*Content Warning: This chapter contains mature themes, violence, blood, and morally dark actions. Reader discretion advised.*
***
The old lady stared at Leon with eyes so wide they seemed ready to spill from her skull, disbelief carved into every wrinkle of her weathered face.
"That's impossible," she whispered, voice cracking like dry earth. "If you truly came from that place… there is no way you could still be breathing. Just… who the hell are you, boy?"
Leon's expression went blank. He studied her terror, the way her hands trembled, the way her breath hitched like she'd seen a ghost wearing his skin.
"I know those eyes," he thought, voice low and flat inside his skull. "The eyes of someone who won't believe you no matter what you say. So what's the point? Why is she so afraid?"
The old lady's face twisted — fear giving way to sudden fury, disappointment burning behind it like coals.
"Boy… get out of my house. Right now."
Leon's face didn't change. No anger. No hurt. Just emptiness.
"Well then… if that's what you want, hag. Thank you for taking care of me these past few days."
He turned without another word, pushing open the flimsy wooden door. The evening air hit him like a cold slap — clean, sharp, carrying the faint scent of distant pine and river water.
Behind him the door clicked shut. Hard.
Leon stood on the threshold of the small town, expressionless, staring at the modest wooden houses lit by flickering oil lamps, the narrow dirt streets, the distant sound of children laughing somewhere far off.
"Has that hag gone crazy?" he muttered, voice rough from disuse. "She was the one who dragged me here. She was the one who nursed me back from death's door. And now she kicks me out like I'm diseased. I didn't even ask her to do any of it."
He started walking. Slow. Deliberate. Boots crunching on packed earth.
"But the look in her eyes when I mentioned the reddish sand… that wasn't normal fear. That was terror. The kind you get when something impossible walks through your door wearing a human face. I wonder… did I say something wrong?"
The town fell behind him. The dirt path gave way to open fields. The crimson desert was long gone — replaced by rolling green hills, soft grass swaying under a gentle wind, wildflowers blooming in careless patches of violet and gold. Birds called somewhere distant. A stream gurgled nearby.
Leon kept walking.
"Hm… it feels strange. And at the same time… good. I still wonder why that old hag was so furious. Did I say something wrong? I don't think I did. But it doesn't matter."
He reached into the rough cloth sack the old lady had pressed into his hands before the final argument — a small clay bottle of water, stoppered with cork. He uncorked it, drank deeply. Cool liquid soothed the raw lining of his throat.
"First real water in days. Tastes… clean."
He kept walking until the sun dipped low, painting the sky in bruised purples and burning oranges. Exhaustion tugged at his limbs again — not the killing kind, just the deep, honest ache of a body that had been pushed too far for too long.
He found a small, solitary tree at the edge of a wildflower meadow — ancient, wide-branched, leaves rustling softly. Beneath it the grass was thick and soft. A perfect place to rest.
Leon lowered himself against the trunk, legs stretched out, back braced against rough bark. He tilted his head back.
The sky opened above him — endless, flawless black pierced by countless stars. Not the faint scattering he remembered from his old world, nor the cold, indifferent lights of the crimson desert. These stars burned bright, fierce, alive — like someone had shattered diamonds across the night and left them glowing.
Leon stared upward, breath slowing.
"Wow… how beautiful."
His voice was soft, almost reverent.
"I wish I could sleep here forever. Just keep looking at the stars. The flowers… the grass… everything here is so good. So quiet. I can't even explain it."
He let the silence wrap around him.
For the first time in what felt like lifetimes, there was no enemy. No god hunting him. No Mind Demon whispering poison in his skull. No empire screaming for his blood.
Just stars.
Just night.
Just him.
And in that quiet, a thought rose — slow, heavy, the first real philosophy he'd allowed himself since waking up in this broken world.
"There is no point in talking when there is no one who can listen."
The words hung in the air like smoke. Leon's gaze drifted down to his scarred hands, then back to the stars.
"Back then… I talked to the old hag. I answered her questions. I thanked her. And what did it get me? Kicked out. Feared. Like I was a plague wearing human skin. Talking only works when someone actually hears you — not just the words, but the weight behind them. When they're too scared, too angry, too broken to hear… the words become noise. And noise gets you chased away."
He exhaled slowly, watching his breath mist in the cooling night.
"Maybe that's why the gods never answer prayers. Maybe they listen… but they don't hear. Or maybe they hear, and they just don't care. Either way, talking to the sky is the same as talking to a wall. Pretty, distant, silent. You can scream at it all you want — it won't scream back."
A faint, bitter smile touched his lips.
"So why do we keep talking? Why do we keep explaining ourselves to people who've already decided who we are? Habit? Hope? Stupidity?"
He leaned his head back again, letting starlight wash over his face.
"Maybe it's because silence hurts worse than being misunderstood. Silence means you're truly alone. And being alone… that's the one thing even monsters can't pretend doesn't hurt."
The meadow sighed around him — wind moving through flowers, crickets starting their quiet song, the tree's branches creaking like an old friend settling in.
Leon's eyelids grew heavy.
"For tonight… I'll let the stars listen. They don't judge. They don't run. They just… are."
His breathing deepened.
And somewhere far beneath the surface of his mind, in a shadowed corner he could no longer reach, something watched.
Silent.
Patient.
Waiting.
Meanwhile — Heavenly Fate Sect, Nightfall
In the quiet opulence of a private chamber lit by floating spirit orbs — jade walls etched with glowing fate-runes, silk bedding soft as clouds, incense smoke curling like benevolent dragons — the newborn Lyreen sat propped against embroidered pillows, tiny body barely able to hold itself upright.
He tried to cultivate.
Legs crossed in the most pathetic imitation of a lotus pose a baby could manage, eyes squeezed shut, face scrunched in concentration. Nothing happened.
Lyreen's tiny face fell into open disappointment.
"Well… this isn't what I expected. Are you really sure I'm blessed by heaven?"
The system window bloomed instantly before his vision, tone dry and long-suffering.
"You're being an idiot. What did you think would happen? Don't tell me you expected to instantly gain some overpowered skills or something?"
Lyreen pouted, turning his head away like a sulking toddler.
"Huh? Then what? You're not gonna give me any overpowered skills? Wait… doesn't that mean you're useless?"
The system window pulsed with visible exasperation.
"Sigh… host, what should I do with you? The system will help you. It will provide strong skills, techniques, guidance — but first, look at yourself. You don't even have teeth yet. You can't even move properly. What's the point of giving you skills right now? You'd probably just drool on them."
"What the system recommends is simple: sleep like a baby. Act like a baby. Let no one get suspicious. Grow. Wait. When your body is ready… then we begin."
Lyreen's pout vanished. His yellow eyes lit up with sudden excitement, tiny fists pumping.
"Ooooh! Then that means I'll get overpowered skills in the future?! I'm so damn excited already! This is the first time you said something useful, system — you know that?"
"I'll take it as a compliment, host."
The spirit orbs dimmed gently. The room filled with soft, lullaby-like chimes from distant sect bells.
Lyreen yawned, eyelids drooping.
"Fine… baby mode activated. But don't forget — when I'm ready… we go big."
The system window faded with a quiet flicker.