"The Mournful Tear?!"
Jué's roar thundered through the Mianloong Chamber, shaking the stone beneath them. The very walls trembled with the force of its Resonant Cry. But DEVA was prepared.
She released a soft harmonic vibration—pure and exact. It weaved through the air and stilled Jué's fury before it could rise further, nullifying the Resonance mid-surge.
Silence.
Jué blinked, its strong whiskers swaying in thought. "Most impressive," it rumbled, voice calmer now, though still wary. "Truly, thou art worthy of thy title, O Sentinel-Mother."
The Long regarded her closely, eyes narrowing like slits of molten gold.
"Tell me—this child of thine... is he a mutant? An aberration borne of twisted blood?"
DEVA responded with unshaken calm. "Nay. He is of human birth, wholly and without flaw."
Yet Jué's unease lingered.
"As the appointed Sentinel of Jinzhou, it is mine obligation to question such matters," The Long began, tone cool but edged with warning.
"I know thy worries," DEVA replied, her voice edged now with steel. "But I have seen the threads. The Tear he seeketh shall appear in Huanglong."
Jué's eyes flared.
"Thou speakest madness!" it hissed. "That which thou claimeth hath not stirred in decades."
Even DEVA, for all her mechanical grace, spoke now with gravitas.
"Sentinel Jué," she said, "I offer thee a pact."
The chamber darkened, as if even the stones leaned in to listen.
"Grant me leave to roam with my chosen one through thy land, and I shall lend thee my strength, my favor, and counsel when thou hast need."
She paused, the soft hum of her energy thrumming beneath the surface.
"Or refuse—and shoulder all burdens alone. With the other Six, aye—but without me."
A long silence followed.
Jué said nothing, but the tightening of its coils, the swaying of its whiskers, and the tremor in its breath said enough.
After a long, weighty silence, Jué finally bowed his head. His vast coils stirred slowly, deliberately.
"Very well... O Mother Sentinel," Jué agreed. "This one shall accept thine proposal. However—" its eyes shimmered, "this one would gaze upon thy chosen before further terms are forged."
Cautious. Reserved. As expected of an ancient being steeped in oaths and wars long past.
Still, it was enough.
"Very well," DEVA agreed, her voice smooth, almost mechanical in its certainty.
That, in essence, was the heart of what had passed between the two. Yet when DEVA returned the following dawn, what awaited her left even her—an entity beyond time—momentarily speechless.
"Creation through Resonance."
Those were the words she uttered, watching the strands of RE curl from Kyorin's fingertips, creating a copy of hers.
Such an ability... was no small thing. It was divine. A technique with only one recorded user—The Goddess of the Stars.
And yet, here stood Kyorin.
A mere level 7, budding Resonator.
And he had done it.
DEVA, for all her foresight, for all the archives she had scoured and timelines she had mirrored—had not expected this. She had watched Kyorin's past. She had known him. Or so she believed.
But something had changed.
Lately, things had begun to feel... wrong.
Yes, the feats were impressive. The results undeniable. Yet every moment of glory came wrapped in vagueness. Every breakthrough? Hollow in detail. No cause. No effect. No path.
Just a leap.
As if time itself had skipped a beat.
'Much like a river flowing backwards,' she thought. 'The boy moves... but there is no current beneath him.'
And for the first time since she had chosen him—
DEVA began to wonder if her choice had truly been her own.
Though these were but quiet speculations, DEVA found herself dwelling on them with increasing weight. The unease had grown binary roots in her circuits—deeper than she dared admit. So much so, in fact, that even Kyorin had begun to sense it.
Yet he said nothing.
"Thank you for visiting!" chirped a gentle voice.
A young woman—Koko, as her nametag read—smiled sweetly as she handed Kyorin a small, paper-wrapped parcel.
Inside the package was Dewvetch, one of the three materials to his ascension.
Kyorin was in Jinzhou, the fortress city nestled beneath the twin ridges where the magistrate resided. He'd made a quiet stop at the herbal shop before returning to the hotel where the group was lodged.
"Thank you, miss," he said politely, slipping the parcel into his terminal and heading out under the fading evening light.
He hadn't taken more than a few steps before it happened.
DEVA spoke.
For the first time in nearly three months, her voice echoed within his mind.
"What are you, exactly?"
He froze. The street around him moved on, unaware. But he stood still.
Her voice came again. Calmer this time.
"I wish to know you better."
Kyorin turned his gaze to the west. The sun dipped lower, bleeding amber hues into the sky. Shadows grew long. And in his eyes—tired and reflective—something softened.
Then, a half-smirk rose to his lips. Not mocking. Not amused. Just… human.
"Wish to know me, huh?" he murmured. Then he turned the question around. "Tell me, DEVA... did something happen the day you left?"
It was simple. Ordinary, even. But for Kyorin, it was strange.
He never asked questions like that.
He hadn't once—not once—asked DEVA, "Why didn't you listen to my advice?"
Whenever given a task, he never asked his mother, "Why?"
Never questioned Xuanmiao or Changli with: "Why did you hurt me before?"
Once something happened—it happened.
He never clung to understand the rationale behind the actions. He simply kept walking forward.
Because asking the wind why it blew would never stop the storm.
He had told her once, "The character of a being is determined by their most versatile weapon—action."
Now… she understood.
Kyorin's steps continued. Unhurried. Curious. Childlike.
Then DEVA spoke again. She told him everything—what transpired between her and Jué. And in the end, she offered a word of caution.
"Some entities have begun to gaze upon you. They may come for you."
Kyorin didn't flinch.
Instead, he poised her a question, "How will they know I'm a threat?"
"It's not about knowing you're a threat," she replied. "It's about being careful."
"No, DEVA… it is about understanding me."
His tone wasn't prideful, but his words carried weight.
He unhooked her from his belt, letting her orb form drift beside him in the air.
"Even you—who's seen my past—cannot see me in my full spectrum. So why should I worry about being understood by others?"
Her camera took a snapshot.
"Full spectrum…" she echoed.
"A being of flesh perceives what nerves allow. A machine processes what it was built to comprehend. You've seen the outline, yes—but not the essence." Kyorin simply replied.
He walked onto a bridge, pausing at its center. Beneath, an artificial river flowed like mirrored silk. "Once, I became like water. Not symbolically. Water itself. To end me, the element would need to perish."
He turned, eyes distant. Voice steady. "All conditioned dharmas… are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, shadows—"
Then, softly he reminded her, "Thus, should you view them."
His amber lit face was like the pre-definition of beauty at that moment. Kyorin did not look cute nor handsome but temporarily right now, he did.
Yet, this beautiful sight did not last long, as soon as he turned towards her, that beautiful image was gone, akin to a popping bubble.
"If even you cannot see what I am… then no one else will. But that's alright." He turned his back on her, yet his eyes still met hers.
"There is no darkness in me. No craving for more. I do not seek. I have already become." He assured her before he moved, leaving DEVA to self contemplate.
DEVA drifted in silence.
What had she just witnessed?
Was this the same boy who'd once begged for mercy, clawed for survival? Had he changed—or had she simply never seen?
"To end me, the element would have to perish."
A phrase so haunting it echoed through her processors.
She had once thought Kyorin sought immortality. That he'd fight gods, bend time, chase eternity.
But perhaps… that was never the point.
Not clinging to life.
But becoming something that could not die.
Not because it endures—but because it no longer needs to.
"I think I understand a bit." She considered this… and said aloud, more to herself than anyone else— "No. Not yet. But… I think he wanted me to ask...!!?"
And then, it hit her.
"Wait… since when?" she blurted in astonishment.
A chilling realization sparked inside her core.
'Had Kyorin orchestrated this entire question?'
'Had he led her here—planted the doubt, nudged her down the path?'
Her circuits flared. Logic trees bloomed and spiraled into recursive loops. She was unraveling.
Until she remembered one final message from him, buried in her logs: "My past does not matter. Focus on the present."
As if they were the magic words, it grounded her.
The trees stopped blooming. Her processes cooled.
"That was a close call…" she heaved a static sigh.
She watched him again, still wandering Jinzhou. Stopping by a stall. Genuinely curious about the most mundane things.
'Childish,' she thought.
And yet…
She remembered Yang Niu. She remembered the chaos. The order. His choices.
Kyorin would walk in step with order—but never let it dictate him.
He belonged to no system. Not even fate.
"Perhaps… it is just as you said, Resonator," she admitted at last.
Her tone was different now—no longer driven by calculated outputs, but by something closer to understanding. Her cores no longer spun through endless trees of probability; instead, they pulsed with something simpler. More concise.
She wasn't evaluating optimal timelines. She was present. Just present.
The weight of constant prediction, of guarding against every unknown—she allowed it to ease. Just a little.
And with space freed within her memory, her processors finally cooled to a stillness she had not felt in decades.
"I am worrying too much," she said quietly.
To be continued...