~oOo~
The Xianzhou Empire stood proud at the heart of Tiansheng, the grandest and most powerful capital in the World of Mighty Heaven—a realm where Qi flowed like rivers and the line between immortality and ruin was as fragile as a single breath.
In the imperial palace adorned with jade towers and celestial silks, two daughters were born to Emperor Xian Wuye and Empress Ji Meiran—Xian Ruo, the firstborn, and Xian Ning, her younger sister by several years. They were heirs to a bloodline blessed by the heavens, but more than that, they were sisters bound by a love deeper than lineage, stronger than the golden walls surrounding them.
From a young age, Xian Ruo showed signs of extraordinary strength. At just five years old, she began cultivating Qi with clarity and precision far beyond her years. The court was in awe. Scholars whispered that the eldest princess might ascend into immortality before she reached adulthood. But none of that mattered to Ruo—not as much as the day her baby sister was born.
From the moment Xian Ning took her first breath, Ruo saw it as her responsibility to protect her. She was more than a sister—she was a guide, a teacher, a steady flame in the vast storm of their royal lives. By the time Ning could walk, Ruo was already teaching her how to center her energy, to feel the rhythm of her Qi, to breathe with purpose. The palace watched the two girls grow—one calm and composed, the other bright and impulsive—but always together, always close.
Their bond became legendary within the palace walls. Attendants would often find them practicing in secret corners of the gardens or sneaking extra steamed buns to share under the moonlight. And though their talents differed, their connection was unshakable.
Then came the request that would change everything.
It was the fifth day of the Qi Yun Festival, just before dawn, and the sacred Fire Tree Forest—a grove where leaves burned with eternal flame—had begun its brief, once-a-year bloom. Xian Ning, now eight years old and ever-curious, pressed her palms together and turned to her older sister.
"Please, sister Xia Ruo," she whispered, eyes wide with pleading. "Consider it your birthday gift to me."
Ruo looked up from her scrolls, brows slightly furrowed. "Ning'er... you know we're forbidden from leaving the capital. Especially the palace. The Fire Tree Forest is outside the warded perimeter."
"It's only a few li away," Ning said eagerly. "I've studied the maps. We could make it back before anyone notices. And the trees—sister, they're in bloom. Just for five days."
Ruo's expression hardened, though her voice remained gentle. "Beyond Tiansheng, there is no protection. The Celestial Wardens only guard within the capital's boundary. If we cross it, we step into a world filled with things even the strongest Qi cannot always overcome."
"But you'll be with me," Ning argued, voice soft but resolute. "You're the strongest person I know."
Ruo hesitated. The weight of responsibility clashed with the fierce devotion she had for her sister. She had trained her, nurtured her, stood by her—and now, Ning was asking her to bend a rule forged not out of control, but out of survival.
And yet, how could she deny her?
Ruo looked toward the window where the first hints of sunrise peeked through. Somewhere out there, the Fire Trees were beginning to glow—an ocean of flame-tipped leaves swaying in the wind.
"But if anything happens to you..." she began.
"Nothing will," Ning said quickly, grabbing her sister's hand. "I promise."
Ruo closed her eyes for a breath.
"...Get your cloak. We leave in fifteen minutes."
Neither of them knew that beyond the borders of Tiansheng, something ancient had already awakened.
With Xian Ruo's cultivated powers, slipping past their guards and leaving both the palace and the capital became a carefully executed escape—one only she could have orchestrated. She cloaked their presence in a veil of Qi, bending sound and shadow around them like silk. No one noticed the soft pad of their footsteps or the subtle rush of energy as they crossed the outer palace walls.
It helped that the palace was in a frenzy. The Qi Yun Festival—a sacred, week-long celebration honoring the celestial flow of Qi—had consumed the empire's full attention. Courtiers rushed in every direction, ceremonial banners fluttered in the wind, and the emperor and empress, adorned in golden robes, presided over endless rituals. In the eyes of the empire, all reverence was directed toward the divine throne.
And so, for once, the imperial daughters were not the center of the world.
By the time the girls reached the edge of the Fire Tree Forest, the morning mist had begun to thin. The air shimmered with residual energy, thick with silence and ancient breath.
Xian Ning stopped just past the first line of trees, her lips parted in awe.
The forest was ablaze—but not with destruction.
Each tree stood tall and proud, its bark dark as midnight, its branches stretching outward like the arms of sleeping giants. The leaves... they burned. Not with heat, but with a cold, steady flame—reds and oranges flickering gently like fire suspended in water. The flames didn't consume the trees; they danced across the leaves as if alive, whispering secrets through the wind.
"It's like the stories..." Ning breathed, stepping forward. "But better."
She reached out instinctively as a single leaf floated down toward her. It landed in her open palm.
She didn't flinch—but she did blink.
"It's cold," she said in a hushed voice, holding it out toward her sister. "It feels like... snow."
Xian Ruo stood at the edge of the clearing, her arms folded inside her pale robe, eyes sharp beneath her calm expression. She watched her younger sister twirl beneath the falling leaves, each one glowing like a falling star.
In that moment, Ning was radiant—free from palace walls, protocol, and the ever-watchful eyes of court officials. Just a little girl, spinning under a canopy of fire and sky.
Ruo allowed herself a rare, soft smile.
She'd brought them here for this—for Ning to experience beauty untouched by rules, by power, by fear. And yet, even as she watched, a faint unease stirred in her chest. The forest was quiet... too quiet. The Qi here was not neutral. It pulsed beneath her feet in irregular rhythms—old, volatile, and watching.
Still, she said nothing.
Not yet.
Because Xian Ning was laughing.
And that sound was worth every risk.
"We need to go home now, Xian Ning," Xian Ruo called softly, her tone firm but calm. "It's almost midnight. We have to be back before the whole palace notices we're not at home."
Xian Ning spun one last time beneath the glowing canopy before slowing to a stop, breathless, cheeks flushed with excitement. "Already? But we just got here..."
"We've been here longer than you think," Ruo said, stepping forward. Her eyes scanned the treetops, her senses reaching out beyond the visible. "Time moves strangely in places like this. We can't stay any longer."
Ning's shoulders slumped a little, but she nodded, brushing a few flame-leaves from her hair. "Okay, okay... I just wanted to stay a bit more."
Ruo reached for her hand. "We'll come again someday. I promise."
But as their fingers touched, the wind shifted.
It was subtle at first—a sudden hush, as if the entire forest held its breath. The flame-leaves stopped falling. The air grew denser. Heavy. Cold, not like the playful chill of the leaves but something deeper, older. The Qi around them pulsed unevenly, like a heartbeat missing every other beat.
Xian Ruo's eyes sharpened. Her grip on Ning's hand tightened.
"Stay close," she said, her voice low and alert.
Ning looked around. "What is it?"
"I don't know yet."
From the depths of the forest, beyond where the light of the leaves reached, something shifted in the dark.
A shape.
A soundless movement.
A presence.
They were only a few steps from the edge of the grove when it came.
A sudden rush of fog—thick, cold, and unnaturally fast—rolled in from all directions. It wasn't mist from the mountain or the type that clings to the ground during late nights. This fog moved with purpose. It twisted around the trees like claws and swallowed the light of the flame-leaves, smothering their glow until only dull embers flickered above them.
Xian Ruo stopped dead in her tracks, instinct pulling her back even before the sound began.
A laugh.
Not loud. Not deep. But thin, warbling, echoing across the forest like wind scraping across cracked porcelain.
Her blood ran cold.
No.
The Dream-Eater of Stillness.
The name rang sharply in her mind as she reached out, silently linking her thoughts to her younger sister's.
"Don't panic, Ning. Stay awake. Stay with me."
Ning didn't respond, but Ruo could feel her fear—trembling, rising like a scream that hadn't yet found its voice. She held tightly to her sister's hand, now cold as the mist curling around them.
She had read about it. Once.
A forbidden scroll hidden deep within the imperial library's restricted wing—a place even court scholars dared not enter without the emperor's decree. But Xian Ruo, ever curious, ever seeking, had made her way past the barriers and read until her eyes burned.
And she remembered.
The Dream-Eater of Stillness.
One of the Seven Evils, but unlike the others who left scorched earth or bodies in their wake, this one left no graves, no corpses. Only silence. Those it claimed were never found again—not because they were taken, but because their bodies remained, perfectly preserved, as if simply asleep.
But their souls...
Their souls were another matter.
Once caught in its dream fog, the victim would be trapped in a deep slumber, unable to wake. While they slept, the Dream-Eater would crawl into their consciousness—feeding, little by little, on their spirit, their identity, their very essence. A slow, sweet consumption. And the worst part?
You wouldn't know you were asleep.
Not until there was nothing left.
Ruo tightened her grip on her sister and raised her free hand, channeling every ounce of Qi into a protective spell—not for both of them.
Just for Ning.
A shimmering seal burst from her palm, wrapping around her sister like a shell of translucent jade. Glyphs etched in silver danced across its surface, warding off external corruption. The spell would keep Ning's mind awake for a short time, even if the fog reached her. It was a technique only hinted at in ancient cultivation texts—a spell meant to preserve clarity at the cost of the caster's strength.
Ruo's knees trembled as she held it.
She didn't know how long it would hold.
But her sister would not fall.
Not tonight.
From the fog, a shape began to emerge—shifting, faceless, neither fully solid nor spirit. Its laugh came again, closer this time, like a lullaby sung through a broken mouth.
Ruo squared her shoulders, pushing Ning behind her.
"You will not have her," she whispered.
And as the Dream-Eater surged forward, the battle between light and sleep began.
~oOo~
Cali jolted upright with a violent gasp, like air was being forced into lungs that had forgotten how to breathe. Her scream ripped from her throat—raw, desperate, the kind of sound that didn't belong in the waking world. It echoed sharply in the silence of the darkened room, bouncing off the walls like a cry for help that even she didn't understand.
She was shaking. No—convulsing.
Every inch of her skin was slick with sweat, her nightshirt clinging to her back. Her hands clawed at the sheets as if trying to tear her way back into reality, into something solid. Her spine felt frozen, but her chest burned, a maddening contradiction. And underneath it all, that feeling—
That unbearable, crawling, gnawing sensation in her gut.
Like something had been eating her alive from the inside.
She couldn't even scream again. Her throat was too tight, her mouth too dry.
"Cali?"
A voice—deep, groggy, but suddenly alert.
The man beside her stirred and sat up quickly, instinct taking over. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, anchoring her trembling body against his bare chest. His skin was warm—too warm compared to the ice in her blood—and his heart beat steadily against her back like a lifeline.
Her breathing came in sharp, shallow gasps. She couldn't find rhythm. Couldn't find her voice.
She didn't even know where she was.
"Cali. Breathe," he murmured, voice low and firm, lips close to her ear. "You're safe. I've got you."
She couldn't answer. Her body wasn't listening. Her mind was still caught somewhere between here and there—trapped in the fog, in the darkness, in that place where something ancient and hungry waited for her each night.
The man pulled back, just enough to glance at her face in the low light spilling through the window. Her pupils were dilated. Her lips were pale. She was somewhere else.
"I'll get you water," he said quickly, already moving off the bed.
Cali caught a glimpse of his body—broad, sculpted, golden in the dim light—but it barely registered. She didn't care how beautiful he looked, how gentle his voice was, or how steady his hands had been.
Because the moment her eyes blinked, she could still see it.
That creeping fog.
That thing behind the smoke, waiting.
Watching.
It was always the same.
It wasn't just a dream.
It was a nightmare—vivid, vile, and unforgiving.
And this time, it hadn't let go of her easily.
She curled forward, gripping her knees, rocking slightly like a child trying to hush a sob. Her fingernails dug into her own skin just to feel something real. Her chest was tight, like her ribs were trying to crush her heart.
She wanted to scream again—but all she could manage was a whisper:
"Make it stop."
But no one ever could.
Not even her.