Chapter Text
Cold gusts of wind bellowed across the endless snow, and the cruel winter offered no mercy. The little dragon pressed onward through deserted plains, each step swallowed by silence. Life was scarce in these lands; the earth lay barren, stripped of the vibrant trees and wandering shrubs unlike the Luofu. Bailu shivered against the winter’s caress. Frost clung to her lashes, her lips bitten raw, her small frame trembling, despite the many layers of fur that she wore. The wind howled, tugging at her robes as if urging her to turn back to the gilded halls of the Exalting Sanctum, under the scrutiny of the Preceptors.
But she did not.
Her horns ached faintly, a familiar thrum of unease echoing through her veins.
Not fully Vidyadhara, they had said.
The words had been spoken in hushed tones, buried beneath layers of formality and ritual—as though disguising the truth among ceremony might dull its edge. Bailu had sat before the High Elders, small hands folded, feet barely touching the floor of the jade dais. Incense burned thick in the air, its sweetness cloying, meant to calm the spirit. Yet, it had done nothing to soothe her unease.
They spoke of tests and bloodlines, of deviations so rare they were almost mercifully unnamed. Scrolls unfurled at her feet, diagrams of lineage spiraling endlessly, never quite closing into a perfect circle. One elder avoided her gaze. Another watched her too closely.
“She is… incomplete,” someone had murmured.
another name was spoken reluctantly.
Dan Feng.
The air in the chamber had shifted at once, incense smoke curling tighter, heavier. Bailu had felt it then—a sharp pulse in her horns, a sudden ache deep in her chest, as though her body recognized the name before her mind could. The preceptors spat out his name, as if the bearer committed grievous acts against mankind. Which he in fact he has. That name was spoken in harsh whispers, a man that haunted Scargorge Waterscape. A man that sullied his hands with the blood of his own kind. A traitor.
Bailu knew little of the previous High Elder. Tales of his journeys, his glory, and his great achievements had spread far and wide throughout the Luofu—yet the Vidyadhara themselves remained tight-lipped. Even the preceptors spoke of him in fragments, and among his own people, he had never truly been accepted as one of their own.
“He left behind that abomination!” an elder thundered, his expression twisted with fury. “Had it not been for that craftsman—he—”
“That’s enough, Yīnyǔ.”
“Cursing him will not undo what he has done,” he continued, his voice lowered now, measured. “Nor will it ease the burden left behind.”
“You always defend him, Zǐchén,” Yīnyǔ said, the anger in his voice giving way to something grim.
Zǐchén did not look back at him. Instead, he turned fully toward Bailu, his tone gentler than what it was previously. “I do not condone his actions. The sins Dan Feng committed—”
He stopped.
After a brief pause, he exhaled and crouched slightly so his gaze met hers. “—are not for you to bear.”
A hand gestured softly toward the door. “Go, Bailu. This is not a place you should linger.”
The doors slid shut behind her with a loud, final thud. Bailu had taken only a few steps when raised voices bled through the seams.
“You hide behind mercy,” Yīnyǔ hissed. “As though that child is not proof enough.”
“Lower your voice,” Zǐchén snapped. “If you speak her name again, you will doom her to the same fate.”
There was a pause. When Zǐchén spoke again, his voice was raw—stripped of ceremony.
“She carries echoes of him,” he said. “Of both of them. And if the Luofu discovers what we buried—”
The rest dissolved into a murmur, swallowed by silence. Bailu stood frozen in the corridor, heart pounding, the ache in her chest flaring sharply. She did not know what they meant. Only that whatever truth they guarded so fiercely was bound to her, to Dan Feng.
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The starskiff’s remains lay far behind her now, swallowed by blankets of snow and heavy fog in the distance. The wind tore at her robes, biting through layers that should have kept the cold at bay. Her legs trembled, burning with exhaustion, and the edges of her vision blurred with frost.
She forced herself to take one more step. Just a little further… Her own words felt hollow, swallowed by the howling gusts.
Footprints. Fresh, recent—someone had been here. Bailu froze, heart hammering, every instinct screaming that she should flee. Yet, she stood there, frozen in place, gripped by a fear that clawed through her chest. Beyond this point, the world seemed hollow, swallowed by drifting snow and endless gray. Even if she ran, she lacked the strength to escape. Whatever waited out there—would find her.
Her legs buckled beneath her, and she curled into herself, pressing her arms tight against her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for whatever was coming, while the blizzard remained unchanging, cold and patient, as if the storm itself were watching. A tall shadow towered before her, still, almost impossibly silent. She waited with bated breath, yet the figure made no move, nor spoke.
She noticed it first in the air around the figure—a warmth, subtle and restrained, threading beneath the chill. The scent hit her like a carefully woven perfume: the delicate floral scent of spider lilies, softened by the comforting warmth of cashmere and amber, sweetened faintly by black currant, and rounded with the smooth, cozy richness of bourbon vanilla. It was as if she were sipping warm floral tea beside a crackling fireplace, every note wrapping around her like a quiet, invisible embrace.
Her shoulders loosened without thought, the ache in her horns easing slightly, and for the first time in hours, her racing heartbeat stilled. The storm around her felt distant, less biting, as though the presence alone offered a fragile sense of safety. He regarded her, crimson eyes careful, assessing—but not judging. The way his shoulders relaxed, the slight tilt of his head, the way the air seemed to shift around him—it was…strangely comforting.
Bailu took a tentative step forward, then another. Her breath fogged the air in short, ragged bursts. The snow swirled, draping the stranger in white, but he remained, a silent anchor in the storm. Her lips parted to speak, to demand who he was, why he was here—but the words froze on her tongue. The cold gnawed at her again, sharper this time, and she faltered.
Before she could stumble, strong hands—warm, solid, steady—caught her by the arms. The faint scent strengthened, wrapping around her like a shield against the biting wind. Her pulse stuttered, and her knees trembled, but she did not pull away.
He did not speak. He simply held her, silent and unassuming, until the world stopped tilting and her breath began to return. Her vision began to blur until it all faded to black.
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The soft crackle of flames brought warmth, its orange glow illuminating the stone walls of the cave. Under the soft light, Bailu shifted her gaze towards her savior. The man had an attire similar to hers—Xianzhou garmets. A dark long coat draped over his frame, barely fastened together by golden frog closures at the chest threatening to burst. The fabric was thick and finely woven, its edges near the hem adorned with embroidered golden floral motifs. It was unmistakably well made, bearing the faintest signs of wear along the sleeves. Clothing befitting someone of high status. Yet his presence on this desolate exoplanet told a different story.
A gift perhaps?
Her gaze drifted lower, following the line of the coat, until it caught on the jade pendant resting at his hip. A qilin, carved with careful reverence, its surface smooth and pale in the firelight.
Her breath stilled.
Among the Vidyadhara, jade like that was never ornamental. It was memory made tangible. A vow given form. Matching pendants meant to anchor two souls across time, across rebirth.
Worn only between lovers. The raven haired man seemed to caught on to her inspection.
“It’s borrowed.”
The words came before she could even open her mouth. He did not elaborate. Did not look at her. His gaze remained fixed on the fire, the glow catching faintly along the edge of the jade pendant before his hand shifted—subtle, deliberate—tucking it just out of sight.
That alone told her everything.
Bailu’s lips twitched despite herself. What a terrible liar. A soft chuckle slipped past her lips.
The man rose then, movements unhurried, and crossed the small space between them. He knelt and carefully placed a warm bowl into her hands. Congee—simple, plain, steam curling upward in gentle wisps. The heat seeped into her palms instantly, grounding her. Without a word, he retreated back to his place by the fire, as if the moment required no acknowledgment. She watched him for a heartbeat longer, then straightened slightly.
“My name is Bailu!” she said brightly, the cheer in her voice deliberate. If he was going to be quiet, then she would simply fill the silence.
“白露. White Dew.”
She glanced down at the firelight rippling across the surface of the congee. “It’s one of the solar terms. The moment when the air changes—when the heat finally fades and the world cools.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “My-“ She paused. She couldn’t quite say her parents chose it for her. Changing the subject she cradled the bowl closer, tail flicking faintly. “Anyways I owe you one. Thank you—for saving me.”
She hesitated, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. He remained still, attentive in that strange, distant way—like someone listening far more than he ever intended to speak.
She smiled again, patient. “You don’t talk much, do you?”
The fire crackled between them, and for a moment, Bailu wondered if five words a day might be all she would get from him.
Then, quietly, “Ren.” Just that. She blinked waiting.
After a moment, he continued. “刃.Blade.”
The word sat heavy between them.
“No meaning?” The little viyadahara urged, voice tinged with curiosity.
He stood turning away from her, making his way towards the exit of the cave.
Looks like he reached his word limit of the day. Bailu thought with a small sigh. She settled deeper beneath the fur blankets, the cold kept at bay as she cradled the bowl in her hands. Steam curled upward, fogging her vision for a moment as she breathed it in. Ren was… a good cook. Surprisingly so.
The congee was simple, unpretentious—but revealed a care that was impossible to miss. Garlic and the subtle warmth of ginger melded into the rich porridge, tender pieces of chicken mixed throughout. It was comforting in a way that went beyond taste alone.
She took another slow spoonful, savoring it. It was the best meal she’d had in days. Her shoulders loosened, eyelids drooping as warmth seeped into her bones. Outside, the wind still howled, but here—by the fire, wrapped in furs, fed and sheltered—the world felt just a little less cruel.
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Bailu stirred at the sound of voices—low, muffled, threaded through the crackle of dying embers. Not loud enough to startle her awake, but persistent enough to pull her gently from slumber.
“…you’re sure this is wise?”
The voice was unfamiliar a taint of amusement laced their tone with an almost indifferent attitude shown in her posture. The little girl’s shoulders stiffened beneath the furs, eavesdropping on the conversation with bated breath. “She seems too young to be roaming outside the Luofu.” a softer voice replied.
A pause.
“…she’s also a Vidyadhara,” the first voice murmured. “Do you really think the Preceptors will just let Imbibitor Lunae’s successor disappear?”
The furs shifted as Bailu drew in a careful breath, heart beginning to race. She cracked one eye open.
The fire had burned low, embers casting faint, flickering light across the cave walls. Near the entrance stood several figures, their silhouettes stark against the snow-lit opening.
Ren stood among them—arms crossed, brows furrowed in thought.
“So?” The woman asked, her tone light, almost playful. “What’s the plan, Bladie?”
“Let’s bring her back to the base,” Ren said, voice low and rough.
“Bladie,” She drawled, her tone languid, almost indulgent, as if the words had been dipped in honey. She tilted her head and nodded pointedly toward the silver-haired girl, who tapped away on her phone. “You know our base is hardly suitable for children. Look how that one turned out.”
The girl didn’t even look up.
“Shut it, Kafka,” she shot back, thumbs still flying across the screen. She rolled her eyes, expression flat. “I turned out fine.”
Kafka chuckled softly, the sound warm and lazy, like a cat stretching in the sun. Whether she was joking or deadly serious was impossible to tell.
“It’s temporary,” Ren added after a beat. His gaze flicked—not to Kafka, but briefly toward the bundled lump beneath the furs. “I doubt she’d want to return to the Luofu anytime soon.”
Kafka’s smile softened, “Mm. I thought as much.” She followed his line of sight, violet eyes narrowing thoughtfully. The silver-haired girl finally glanced up from her phone, eyes sharp despite her lazy posture.
“So what, we’re babysitting now?”
“I’m sure you’d love that Silvie.” Kafka chuckled. The girl scoffed, already switching her attention back towards her device. Kafka’s gaze lingered a moment longer on Bailu’s bundled form. Then her smile shifted—subtle, knowing.
“…You can stop pretending, little dragon,” she said softly.
Bailu froze.
“You’ve been awake for a while now,” Kafka continued, her tone gentle, as if she were soothing a fussy child. “Your breathing gave you away.”
Reluctantly, Bailu peeked out from beneath the furs. Wide eyes met violet ones, the firelight dancing between them. Her tail flicked once before she could stop it.
“I—I wasn’t trying to spy,” she blurted out, sitting up a little straighter. “I just woke up and—”
“I know,” Kafka replied smoothly. “If you were spying, you’d be much quieter.” The corner of her lips curled upward. Ren stood beside the fire. His gaze lingered towards Bailu, unreadable as ever—but he didn’t look away.
Kafka crouched down, resting her chin lightly in her hand. “Feeling better?” she asked. “You gave Bladie here quite the scare out there.”
Bailu nodded, clutching the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Y-yes. Thank you. For… everything.”
“Good,” Kafka said, straightening. “Then we can speak honestly.”
“Keeping you with us is a liability,” Kafka stated firmly. “I have no doubt the Xianzhou Alliance would suspect our involvement in your disappearance.”
She paused, letting the implication settle.
“Which means,” Kafka continued smoothly, violet eyes glinting with amusement, “we have no other choice but to turn you over—”
Her smile curved, slow and deliberate.
“—to the Astral Express.” A heavy silence followed.
Bailu blinked. “…The Astral Express?”
“Mm,” Kafka hummed. “Neutral ground. Well-protected. And as far as I’m concerned they’re not involved in intergalactic political affairs.”
Kafka’s smile lingered—but then her gaze shifted.
Deliberately, she looked to Ren.
The firelight caught along the sharp lines of his profile, the jade pendant at his hip half-hidden beneath his coat. For a long moment, he said nothing. The crackle of embers filled the space where words should have been.
“Bladie?” Kafka asked softly. Not teasing now. Ren’s jaw tightened. The silent exchange of glances told each other all they needed to know. Bailu felt it then—the shift in the air, subtle but heavy, like a storm gathering without warning. Ren’s hand trembled briefly at his side before he forced it to still.
“…I know,” he said at last.
His gaze flicked toward Bailu—just for a heartbeat. Something unreadable crossed his expression before it vanished again.
“The Express is best suited for her safety.”
Kafka studied him closely, violet eyes sharp. “Even if that means crossing paths with him?”
Ren exhaled slowly through his nose. “Especially then.”
Another pause.
Then Kafka smiled, satisfied. “Very well.”