The air near the forest line felt wrong.
Not hotter. Not colder.
Just heavier.
Ma Qingya had gone completely still beside the trees, her usual restless energy gone. Her eyes were focused somewhere deep beyond the first line of trunks, pupils faintly silver as her Sky-Sense sharpened.
"There are five of them," she said quietly. No humor in her voice now. "They're moving in formation. Tight. Clean. Not students."
Xiao Yan felt it too — that faint, oily sensation crawling under his skin. The same scent he'd smelled in the Forbidden Zone. The same pressure that lingered before something ugly happened.
"They're not wandering," he said. "They're headed somewhere."
"Up," Qingya replied. "They're angling toward the lift arrays."
Michael's voice sounded sharper than usual.
[These aren't strays. If they reach the upper halls unnoticed, things will get ugly fast.]
Yanlin stepped up beside them without needing to be asked. His jaw was already set.
"What do we do?"
Xiao Yan didn't hesitate.
"We don't let them reach the mountain."
Yanlin cracked his knuckles once, the sound low and solid. "I'll block anything that tries to circle back."
Qingya glanced at Xiao Yan. He could see the calculation in her eyes — speed versus weight, risk versus timing.
"Follow me," she said.
And then she was gone.
They moved fast.
Qingya barely touched the ground, her body carried forward by quiet bursts of wind. Xiao Yan followed more heavily, but no less silently. His steps were measured. Controlled. Every breath steady despite the dull ache still lingering in his ribs.
They caught sight of them near Silver-Thread Falls.
Five figures in black armor stood beneath the veil of rushing water. The armor wasn't polished or ceremonial — it was jagged, uneven, like something forged in darkness without concern for symmetry. Purple light flickered inside their visors.
One of them held a black spike.
Qingya's expression tightened. "If that goes into the array, they can open a path straight into the upper halls."
Xiao Yan didn't ask for more explanation.
He moved.
He burst from the trees before the demons fully registered him, closing the distance in a handful of strides. He didn't draw his sword.
He drove his shoulder straight into the nearest one.
The crack of impact echoed against stone.
Armor shattered.
The demon flew backward into the cliffside and crumpled, the purple flame inside its helm flickering out like a candle snuffed between fingers.
The clearing erupted.
"Protect the anchor!" one of them shrieked — the voice harsh and metallic.
Two broke toward him immediately, blades forming from shadow in their hands.
Xiao Yan planted his feet.
The first blade swung for his neck.
He raised his arm.
The impact rang like metal striking rock.
Pain flared along his forearm, but the blade didn't cut.
He closed his fingers around it.
The demon tried to pull back.
Xiao Yan twisted.
The shadow-blade snapped in half.
He stepped in close and drove a short punch into the creature's chest.
There was no dramatic explosion.
Just a dense, crushing force.
The demon folded inward on itself, collapsing into ash that scattered across the wet stone.
To his right, Qingya was already in motion.
She moved like a storm compressed into human shape — light, quick, unpredictable. Her fan remained closed, used as a precise striking tool. Each flick of her wrist sent sharp bursts of wind into joints, gaps, weak points.
One demon staggered as air pressure slammed into its knee. Another reeled when she struck the side of its helm.
"Xiao Yan!" she shouted. "The spike!"
The leader had reached the array.
The black spike was already halfway down.
Xiao Yan surged forward—
And the world turned white.
A spear of ice tore through the waterfall in a flash of blinding blue light.
It pierced the demon clean through the throat and pinned it to the stone behind the array.
The spike fell from its hand.
The purple glow died.
Everything froze — not just the water spray, but the air itself.
Xiao Yan slowed, hand still on the hilt of his sword, and looked up.
Ling Xuelian stood at the top of the falls.
Her robes stirred gently in the mist, pale and untouched by the chaos below. The translucent wings at her back shimmered faintly, refracting the light like thin sheets of frost.
She descended without hurry, landing softly on the slick stone.
"You're far from your Gate," she said, her voice calm but edged with something sharper.
"They weren't sightseeing," Xiao Yan replied, wiping dark residue from his sleeve.
Her gaze swept over the fallen demons. Over Qingya. Then back to him.
"You're injured again."
He glanced down at the split seams of his robe and the fresh bruise forming along his arm.
"I'll live."
She raised her staff slightly. Cool mist flowed outward, wrapping around his ribs and arm. The pain dulled. The tightness eased. Bone settled back into place with a quiet, internal shift.
He hadn't realized how much it hurt until it stopped.
"Thank you," he said, more quietly than usual.
She studied him for a moment — longer than necessary.
"There have been movements along the lower barriers for days," she said. "If they're bold enough to approach during trials, something is shifting."
"In the Abyss?" Qingya asked.
"In the mountain," Xuelian corrected.
Silence fell.
The waterfall resumed its natural rhythm behind them.
"You should return," she continued. "The lower Gates aren't prepared for a full breach."
She stepped back, wings shimmering faintly as she lifted off once more.
Before she rose beyond the mist, her eyes met Xiao Yan's.
Just briefly.
Then she was gone.
Qingya let out a low breath once the frost in the air faded.
"Well," she said lightly, though the tension hadn't left her shoulders. "That was exciting."
Yanlin arrived moments later, breath steady but eyes alert.
"All clear behind us," he reported. Then he looked at the scattered ash and broken armor. "I leave you two alone for ten minutes…"
Xiao Yan turned toward the forest.
It was quiet again.
Too quiet.
"They weren't testing us," he said. "They were testing the mountain."
Qingya followed his gaze upward toward the distant floating halls barely visible through the trees.
"You think they'll try again?"
"They always do," he replied.
He flexed his healed hand slowly.
"I've got thirty-one more Gates to climb," he said. "If the mountain's waking up, then it can wake up with me."
The wind stirred once through the trees.
And somewhere above them, unseen forces were already moving into place.
To be continued....