Chapter 11
The wind was sharper now.
Not cold.
Cutting.
Like the world had grown teeth.
Rui limped through the mountain path, boots scuffing against gravel as he fought to keep upright. Blood still dried on his jaw from Jin's final blast. His ribs ached. His left arm hung stiff and useless at his side.
He'd survived. Again.
But it didn't feel like a victory.
Yan Zhi walked a few steps ahead, eyes forward, her silence louder than any scream.
She hadn't asked how Rui felt.
She didn't need to.
She'd seen the hesitation.
She'd seen him almost break.
They reached the edge of a frozen valley by sunset.
Below them, in a basin carved by time and snow, stood a small village half-buried beneath sheets of glacial ice. Smoke curled from chimneys. Lanterns flickered in thick fog.
Rui frowned.
"No roads. No guards. No fields. And yet, it's alive."
Yan Zhi crossed her arms. "That's not a village."
"Then what is it?"
"A secret," she said, "someone tried really hard to forget."
The villagers didn't react when Rui and Yan Zhi arrived.
They just watched.
Old eyes.
Worn clothes.
Expressions that didn't shift. Not curious. Not hostile.
Just... tired.
Rui greeted the first elder he saw. "We need food and rest."
The man only nodded and pointed to a hut.
No words.
No questions.
Yan Zhi didn't like it.
"They're too quiet," she whispered once inside. "Too still. Like they're waiting."
"For what?"
"Us to find it."
That night, they sat by a fire.
Rui poked the flames with a stick, listening to the wind outside.
Yan Zhi leaned against the wall, sharpening her blade.
"Why didn't you kill him?" she asked suddenly.
Rui looked up. "Jin?"
She nodded.
"I tried."
"No," she said. "You hesitated. Like you did before."
Rui exhaled. "Because he was me. Or what I could've become."
"You still could," she said.
He stared at her.
"I need to know something," she added.
He didn't answer.
"If it's me standing between you and whatever monster you become—will you stop yourself?"
Rui didn't look away. "No."
Yan Zhi blinked.
"I'll trust you to do it."
They slept in shifts again.
At dawn, Rui awoke to footsteps outside.
Not loud.
Just steady. Intentional.
He stepped outside quietly and followed the trail—up the hill, past frozen trees and a frozen shrine.
Until he found her.
A girl.
No older than ten.
Standing barefoot on the ice, staring into a crater half-buried in snow.
He approached slowly.
"What's down there?" he asked.
The girl didn't turn. "The dragon who stopped breathing."
Rui's pulse flickered.
She pointed to the crater.
"They keep him sealed. So he won't wake up angry."
Rui stepped to the edge and looked down.
Below the ice, beneath layers of frozen time, he saw it.
A figure.
Unmoving. Tall. Clad in black.
Eyes closed.
Pulse... humming.
A Dragon Heir. Frozen. Sleeping. Waiting.
He returned to the village immediately.
Yan Zhi saw his face and stood.
"What happened?"
"There's a pulse under the ice," Rui said. "Strong. Maybe stronger than Jin."
"They sealed him?"
"They're feeding him," Rui said. "Just enough to keep him asleep."
The villagers gathered before Rui could speak again.
Dozens of them.
The elder stepped forward.
His voice cracked from disuse: "You found it."
Rui nodded slowly. "You've been keeping him here."
"To protect the world," the elder said. "And to protect him."
"He's dangerous."
"All heirs are."
"Then why keep him alive?"
"Because he chose to sleep."
Rui blinked. "What?"
The elder's voice wavered. "He was the Fifth Heir. He saw what he was becoming. And he begged us to seal him before he lost himself."
Rui's chest felt hollow.
"Then why are you still here?" he asked.
"To make sure no one wakes him."
That night, Rui stood at the crater again.
Alone.
Watching the ice.
The figure beneath hadn't moved.
But Rui could feel something.
Not malice.
Not power.
Regret.
He crouched at the edge.
"Is this where I end up?" he whispered. "If I'm lucky?"
The wind didn't answer.
But the pulse in his chest responded.
Soft. Almost mournful.
Then it burned.
Suddenly. Sharply.
Behind him, Yan Zhi shouted: "Rui, move!"
He rolled instinctively—
As a blade tore through the ice where he'd been standing.
A masked figure rose from the snow—blades in both hands, tattoos glowing red.
Another assassin.
Reclaimer.
"No," Rui whispered. "Not now."
The man attacked.
Fast.
Silent.
Rui blocked the first strike. Dodged the second.
But the third grazed his leg.
Pain exploded up his thigh.
He countered with the black sword—slashed forward—but the man vanished in smoke.
Then reappeared behind Yan Zhi.
Rui shouted—ran—
But not fast enough.
The blade pierced her shoulder.
She screamed.
Rui tackled the assassin—drove him into the snow.
They rolled, fists flying, weapons clashing.
Until Rui caught him under the chin with the hilt of the sword.
The man dropped.
Yan Zhi clutched her arm, blood soaking her coat.
"They're not going to stop, are they?" she hissed.
"No," Rui said. "They know what's under the ice."
The villagers watched again.
Still. Silent.
As if they'd expected this.
As if it had happened before.
That night, Rui stood again over the crater.
He raised his hand.
And drew the black sword.
The pulse in his chest screamed.
But he ignored it.
"If he chose to sleep," Rui said, "he might know how to stop the rest of us."
He raised the sword—
To break the seal.
Yan Zhi appeared behind him, voice low: "What if he wakes up... and regrets choosing peace?"
Rui didn't lower the blade.
And in the silence before the ice cracked, Rui whispered:
If the strongest among us gave up fighting... what makes me believe I'm strong enough to keep going?