The wind carried a chill that cut through robes and armor alike, howling across the jagged peaks of the Northern Mountains. Eryndor's steps were silent, even though his presence felt unnatural, like a shadow moving against the current of the world. Every rock, every tree, seemed to shiver at the whisper of power coiling within him—hungry, patient, alive.
He had followed the elder's instructions: investigate the falling star that had landed beyond the northern ridges. The sect had kept its distance, afraid of what anomalies might awaken. Yet as he walked, Eryndor felt the subtle pull of the Starved God inside him. It was eager. Hungry. Curious.
He stopped at the edge of a deep canyon where the air shimmered faintly. Something had landed here—Qi twisted and chaotic, residue of unnatural force lingering like a stain on the wind. He knelt, tracing the patterns with his fingertips. They were familiar yet alien, drawn in arcs that resonated with his own shadowed energy.
Then came the presence.
Not subtle. Not quiet.
It brushed against him like the first gusts of a storm before the lightning strikes. Eryndor's senses screamed—someone was near. Someone… different.
From the shadows of a ridge, a figure stepped forward: a woman. Young, yet poised, with silver hair braided neatly over one shoulder and eyes that gleamed like polished jade. Her gaze locked on him instantly, piercing, analytical. There was a certainty in the way she moved, as if she could read not just his strength, but the void within him—the unnatural absence that hid under his skin.
She stopped a few paces away, tilting her head slightly. "You're not a normal cultivator," she said softly, yet her voice carried across the canyon. Calm, precise, almost unnervingly confident. "Your Qi… it's not stable. It's… devouring. Alive."
Eryndor's pulse quickened. No one had ever noticed before. Not the disciples. Not the elder. But her eyes—her presence—made him feel exposed, raw. Yet… there was no hostility. Only understanding.
He straightened, keeping his voice even. "And you are?"
"Mei Lin," she replied, her gaze unflinching. "I track anomalies like yours. It is rare… dangerous. And fascinating." She stepped closer, the wind catching the hem of her robes. "Tell me—what are you?"
The Starved God inside him stirred, amused. She can see us… already.
Eryndor felt the hunger rise, a coil of shadow and power surging beneath his skin. "I am…" he began, but stopped, realizing he could not fully admit it yet. Not even to her. "I am… something else."
Mei Lin's lips curved slightly, the first hint of a smile, but her eyes never wavered. "I suspected as much. I felt it the moment you crossed into the mountains. You are not a cultivator, nor a demon… yet you are alive in ways few are."
A silence settled between them, heavy and electric. Eryndor could feel the Starved God's anticipation—this woman was more than she appeared. She could challenge perception, perhaps even control what others could not.
Then she tilted her head, a challenge glinting in her jade eyes. "I will watch you," she said. "Learn from you… or stop you, if I must. But make no mistake—the mountains will not forgive weakness. And neither will I."
Eryndor felt it: her senses were sharp, unyielding. She was not afraid. And that, strangely, made him respect her. Perhaps… cautiously trust her.
The wind picked up again, sweeping past the two of them. Somewhere deep in the mountains, a faint shimmer pulsed—the fallen star, waiting. The Starved God inside him stirred impatiently, whispering of power, of consumption, of the chaos that awaited.
Eryndor inhaled. "Then we begin," he said.
Mei Lin nodded, but her eyes never left him. She sensed it, he knew. The void inside him, the darkness he carried, and perhaps, the danger he would become.
And as they descended into the Northern Mountains together, the world seemed to hold its breath.