. It was easy to forget he bled just like everyone else.
The truth was, Shun might've been the most hardworking individual on the entire summit. His Regalia—his divine artifact, a shimmering sword of silvery light that pulsed with ancient power—kept the protective dome around the settlement strong, a barrier against the creeping monsters that haunted the lands below. It was his constant expeditions into the cursed tunnels, those labyrinthine depths where shadows whispered and stone bled, that brought more survivors back to safety. The layout of the summit itself, its order and harmony, its strange but functional civilization carved from chaos, all of it was born from Shun's hands. He was the leader, the foundation holding everything up, the keystone that kept the summit from crumbling under its own weight.
"You're staring, you know," Shun said suddenly, not looking up from his food. His voice was light, teasing, but there was a knowing edge to it, as if he'd felt Xin's gaze like a physical touch.
Xin blinked, caught off guard. "I was just wondering…" He paused, searching for the right words, his spoon hovering over his bowl. "What's pushing you so much? I mean—to help all these people. Why do you care so much? What was life like for you before all of this?"
He meant it with genuine curiosity. Shun was the kind of person people naturally trusted, generous, kind, always thinking of others. Almost like a mirror version of Xin himself, though Xin knew his own heart was rougher around the edges, shaped by skepticism and survival. But something about Shun was… deeper. There had to be a reason. Not everyone was kind out of instinct. Not in a place like this, where the air itself seemed to carry the weight of despair.
Shun took another slow bite from his meal, chewing thoughtfully. The silence stretched, unbroken save for the faint crackle of a nearby torch. When he swallowed, he looked up at the sky, his eyes tracing the constellations as if they held the answers he sought.
"Oh, that…" he said softly, his voice carrying a rare note of reflection. "I came here to save a kingdom."
Xin blinked. He hadn't expected that.
He'd always assumed Shun had some vague, personal reason for being here. To train, or prove himself, or maybe to escape something—a past, a failure, a debt. But a kingdom? That was different. It carried a weight Xin hadn't anticipated, a purpose that felt larger than the summit, larger than the cursed lands they navigated.
Shun glanced at him and chuckled, catching the surprise in Xin's expression. "I guess I never told you. I'm a warrior from the Mother Realm. A ruler, actually—of one of the smaller lands."
There was no pride in his tone. No arrogance. Just quiet truth, spoken as plainly as if he were commenting on the weather.
"We were doing well for a time," Shun continued, his voice steady but tinged with something heavier. "Stable. Peaceful. Our lands were modest, but they were ours. Fields that bloomed with golden grain, rivers that ran clear, children who laughed without fear. But after the war with the demons…" He trailed off, his gaze distant, as if seeing those fields again, now scorched and silent. "Everything changed. We lost so much. Too much. People, soldiers, our ability to protect ourselves. You'd think the dragons, with all their tech and history, would be able to rebuild quickly—like the elves."
He shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "Some kingdoms did. The ones with rich mines or ancient magic, they clawed their way back. Us? We couldn't. We were resourceful, yes...but not enough. Our walls were crumbling, our forges cold. The demons left scars that didn't heal, and the world moved on while we stayed broken."
Xin stayed quiet, his broth cooling in his hands. He didn't want to interrupt. There was a rhythm to Shun's words, a cadence that felt like a confession, and Xin sensed it was a rare thing for the man to speak so openly.
Shun's voice softened, almost like he was speaking to himself. "I have a wife. A beautiful woman, stronger than I'll ever be. She never asked me to leave. Never even wanted me to. She knew the cost, knew what this place does to people. But I had to. I couldn't sit by and watch my people suffer while others thrived. I came here to earn the power we couldn't get on our own. To bring back something...anything that could protect them."
He tilted his head upward again, his silver hair catching the starlight like a halo. His eyes glinted, reflecting the endless expanse above. "She and I… we've been trying for a child. For years, we hoped. And before I left, she told me she felt it—a life growing. I know, deep in my bones, that by the time I return, it won't just be her waiting for me."
He looked at Xin, and for a moment, Xin saw the tired warrior beneath the warm smile. A man holding up far more than he ever let on, his strength forged not from divine artifacts or ancient magic, but from love and duty and an unyielding promise to those he'd left behind.
"I will return home to a family of three,"