She stared at him, wide-eyed, as if she hadn't just dropped the most important revelation of her life.
She wanted to strangle him.
This man… this man has no sense of gravitas!
Yue finally sighed, the air leaving her lungs like she was releasing the weight of disappointment.
She shook her head, her voice sharp but not angry—just cold.
"Yeah… I forgot. You're just a rat from a small empire… in a smaller kingdom… in some backwater county."
Each word landed on Kael's chest like a blade—small cuts, precise and stinging.
He didn't speak.
Yue turned, her tone returning to a more tempered calm.
"Every continent has its own Divine Sect. I come from the Eastern Continent… the Divine Dream Pavilion. Where I'm from, we sit at the peak of all cultivation—above kings, above generals. We're not just a sect, Kael.
We are the law beneath the stars."
She looked out into the horizon.
"This… the Central Continent? Your home? It's nothing. And here, even the Divine Sect is weaker than ours."
Kael absorbed it in silence.
Then, a small exhale.
"So… you're really an important person, huh?"
She nodded, her gaze distant.
"I can't tell you everything—not yet. Some truths… aren't meant to be carried too early. Knowledge can be a curse. It can drive you mad."
Kael swallowed.
A silence settled between them, deeper than before.
"You'll understand more as you grow in power," Yue continued quietly.
"The higher you climb, the more the world reveals its real face. But for now, there's one thing you can know."
She turned, meeting his eyes.
"After I received the Dreamweaver, I created a sword art. One born from the boundary between dream and reality. A technique that lets your blade strike not the body—but the mind and will."
Kael didn't respond right away.
He was thinking.
Weighing everything.
And somewhere beneath it all—he was beginning to realize how little he still knew about Yue.
Yue stood silently for a moment, her gaze drifting toward the distant horizon.
Then she spoke—quietly, but with a depth Kael hadn't heard from her before.
"This sword art… is like my essence, Kael."
Her voice trembled, just slightly.
Kael looked at her. Really looked.
In her eyes was something raw. Not mystery, not divinity—
but vulnerability.
She met his gaze and continued,
"I've never taken a disciple before. Not once. I never trusted anyone enough. But you…"
She inhaled.
"I think you're perfect for it. Until the day you forge your own style—let mine be your foundation."
Kael hesitated. The words weighed heavy on him.
"I…"
He glanced down.
"I don't want to take something so personal from you. What if I'm not worthy of it?"
Yue's expression hardened—not cold, but firm.
"You don't want to learn?" she asked, challenging now.
Kael blinked.
Of course I want to.
Who wouldn't want to learn a sword style like that?
A style that could tear open the future.
Without another word, Kael stepped back.
He brought his hands together, closed his fist into his palm, and bowed deeply.
"Disciple Kael greets Master Yue."
Yue stood frozen for a second, her eyes wide—not with pride, but disbelief.
Then she laughed softly, the sound echoing through the quiet rooftop.
"You're so dramatic, Kael."
Kael chuckled too, a low, easy sound. "Maybe. But I meant it."
Then he turned his head slightly. "You can come out now."
From the shadows, there was a soft rustle—then Selene stepped into the light, arms crossed and smiling sheepishly.
"So I got caught, huh?"
Kael just smiled.
No teasing.
Soon, the three of them stood together in silence, facing the horizon.
The first rays of dawn painted the sky in gold and crimson, casting long shadows behind them and lighting the world ahead.
A new day had come.
And with it—endless possibilities.
###
After some time…
The stillness of early morning wrapped the Duke's manor in a heavy hush.
Shadows clung to the tall pillars and the flickering lanterns gave little warmth to the cold stone halls.
Aerik moved silently through the corridor, every step measured, every breath controlled.
In his hand, he carried a small, elegant wine bottle—its contents as dark as his thoughts.
Behind him, General Morien followed at a distance, his armored steps softer than expected for a man of his stature.
As they neared the Duke's chambers, Morien looked at the bottle and murmured, voice low:
"Are you sure about this?"
Aerik didn't stop walking. "Yes. The Devil himself is with me."
Morien said nothing.
His gaze lingered on Aerik's back for a long moment—cold and sharp—before he fell still in the hall, watching.
Foolish.
The thought echoed through his mind, but he did not speak it aloud.
Aerik reached the heavy double doors leading to the Duke's private room.
Two guards stood at attention, their expressions unreadable.
"The Duke doesn't wish to be disturbed," one of them said sternly.
Aerik put on a face of wounded humility.
"Please. I've come only to speak. I wish to apologize for all my sins… and I bring news about the Devil."
There was a pause.
One of the guards shifted slightly, uncertain.
He glanced toward the heavy door as if expecting it to answer for him.
And then, muffled but clear, came the Duke's voice from within:
"…Let him in."
The guards looked at each other, tension flickering between them, then stepped aside wordlessly.
One of them pulled the door open with a soft creak.
Aerik smiled faintly, the corners of his lips tight, and stepped inside with the wine held reverently in his hands.
The heavy scent of incense and bitter medicinal herbs hung thick in the air. He coughed lightly, his nose wrinkling as the smoke stung his throat.
As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, the room came into focus.