By the third day of traveling, Yuren's boots were wrecked, his legs ached, and his patience—never abundant—was stretched thinner than temple parchment.
He groaned as they reached another bend in the mountain trail. "Remind me why we're not teleporting or flying or whatever overdramatic cultivators do."
Zhaoyan, ever the stoic, didn't even look winded. "Because we're hiding. And flashy powers tend to leave flashy trails."
Yuren muttered something rude under his breath and dragged his feet up the slope. "We could at least pretend to be rich sect heirs and get horses."
"I thought you liked complaining."
"I do. It's how I cope with my impending doom."
Zhaoyan gave him a sideways glance. "It's working."
Yuren made a face and kicked a pebble into a ravine.
But just as he opened his mouth to complain again—he froze.
There was someone ahead.
A figure sat in the middle of the trail, legs crossed, completely still. Dressed in pale blue robes, hood drawn up. They were surrounded by small white candles, all flickering steadily despite the mountain wind.
Yuren leaned close to Zhaoyan. "Is that a monk or a performance artist?"
Zhaoyan narrowed his eyes. "That's not sect attire I recognize."
They approached slowly, hands hovering near weapons—but the person didn't move.
Yuren cleared his throat. "Hey, uh… spooky candle person? You good?"
The figure lifted their head.
A girl's face, maybe seventeen, eyes mismatched—one pale blue, one solid black.
She smiled faintly. "You're late."
Yuren blinked. "Sorry, were we supposed to RSVP?"
She rose smoothly to her feet, brushing off her robes. "My name is Rin. I'm here to guide you."
Zhaoyan stepped forward. "Guide us where?"
Rin tilted her head. "To the Mirror of Veins. You'll need it, if you want answers."
Yuren crossed his arms. "What if we're not looking for answers?"
"Then why are the Ashbound chasing you?"
That shut him up.
Zhaoyan's eyes narrowed. "You're not surprised by what happened at the temple."
"No," she said simply. "I dreamed it."
Yuren flinched. "Okay. Vague and creepy. We're really doing this again."
But Rin was already walking. "You can follow, or you can die confused. Your choice."
Yuren sighed. "Why are all our allies either ghosts, secret heirs, or weird dream prophets?"
Zhaoyan shrugged. "Maybe we attract damaged people."
Yuren scowled. "Rude."
---
The path Rin led them down was different—older than any trail should've been, made of dark stones laced with silver veins. It shimmered faintly under moonlight.
"How long have you known about us?" Zhaoyan asked.
Rin didn't turn. "Since before you were born."
"…That's comforting," Yuren muttered. "So what exactly is this mirror place? And does it involve more traumatic fire visions?"
Rin's voice was calm. "The Mirror of Veins doesn't show the past. It shows the roots of power. What you are. What you were meant to be. And what has been... stolen."
Yuren tripped a little on a root. "Stolen?"
But Rin didn't elaborate.
Instead, she stopped at a clearing—and there it was.
A vast silver mirror, taller than a house, rising from the ground like a buried blade. Its surface rippled like water but reflected nothing.
Yuren stepped forward slowly. "This is… wrong. It doesn't reflect anything."
"Because your truth hasn't decided on a shape yet," Rin said. "You're not ready. But you're close."
Zhaoyan looked at Rin. "Why are you helping us?"
She hesitated.
Then softly, she said, "Because if Yuren dies, the world burns again. And this time, she won't be able to stop it."
"She?" Yuren echoed.
Rin glanced at him, expression unreadable. "The one who came before you. The Flame-Born."
Then, without waiting, she stepped back into the shadows.
And was gone.
Yuren stared at the mirror.
And in it, for just a moment—
He saw a pair of golden eyes staring back at him.
Eyes that weren't his.
Not anymore.
To be continued