Mist gathered thick over the western ridge again, curling around tree trunks like silent spirits. The sun struggled to pierce it, scattering pale light through leaves that dripped from the morning's rain.
Somewhere within that fog, Lin Dong crouched low beneath a cluster of roots, heart hammering. He could hear them — boots crunching, blades whispering from their sheaths. Clan scouts.
"Spread out," one voice ordered. "The pulse came from this direction. Don't let anything escape."
He bit his lip, fingers pressed against the earth. The mark on his palm burned faintly — reacting to something. Power. Energy. Fear.
Not now, he thought desperately. Please, not now.
But the rune pulsed anyway — soft gold leaking through his fingers, faint but visible.
A twig snapped to his right. He turned sharply, eyes wide.
A scout was less than ten paces away, scanning the undergrowth.
"Who's there?"
The man stepped closer. Lin Dong held his breath, every muscle screaming to move. The moment the scout reached for his sword—
Flash.
A burst of light erupted from Lin Dong's palm, wild and uncontrolled. The ground trembled, throwing dust into the air. Roots split and twisted like snakes, flinging the man backward into a tree. He slumped, stunned.
Lin Dong froze, staring at his hand. The rune had acted on its own — not gentle this time, but violent, raw.
Another shout rang out.
"Over there! Did you see that?"
He bolted.
Branches whipped his face as he tore through the forest, his breath ragged. The glow on his palm pulsed faster, in rhythm with his heartbeat, like it was alive — guiding him, protecting him, or perhaps… using him.
He vaulted over a fallen log, landing hard near a creek. Behind him, voices closed in. He could see the faint shimmer of armor between the trees.
He backed up, cornered. Water rushed cold against his heels.
"I don't want to fight," he muttered. "Just stop…"
But they didn't stop.
Three scouts burst into view, swords drawn. The leader's voice rang out —
"You there! Show your hands!"
Lin Dong lifted them slowly. The moment the mark caught sunlight, it flared like molten gold. Energy rippled outward — visible, tangible. The creek water rose in spirals, defying gravity, circling him in threads of light.
The men hesitated, faces pale.
"That's—That's not possible…"
The world seemed to listen to him. Every leaf, every breath of air. He could feel the currents of Yuan energy bending at his command, instinctive, chaotic.
He thrust his hand forward. The water answered.
A wave exploded from the creek, slamming into the scouts and sweeping them off their feet.
Silence.
The forest fell still again, only the sound of dripping leaves and Lin Dong's ragged breathing breaking the air.
He stared at his palm — the glow fading.
"What… are you?" he whispered to the rune.
It pulsed once, softer now. Then it went dark.
Somewhere deeper in the woods, unseen by him, a shadowy figure lowered its hood.
A stranger — tall, wrapped in travel-worn robes — had been watching. The glint of a sigil shimmered faintly on their wrist.
"So… the talisman awakens again," the stranger murmured. "After all these years."
They turned and vanished into the mist.