The night's heavenly bodies wandered in silence, their light cold and uncertain. The crickets sang an elegy to autumn, each chirp a brittle echo of fading warmth. The moon had turned everything grey — as though it no longer gave light, only memory.
Climbing the long steps toward the shrine, I thought about how I used to dread them. Now, they were nothing — proof of how far I'd come. Life had become a steady climb ever since that marquis's death had thrown the city into chaos. Prices soared; wages shrank. My once comfortable pay now barely kept the cold off my back.
Still, there was one small light in all the growing shadow. Vivianna's letter had finally reached me. She'd gone to the capital to meet Mary and wrote that if I ever needed anything, I should come find them. I folded that thought into my heart as I reached the final step, the paper lanterns of the shrine glowing dimly like tired stars.
Something was off.
The hairs on my arms rose, and my breath fogged too quickly in the air. The wind had teeth now; it bit instead of brushed. Somewhere in the trees, something metallic rattled — like prayer bells disturbed by a hand that wasn't there.
I tightened my grip on my tantō. I wasn't a soldier, but this age taught its own kind of survival. Instinct was worth more than law.
The shrine's main hall was still lit. I took a cautious step toward it.
"Good evening, Miss Victoria. Be at ease."
The voice was cool, deliberate — like the whisper of winter before the first frost.
I turned, pulse loud in my ears.
It was the man from the base of the mountain, the one in the white robes. The moonlight revealed him clearly now — long black hair streaked with silver, eyes sharp and knowing. He looked like he'd stepped out of a scroll painting: serene, deadly, untouchable.
The man from the road leading to the hill. My hand lingered on the hilt.
"We should go inside," he said, his gaze flicking briefly to my sleeve. The corner of his mouth lifted, amused. Then he turned and walked ahead, calm as the moonlight itself. I followed — not out of trust, but because curiosity is its own leash.
He knocked once on the sliding door. It opened.
Inside sat Hitmisu, Dōngzhi, and the others — but they weren't alone. Two strangers occupied the tatami floor beside them.
"Some cultivators were playing in your garden," the white-robed man said, his tone walking that fine edge between jest and threat. "So I did a bit of weeding. I hope that earns me some of your good graces."
His words landed like stones.
He was indeed the man I'd seen earlier — a member of the Shuǐlóng Zú, one of the dragon clans. The other stranger, taller and calmer, bore the same slitted pupils and the faint horns curling near the temples — a family resemblance carved by bloodline.
"Good evening, Miss," the man said, turning toward me.
"Good evening… your highness," I replied before I could stop myself, bowing slightly.
He laughed — a deep, genuine sound that filled the wooden chamber. "She's an interesting one," he said to Hitmisu, who only smiled faintly.
"Victoria," Haru called from her corner, her tone playful as ever. "What do you think about taking a trip with this fine young man's little sister?"
"Travel?" I blinked. "Why—and with her?" I gestured toward the girl quietly sipping tea as though none of this mattered.
"Is this about the growing war tension?" My voice came out sharper than I meant. The air in the room felt heavier than before.
"If you're leaving the city," I said firmly, "then so are the rest of us. Vivianna and Mary are already in the capital. We—"
"Dear," Hinata interrupted, her voice like the hush of falling petals. "Yako-no-Hoshimi is the god of this land. We are her priestesses. We cannot leave."
The finality in her tone made the room colder.
"It will be fine," Danpung added softly. "You know how Yako-no-Hoshimi-sama is. She protects what's hers."
"So you want me to leave the city with his sister?" I asked, incredulous.
The girl in question finally looked up. Her eyes were the color of warm caramel, yet there was nothing soft in them — just a patient, distant calm.
"Are you the next king or something?" I asked the dragon man bluntly.
He smiled faintly. "No. The dragon clans aren't royalty in title, just in history. We carry our crowns in blood, not gold. Cultivation, politics, duty — the usual curses."
"So you're staying here," I said, folding my arms, "to represent the crown?"
"Something like that," he replied, taking another sip of his tea.
"I'll fetch more," Danpung murmured, rising gracefully with her tray.
"So," I pressed, "where exactly am I supposed to go with your sister? And what's her name, anyway?"
The girl blinked once, then answered in a voice like wind brushing over dry sand.
"Heiwa."
Then she bit into her mooncake, unbothered, crumbs catching the silver light.
No one spoke for a while after that. The silence wasn't awkward; it was ceremonial, like everyone was listening to something beyond the walls — maybe the moon itself.
Dōngzhi eventually stood, bowing her head slightly. "Your dinner's ready, Victoria. Go wash up and eat while it's still warm."
Her tone made it clear that whatever discussion I had interrupted wasn't meant for my ears. I didn't argue.
Outside, the air smelled faintly of rain. I washed under the moonlight, its silver reflection rippling across the basin. The cold bit into my hands and arms until they almost felt numb — or maybe that was just how the night had decided to touch me.
"The days are numbered," I murmured. "Even the wind sounds like a warning now."
I looked up.
The moon seemed closer than before — swollen and sleepless, its light restless on the shrine roofs and the pale stones of the path. It wasn't the gentle companion of poets or dreamers tonight. It looked… watchful.
As I toweled my hair and glanced toward the hall, the laughter inside had quieted. A faint breeze swept through the courtyard, carrying the scent of pine and incense.
Something told me that tomorrow, everything would begin to change.
That this trip — this strange pairing with a girl who spoke like sandstorms — would lead me far beyond the city's war-torn calm.
And above it all, the moon refused to blink.
---