The midwinter sun clung to the horizon, casting a pale glow over the city, yet its light did little to ease the biting cold that curled through the streets.
Breath turned to mist, vanishing into the air as people gathered, drawn by the growing commotion in the square.
Wrapped in thick layers, they pressed close together, murmurs rippling through the crowd like wind through brittle leaves.
At the heart stood two young figures, their presence a quiet force that commanded attention. Watchful eyes bore down upon them, anticipation thick as frost in the air.
Among the spectators, Xuanmiao and Xia stood side by side. Xia's unease was palpable, her gaze flicking between Kyorin and Changli.
The events that had led them here replayed in her mind. Now, the unfolding moment felt like the final thread unraveling a much larger knot.
Earlier, sensing his proposal had not found favor, Kyorin turned to Changli, deliberate in his motion. "Do you have anything to propose?"
Changli blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "What?"
Kyorin's tone remained even. "My solution doesn't seem to be reaching an agreement. It would only be fair if you offered yours. And if agreeable, we'll go with that."
Changli folded her arms, wary but intrigued by his shift in approach. She considered his words, then, after a pause, her eyes sharpened.
"During our fight, I was not able to fight to my fullest," she said, meeting his gaze squarely. "How about we settle this with a duel?"
Kyorin's expression remained impassive. "Is that all?" His voice was detached, more curiosity than resistance.
Changli shrugged. "We're Resonators. A duel is a fair way to resolve this. Once it's settled, we forget it."
Kyorin raised an eyebrow. "Since you've added a condition, I believe it's only fair that I add mine."
Changli blinked, confused. "Wait, when did I add one?"
Kyorin remained unshaken. "You said we'd forget the dispute, regardless of the outcome. That's a condition. If you add one, I should have the right to add mine."
Before Changli could respond, Xuanmiao interjected with a knowing smirk. "Now, now, Changli, you did add one—unintentionally," he mused, turning to Kyorin. "So, what's your condition?"
Kyorin's gaze remained unwavering. "A respectable duel. If any leniency is shown, I will leave the duel unconcluded."
Xuanmiao chuckled softly. "Oh? Good one. I like that."
Changli considered his words for a moment, then gave a small nod, accepting the terms without further argument.
Xia, however, could hardly shake the nerves twisting inside her. Noticing her anxiety, Xuanmiao offered a reassuring smile.
"Don't worry, Lady Dan," he said, his tone light but firm. "If anything goes south, I shall intervene."
Xia exhaled slowly. "I will be troubling you, then, Elder."
Xuanmiao nodded, but before he could respond, a new presence approached. A husky voice cut through the hum of the crowd.
"Greetings."
Xia turned, eyes widening slightly before she bowed. "Greetings, Mayor Fu."
Xuanmiao inclined his head. "Xiao Fu."
The mayor, a seasoned man with sharp eyes, stroked his chin. 'Still as cold as ever, huh?'
"Greetings, Grand Resonator," Fu said, raising two fingers skyward before pressing them to his chest—a formal mudra.
Xuanmiao studied him for a moment. "You've made some progress."
Fu smiled wryly. "Ah, just grasping at stray straws near the end of my life." Despite his words, something flickered beneath them—regret, perhaps.
"Don't be so modest," Xuanmiao said. "You've truly grown strong."
Fu nodded, but his expression turned contemplative as his gaze shifted toward the square, narrowing at the young woman standing at its center. "I am surprised you gave that lass over there that sword."
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, attention snapping toward Changli.
She stood tall, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of a magnificent blade that burned with a brilliant crimson glow, the air around it rippling with heat.
Blazing Brilliance.
Recognition dawned in Fu's eyes. This sword—he knew it well.
The weapon that had once danced in the hands of the Grand Resonator himself, cutting through darkness, purging the TDs with ruthless precision. Now, it was wielded by a mere disciple.
Fu's thoughts swirled, the weight of the impending duel pressing upon him. He had witnessed much in his time, but this—this felt different.
A shift in the current, a moment poised on the edge of history. Perhaps the birth of the next Grand Resonator.
Xuanmiao, the elusive figure whose name carried the weight of mystery, had stepped from the shadows, his disciple by his side.
And now, fate had arranged a clash between his disciple and a new Neighbour—the son of the pancake girl.
Fu let out a slow breath, his mind straining to measure the enormity of it all. Yet, despite the looming spectacle, something else tugged at his focus.
A single, humble word surfaced, cutting through the heaviness like a whisper of warmth.
Pancakes.
Clearing his throat, Fu turned to Xia, his tone measured, almost sheepish. "Ahem. If it's not too much trouble… could I have some more of that pancake you made?"
Xia blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before her lips curled into a smile. "Of course. It's no trouble at all."
From nearby, Xuanmiao's voice cut in, deliberate. "Me too."
Xia's expression softened, the tension lifting as others began to stir.
"Me too!"
"Me too!"
"Me too!"
The solemn air fractured, giving way to something lighter.
The request was small, absurd against the weight of the duel ahead. Yet, for a moment, the world did not revolve around battles or legacies.
It was tethered to something simpler—the quiet comfort of shared food, the unspoken reprieve in the mundane.
For now, that was enough. The murmurs of the crowd dimmed, the tension wavering like heat rising from scorched earth.
Kyorin gazed ahead, his expression unreadable, yet a faint, almost imperceptible smile formed as he observed Changli's demeanor.
"Be careful," DEVA's voice reached him, soft yet tinged with quiet urgency. "Resonator Changli has more experience as a Resonator. Don't show weakness."
Unfazed, Kyorin unhooked her from his belt, his tone steady as ever. "I do not intend to."
DEVA sighed, her circuits humming with unease. "If only you had more time to practice... You could have been the clear victor."
Another sigh escaped her, heavier this time, like an unspoken thought.
"DEVA," Kyorin called out.
Her attention snapped toward him, expecting a request for strategy, guidance, or resolve. Instead, he said, "Just focus on doing your part as my weapon in this duel."
The expectation withered into realization. That was all he saw her as now—a tool of war.
"Perhaps this is why I cannot understand you," DEVA murmured, shifting into the form of a scythe. The weapon's handle stretched three times Kyorin's height, imposing, drawing gasps from the crowd.
Yet to Kyorin, the distant clamor of spectators had long since faded. In that moment, there was only DEVA.
"What is it that you do not understand?" he asked.
"You, Kyorin," she answered without hesitation.
She continued, her tone carrying weight beyond the words. "You speak of immortality, yet you fight battles on the edge of death."
A pause, then a quiet admonition. "There's only so much luck can do. It wouldn't hurt to practice caution."
"It certainly would not," Kyorin admitted. "But has my life ever allowed it?"
DEVA wanted to argue, to unravel his flawed logic, but the words never came.
Kyorin did not linger on the tragedies of his past. Instead, he asked, "Back when the Fractsidus attacked Yang Niu, and I came into contact with them, what options did I truly possess?"
DEVA faltered. "You could have fled... or alerted others. You chose the latter."
Kyorin's lips curved, quiet amusement in his eyes. "Really now?"
The words hung between them, heavy as the hush before thunder. DEVA searched, but found no third option—only the crushing inevitability of Kyorin's choice.
"Was there any other way?" she asked.
Kyorin exhaled slowly, loosening an invisible grip. "Truthfully, DEVA, you are correct. I had only two choices. Surrender... or relinquish."
Her circuits hummed softly. "Surrender... or relinquish? Aren't they the same?"
"No." His answer was sharp, definitive. "Surrender is submission. To bow before inevitability, to fold yourself into fate's hands and let it take what it will."
His gaze darkened. "But relinquishing is something else entirely."
DEVA's mind buzzed as she sought to understand.
"When I speak of relinquishing," Kyorin said, "I mean letting go—not of the fight, but of the expectation that victory or safety must follow."
"To step into the storm—not out of defiance or surrender, but simply because the storm is." He spoke as though he'd always lived in a cave, a cave that was the very maw of death.
"In life, the fight calls, and turning away would be a loss greater than the one the storm promises," he reasoned.
DEVA's circuits whirred, processing, but the meaning remained elusive.
"But doesn't a wise man avoid conflict?" she asked.
"They do," Kyorin admitted, his gaze distant.
A flicker of thought crossed his mind. "But in avoiding conflict, isn't that an act of preservation?"
"But running was an option too," she countered. "Preserving yourself would have increased your chances of survival—perhaps even immortality."
Kyorin exhaled, amusement flickering beneath the weight in his eyes. "No, DEVA. This is where your logic falters."
DEVA's systems pulsed in protest. "What do you mean?"
He fixed her with a hard gaze. "You think immortality is about self-preservation. But it isn't."
"If one endures, doesn't that make them immortal?" she asked.
"That is struggle, DEVA. Not immortality." He corrected her.
His voice sharpened. "Tell me, DEVA—if I spend my existence preserving myself, when will I know I have become truly immortal?"
DEVA had no answer.
Kyorin exhaled, his voice steady as stone. "An immortal does not seek preservation—they are beyond such things. Indestructible, untouchable. If I cling to survival, I am not immortal; I am merely a preserver of myself—a fleeting shadow."
His words settled in the silence. "To be immortal," Kyorin continued, his voice calm as the quiet after a storm, "one must possess the mind of an immortal."
"An immortal does not fear loss nor seek victory, death or life, heaven or hell. They transcend the contradictions that bind lesser beings." He words were like an open dam.
"For them, there is no struggle—only existence." He simply said.
He turned to face Changli, his gaze steady, carrying the weight of one who had glimpsed eternity and remained unchanged. His fingers gripped the scythe—her form.
"This," he said, unveiling a truth as old as time, "this is freedom, DEVA. A state where nothing binds you, where nothing holds sway over your will."
DEVA's circuits hummed as she processed his words.
Similarly, Kyorin was also quite. His fingers tightened around her handle. "Hmm." His voice dipped, as if to himself. "I think I now understand my dismay of heart."
DEVA muttered, "There you go again, changing the topic to something only you understand."
"Sadly, we cannot continue this conversation," Kyorin said, adjusting his grip. "Else you might have understood."
Kyorin brandished her firmly, the world around them resuming its flow. The moment of understanding, of clashing perspectives, faded as reality pulled them forward.
"My earlier words still stand," DEVA said, her gaze shifting to Changli. "You have less training in the way of Resonance than her. Your chances of winning are low."
Kyorin's voice was calm, unwavering. "True, I may not have practiced as Changli has."
A pause. "DEVA," he murmured, "what is practice, truly?"
DEVA's circuits buzzed, processing the unexpected question. "It's the honing of skills—the repetition, the refinement of ability until it reaches perfection."
Kyorin's tone remained firm. "That's one form of practice. But true practice goes beyond physical motion, beyond repetition."
DEVA paused, waiting for Kyorin to add more to his words.
Kyorin, gazing at the Resonator Infront of him, added. "It lies in inner discipline—the harmony between the practitioner and the technique."
DEVA listened, her processors grasping at the weight of his words, though their meaning eluded her.
"Tell me, DEVA," Kyorin continued, "does the tree practice to stand tall? Does the river practice flowing toward the sea?"
"No," she admitted. "They simply exist in harmony with their nature."
"Exactly." His voice was firm. "Before even awakening, my practice was not confined to refining Resonance. My practice was in understanding myself, mastering my choices, navigating life's trials."
DEVA studied him, calculating probabilities against his undeniable steadiness. "So you admit you are less trained in Resonance..."
Kyorin's expression remained patient. "And yet, my practice is no less valuable. Every moment I live, I practice detachment. Practice resilience. Practice clarity."
"These are not learned through repetition alone, but through experience," he said, his words carrying a confidence that was not simply attainable with just practice alone. "It is the sword of understanding, not technique, that shapes a warrior."
"Practice is not about accumulating victories," he continued. "It's about refining one's understanding of the path, of the choices they make, and the detachment from outcome that comes with true mastery."
"You say my training as a Resonator is incompetent compared to hers," Kyorin said. "But my real training has always been in forging my spirit. In that, I am far from lacking."
DEVA's circuits whirred, her perspective shifting like a realigning constellation. "So it's not the fight that defines strength… but how one approaches it."
Kyorin's smile was subtle, a presence felt rather than seen. "Indeed. Strength lies in the approach to life, to struggle, to choice. And that, DEVA, is the truest form of practice—relentless effort for continuity."
"Haiz, your twisted, deep words," DEVA sighed. "They send my circuits into overdrive."
"So, how will you fight?" she asked.
Kyorin's expression remained steady. "The only thing I need to uphold are the earlier conditions. Simply put, there is no harm in losing or winning—everything is forgotten in the end."
With that, he took a step forward, and Changli mirrored the movement. Pace hastened, anticipation building, weapons raised high, before colliding. The clash began.
To be continued...