Pov author
Anna stopped in front of the painting.
The portrait of her hung within a towering frame of pale carved ivory, displayed beneath the soft golden lights of the museum hall. Visitors often slowed their steps before it, drawn by the quiet elegance that seemed to radiate from the canvas. Within the painting, Mong stood in flowing white robes, her long dark hair cascading down her shoulders like a river of ink. Her face was delicate, almost porcelain-like, untouched by time. Crimson tassel earrings brushed her neck, their vivid color glowing against the calm purity of her attire. But it was her eyes that held the room captive—clear, deep, and distant, as if she were gazing beyond the centuries that separated her from the living world. The longer one stared at the portrait, the more it felt as though Mong herself stood silently behind the glass, watching.
Anna couldn't believe it.
Shou feng married her...?
Her hand lifted before she could stop herself.
Her fingers brushed the painting.
Swoosh.
A sudden gust of wind rushed past her.
Anna turned sharply.
Her eyes widened.
The Wind Whisperer.
The vertical bow rested inside a glass case not far from her. The faint pull of air magic surrounded it.
She didn't need to look closely.
She knew exactly what it was.
She walked toward it.
The hall opened into a massive chamber filled with weapons—swords, bows, daggers, ancient artifacts placed carefully behind glass displays. At the front of the room stood a huge portrait of Mong Feng, watching over everything like a silent guardian.
Anna stopped in front of the Wind Whisperer's case.
A small silver plate was fixed beneath it.
real owner of the Wind Whisperer: unknown.
Her breath caught.
Slowly, she opened the case.
The moment her fingers touched the bow—
A violent gust of wind burst outward.
Anna stumbled backward, nearly losing her balance before crashing into a stone chest behind her.
"You know… in a museum you're not really allowed to touch things."
Anna froze.
She turned her head slowly.
Alex stood there, arms crossed, watching her with an amused smile.
Anna swallowed hard.
Alex stepped closer and reached past her, calmly closing the glass case again.
"My relatives," he said lightly, "are a little… personal about the things kept here."
"I'm sorry," Anna said quickly. "Curiosity got the better of me."
Alex shrugged.
"It happens."
Then he glanced around the room.
"But honestly, the real things start from here anyway. The paintings in the other hall are just fakes."
Anna looked up at him.
"Fake? Fake as in fake?"
"Yep."
He gestured casually.
"Well… except for one person. Yuvan Yu. His picture is real. Though he's not that important."
Anna frowned immediately.
"Actually, Yuvan is very important. He's nice… collected… protective—"
Alex raised both hands dramatically.
"Woah, woah."
He tilted his head, studying her.
"You don't even know him. Why are you getting so protective? It's like you know him."
Anna looked away.
"It's not like I know him. I just don't think we should judge someone without knowing them."
Alex nodded slowly.
"Fair enough."
Then he smirked.
"But still… you know a lot about him."
He leaned slightly closer.
"Jeez, Anna, it almost sounds like you read a fanfiction about him or something."
Anna stayed quiet.
Alex laughed.
"That guy's a myth. He doesn't exist."
The words hit Anna harder than she expected.
Her chest tightened.
Alex inhaled and clapped his hands once.
"Anyway. Come on."
He gestured around the room.
"Let's walk. I'll show you the real stuff."
Anna glanced back at the Wind Whisperer.
"It's beautiful… isn't it?"
Alex followed her gaze.
"Yeah," he said. "It really is."
They started walking.
"Everything in this room belonged to Mong Feng," Alex said.
Anna looked at him.
"You know him?"
"My uncle told me stories about him," Alex replied. "Apparently Mong Feng was very serious. A sharp ninja."
Anna burst out laughing.
Alex stopped.
"What?"
She tried to calm herself but another laugh escaped.
"Yeah… right."
Alex stared at her suspiciously.
"You know Mong too? Like Yuvan?"
Anna shook her head quickly.
"No, no. Please continue."
Alex narrowed his eyes for a moment but continued.
"Well… according to my uncle, Mong Feng hated his stepbrother Shou Feng. My uncle even insists I should call him Lord Feng instead of saying his name."
They kept walking until they entered another room.
Anna suddenly stopped.
Her eyes widened.
It was the same room.
The exact same one.
The room where her father had stood years ago when they first entered the museum. The day everything started.
The day she met Zara.
Back when she was just a kid.
Alex spoke, completely unaware of the memories crashing through Anna's mind.
"This is the room people usually want to see."
He gestured around.
"It holds the legends of Shou Feng."
Anna frowned.
"But you said it was a myth."
Alex shrugged.
"According to me, yeah. But according to my uncle, they're all real and still alive."
He scoffed.
"Completely delusional if you ask me."
He walked toward the first painting.
Lord Kazan carried the silence of ancient power. Darkness clothed him like a crown, and the golden dragon coiling across his robes seemed almost alive beneath the dim glow of light. His eyes held a quiet intensity, golden and calculating, as though he could see through both time and fate itself. One elegant hand lifted slightly, holding a small ring of light between his fingers, as if the universe were nothing more than a fragile spark he could shape at will.
"This is Lord Kazan. Apparently a god who trained Shou Feng. My uncle says Shou Feng never went against him."
Alex glanced back at Anna.
"And before you judge me, I'm just repeating what my uncle says."
Anna smiled slightly.
Alex looked back at the painting.
"Tell me something. Can someone's eyes actually be golden?"
Anna raised her eyebrows.
Golden eyes.
Sharp.
Unstable.
Dangerous.
She remembered them clearly.
Alex moved to the next one.
"This is Kiyoshi Hitoko. Master of potions. God of peace… or something."
He studied the painting briefly.
There stood the portrait of Kiyoshi, displayed in a tall frame of polished dark wood. The lighting above the painting cast a soft glow across his features, bringing the portrait to life in an almost unsettling way. His long dark hair fell loosely over his shoulders, decorated with delicate silver ornaments and thin chains that shimmered like faint threads of moonlight. At the center of his forehead rested a small blue jewel, painted so carefully it seemed to glow from within the canvas. His expression was calm, yet unreadable—his eyes sharp and thoughtful, as though he understood every visitor who paused before him. There was an unusual presence to the painting, something that made people linger a little longer, unsure whether they admired him… or felt quietly observed by him.
"He looks kind."
Anna nodded.
"He is."
Alex blinked at her.
"You sound pretty confident about that."
She quickly looked away.
Alex moved on.
At the far end of the quiet exhibition hall hung Renji's portrait, framed in dark polished wood that mirrored the elegance of his attire. He stood within the painting dressed in flowing black robes embroidered with intricate silver designs that shimmered subtly beneath the gallery lights. A delicate silver ornament rested within his long dark hair, its shape curling like frozen flames. His posture was composed, hands resting calmly behind his back, his head slightly lowered as though deep in thought. Yet despite the calm expression on his face, there was an undeniable authority in his presence. Visitors often felt an inexplicable chill when standing before the portrait, as though Renji himself still lingered within the canvas, silently guarding secrets that time had long forgotten.
"This one is Lord Renji. The god of death."
He folded his arms.
"They say he never used his father's name. Apparently saying it kills the person who speaks it."
Anna stared at the painting quietly.
"And according to the story," Alex continued, "he hated his father because his father killed his mother."
They walked further.
Tomika looked like the embodiment of calm fortune. His long hair flowed softly behind him, dark strands catching the warm light like drifting silk. A faint smile rested on his lips—gentle, charming, almost innocent. The red ornaments at his ears and across his robes swayed lightly with each movement, adding warmth to his presence. Yet beneath that peaceful expression was something unreadable, a quiet depth that hinted he was far more than the kindness he appeared to be.
"This is Tomika," Alex said. "No idea what he did to lose his father's name, but supposedly he was the god of luck and Shou Feng's best friend."
Anna nodded slowly.
But she knew the truth.
Tomika was never a friend.
He was a traitor.
They stopped at another painting.
Mounted proudly along the gallery wall, Yuvan's portrait carried a quiet strength that filled the surrounding space. The deep blue of his robes contrasted against the pale museum walls, making the painting impossible to ignore. He stood with composed confidence, one arm folded while the other rested near the hilt of an ornate sword at his side. The weapon's golden engravings caught the light from the museum lamps, gleaming faintly through the glass that protected the painting. His dark hair was tied loosely behind him, and his sharp gaze seemed fixed somewhere beyond the viewer. There was a silent authority in his posture—an unspoken command that made the portrait feel less like art and more like the preserved image of a legendary warrior.
"This is Yuvan Yu," Alex said. "Same picture you saw outside, but this one is the original. The ones outside are for normal visitors. Where Mong Feng stood is reserved for VVIP."
Then Alex spread his arms dramatically.
"And now…"
He pointed toward the largest painting.
Shou stood like a quiet storm wrapped in silk and shadow. Long dark hair fell past his shoulders, moving like ink in water whenever the air stirred. His features were sharp yet strangely beautiful, the kind that carried both danger and grace in equal measure. There was something distant in his gaze, as if his thoughts belonged to another world entirely. Power seemed to rest around him naturally, not forced, not displayed—just present, like the calm before lightning breaks the sky.
"Our famous Lord Feng."
"Shou Feng."
"The so-called god of darkness and destruction."
Alex smirked.
"They say his name alone terrified the entire world. No one dared look toward the Feng Kingdom while he ruled."
He shook his head.
"Villain of the century."
Then his eyes lit up.
"Oh wait. This part is actually funny."
He walked a few steps and stopped beside another painting.
She stood with her back turned, long dark hair cascading down like a river of midnight. Soft ribbons of blue moved with the air around her, weaving through her hair like whispers of wind. The colors of her robe flowed gently between shades of violet and pale sky, giving her a presence both delicate and distant. There was a quiet grace in the way she stood—silent, mysterious, like someone who carried a story too deep for the world to fully see.
"This," Alex said, grinning, "is the supposed lover of Shou Feng."
He laughed lightly.
"Can you believe it? A villain, murderer, dictator… had a girl."
He tapped the glass lightly.
"Too bad we can't see her face."
"This painting was apparently made by Shou Feng himself."
Anna stood very still.
Her heart pounded in her chest.
She knew.
That was her.
But how was it here?
In this timeline?
Nothing made sense anymore.
Her gaze moved across the room.
In front of each painting stood a glass case holding an artifact.
In front of Lord Kazan rested a gold and white dagger.
In front of Renji lay a black bracelet with golden designs.
In front of Kiyoshi stood a sealed potion bottle.
In front of the lover of Shou Feng—
Anna's breath caught.
The necklace.
The one that belonged to Shou Feng's mother.
The one Shou Feng had given to her.
And in front of Shou Feng's painting rested a black flute.
Each artifact stood silently behind glass.
Alex continued talking beside her, explaining the legends with casual amusement.
But he had no idea.
The girl standing next to him had lived every single one of those stories.
Anna stood beside Alex in front of the painting of Shou Feng's lover, her eyes lingering on the glass case below it—the necklace resting inside like a memory she could almost touch.
Alex was still talking beside her, casually repeating the legends his uncle had told him, but Anna wasn't really listening anymore.
Something had pulled her attention away.
Her gaze shifted slowly across the wall.
And then it stopped.
Another painting hung a little farther away.
Unlike the others, there was no name beneath it.
No polished plate.
No explanation.
Just the frame.
Anna frowned slightly and took a step closer.
The man in the painting stood alone, his posture calm, almost effortless, as if the world around him had never once managed to disturb him. Long dark hair fell over his shoulders, unmoving in the stillness of paint.
But it was his eyes that made Anna's breath falter.
Gold.
Not bright.
Not glowing.
Just… gold.
Deep and quiet, like something ancient hidden beneath layers of time.
For a strange moment, Anna felt as if the room had grown colder.
The museum lights hummed softly above them, yet the air around her felt heavier, thicker.
Behind the man, a serpent curved through the shadows, its long body resting across his shoulder like a silent companion.
Anna's fingers curled slightly at her side.
She had never seen this man before.
She was sure of it.
And yet something about the painting felt disturbingly alive.
"Alex…"
Her voice came out softer than she meant it to.
Alex turned toward her.
"Yeah?"
She nodded toward the painting.
"Who's that?"
Alex followed her gaze.
For a moment, he didn't say anything.
He stepped closer to the painting, studying it as if he were seeing it properly for the first time.
"Huh."
Anna looked at him.
"No name?" she asked.
Alex shook his head.
"Nope."
He leaned in slightly, squinting at the frame.
Then he straightened, thinking.
"My uncle mentioned something about this one once…"
Anna's stomach tightened.
Alex folded his arms, still staring at the mysterious man in the painting.
"I'm not completely sure," he said slowly.
"But…"
He tilted his head slightly.
"I think this was the person who killed Shou Feng."
The words settled heavily into the silence.
Anna felt a sudden chill run down her spine.
And for a single, impossible second—
she could have sworn the golden eyes in the painting were no longer looking past her.
They were looking directly at her.
To be continued…