In Yin, the weather was always as gentle as spring… even during the coldest months, warm breezes from the Jade Coast carried the fragrance of lotus ponds and river reeds. Palace, made of lacquered wood and pale stone, seemed to share that warmth. Here… winter was found only in paintings and poems.
Xun sat alone in his private study, high up in one of the scholar towers.
He was in his fifties, but his graceful posture made him look younger. His skin had the delicate golden tone common in Yi Ti, and his features were sharp and refined, shaped more by years of study than by war. His long platinum hair, smooth as mercury, was tied back with a jade hairpin carved into a dragon.
But his most striking feature was his pale violet eyes, a rare color said to come from ancient Valyrian bloodlines.
He wore deep blue silk robes, with sleeves embroidered in silver thread showing whirling clouds and curling winds. As he moved, the patterns shimmered like the clouds in motion.
Scrolls lined the walls and bamboo shelves… a low writing table made of dark sandalwood stood in the center, with inkstones, brushes, and jade seals neatly arranged.
A bronze incense burner shaped like a qilin sent up a thin ribbon of fragrant smoke, and paper screens showed paintings of mountains and cranes.
The doors stood open, letting through the warm breeze together with the distant sounds from the city.
From his seat, Xun could see the city of Yin stretching out below... the largest port in all of Yi Ti.
The capital was full of life…. pagodas rose above the rooftops, and canals glimmered like silver lines.
The city abounded with colorful markets, spices, and silk. Harbor masts rocked lightly as ships from faraway places unloaded their cargo. Bridges arched gracefully, and gardens were filled with peach trees, koi ponds, and stone lanterns.
The harbor itself was bigger than some kingdoms. Merchant ships from Qarth, Leng, and even far-off Sothoryos crowded the docks, their bright sails standing out against the turquoise sea.
Yin was a city that never slumbered, never slowed down, and never stopped moving.
But today, Xun felt none of that feeling.
He stared at the map on his desk... a detailed chart of Yi Ti's borders, rivers, and trade routes... but his thoughts were far away.
For a month now, the same dream kept returning to him. It didn't come every night, but often enough to unsettle even a man of reason.
In a dream… he walked through snow... something he had never seen in real life.
Mist coiled around him, thick as wool, hiding everything beyond his reach.
Above, crows circled. He couldn't see them, but their calls carried through the white silence.
He could feel the air whirling with magi-kai... clean and unbound. It almost felt happy.
At the same time, he felt watched, as if someone stood behind him.
Instinctively, he drew his sword, a short, elegant scholar's blade made from Valyrian steel. At that moment, he released his magi-kai into the blade. Arcane text appeared from handle to tip as he swung, sending a blast of compressed air that blasted through the mist like a storm wind. It hit something... the air blast bent, stretched, and was pulled away.
A figure stood still in the snow, with long, unbound black hair.
The figure wore black armor, each plate shaped like a narrow, curved scale, overlapping tightly from collar to waist.
An expressionless, smooth cat-shaped mask covered the face, marked with red lines like whiskers. Behind the mask, eyes radiated light blue, like cold fire.
The figure raised a hand and formed a sign Xun did not recognize.
Darkness spread outward, akin to shadows, turning everything into the deepest night.
His senses vanished... sight, sound, breath, even the feeling of his own body.
Slowly, his fingers clutched around the edge of the map... "It is only a dream," he uttered to himself, but did not really believe what he was saying.
Xun had been staring at the map absentmindedly when a weak sound pulled him back to the present... footsteps.
One set of footsteps was light and nearly musical, each step placed with careful grace.
The other footsteps were heavy, not clumsy but steady and unstoppable, like a mountain moving down from its peak.
The warm spring light coming through his open doors diminished as two shadows crossed the threshold.
Princess Bu May-Lin, sixth daughter of the Azure Dynasty and nearly of marriageable age, glided like a drifting petal... slow, elegant, and fully aware of her own beauty. Her midnight-black hair was arranged in the elaborate Flying Swallow style, held up by six golden needles that glimmered like captured sunlight.
Her face stood as a masterpiece of the imperial line... porcelain-smooth skin, high sculpted cheekbones, lips curved in a faint, knowing smile, and eyes half-lidded in a look that rested between boredom and superiority.
Her azure silk hanfu shimmered with every step… embroidered with silver cranes that appeared to take flight when her sleeves swayed.
Pearls weighted the fabric, so it rested in perfect, regal lines.
A broad sash of cloth‑of‑gold cinched her waist… fastened by a massive jade pendant carved with heavenly symbols.
She paused just inside the doorway, letting the breeze catch her sleeves.
"Scholar Xun..." she whispered gently, her voice mellow as plum wine and twice as intoxicating. "You look... troubled."
Her manner carried the delicate courtesy of the court and the razor-thin arrogance of someone who had never been denied anything in her life.
Behind the princess stood Khen-Zai… his presence occupying the room like a shifting boulder.
Man stood a full seven feet tall, a wall of muscle and iron… his shadow extending across the scholar's floor.
His armor was inscribed with magi-kai rune patterns… thousands of interlocking iron scales that resembled a black dragon's hide. The pauldrons were shaped into snarling lions, their jaws frozen mid-roar. His helmet looked like a snarling demon with narrow slits for the eyes that hid any trace of human nature beneath.
From what Xun knows, the armor was one of the precious pieces excavated from the Si Qo ruins and given to General Shao-Zhu, but it is now in the hands of Princess Lin.
In his hands rested his massive guandao, the dragon-headed blade radiating with a quiet menace.
He took his place exactly three paces behind the princess, silent as stone, still as a statue.
Only the slight rise and fall of his breath proved he was alive.
Xun perceived the air tense in his lungs. He was not afraid... it was simply that Khen-Zai's presence had that effect.
Xun rose slowly, smoothing the front of his robe. "Your Highness... Khen‑Zai..."
Lin's smile narrowed. "You did not expect me... today?"
"No," Xun admitted, releasing a light sigh at the same time. "I did not."
She advanced closer… her polished jade pendant glinting in the light.
"Then consider this a pleasant surprise."
Princess Bu May-Lin drifted through Xun's study like a perfumed breeze, her sleeves whispering across the floor. She did not ask permission... she never did. Instead, she moved from shelf to shelf, lifting scrolls with delicate fingers, unrolling one, then another, her expression changing between mild interest and calculated boredom.
Xun watched her with narrowed eyes.
May‑Lin plucked another scroll from a shelf, unrolled it halfway, then let it snap shut with a sigh.
"Your Highness… what precisely are you searching for?"
She smiled without looking at him, a slow, feline curl of the lips.
"Oh, nothing special," she said lightly. "Just indulging a curiosity."
She glided toward his desk, her crane-embroidered sleeves trailing just behind her like drifting clouds. Only when she sat down, uninvited as always, did she finally meet his gaze.
"I overheard something…" voice mellow as silk but keen beneath the surface.
"A rumor that you once prepared a report for my Imperial Father. A study on old Valyrian blood… and its descendants."
Her half‑lidded eyes gleamed.
"You, being the brightest example of such blood, must have had much to say."
Xun's jaw contracted. He knew that tone along with that smile... she was not leaving without answers.
May‑Lin folded her hands in her lap, posture perfect, expression smug.
"I would like to see it."
Xun hesitated... in the current state of Yi Ti, where all noble houses circled like hungry wolves, where the Emperor had withdrawn from courtly life, and where hearsay of succession grew louder each season, anything concerning the Azure Emperor was dangerous.
And Princess May-Lin was dangerous in her own way.
Xun was one of the few people the Emperor still trusted, perhaps the only one.
Most believed Azure Emperor Bu Gai had retreated out of fear, but Xun grasped the truth.
The Emperor was simply tired... tired of betrayal, of masks, and of cutting down men he once called friends.
So he locked away his first wife, his first children, and himself within the inner palace... and he locked away his history behind Imperial Law.
Only one set of records remained unrestricted... Xun's.
He rose slowly, walked to a high shelf, and retrieved a scroll larger than the rest, bound in gold and silver thread. May-Lin's eyes widened slightly. She had expected resistance... she had always received it before.
But today, Xun placed the scroll before her without a word.
She unfurled it eagerly, and her face fell.
Dense text... no illustrations... no diagrams... just line after line of compact script.
Her countenance tightened into a combination of frustration and constipation.
Xun hid a smile.
He knew her weakness well... Princess May-Lin hated reading.
She stared at the scroll as if it had personally insulted her.
Xun gently pulled it back toward himself.
"Very well," he said, voice tranquil. "I will read it aloud."
May-Lin brightened instantly, then lifted her chin in a theatrical display of offended dignity, as if she had never intended to read it herself.
She folded her sleeves neatly, sat straighter, and adopted the posture of a princess awaiting tribute.
Xun sighed silently. This was going to be a lengthy afternoon.
Xun looked down at the scroll, then back at the princess. He could already see the impatience building behind her half-lidded eyes.
"This scroll is long read," he said calmly. "It will be clearer if I explain the contents instead of reading them."
Princess May-Lin's look sharpened with a subtle flash of suspicion, but she nodded.
Xun folded his hands behind his back.
"Everyone in the Imperial family knows the foundation of this truth… magi‑kai exists between heaven and earth. It streams like a river. Some are born with the talent to sense it."
May‑Lin nodded, bored. This was basic knowledge.
"In our Empire, we test people in our territory for this aptitude every year. Those who naturally sense magi‑kai are invited to train under the Empire's guidance. If they agree, they become Empires magi. But even those that don't agree are trained, at least to a certain extent, to control magi-kai."
Still, basics, she shook her hand impatiently, and Xun continued.
"At a certain point, a trained magus learns to collect and contain magi‑kai within their body. But there is a limit to how much one can safely hold."
He paused… making sure that she followed.
May‑Lin nodded again, this time with mild irritation... "Yes... continue."
"Normal students," Xun said, "once they learn containment, can store enough magi‑kai to release up to five low‑level spells. With excellent control, perhaps six. If they use a medium... a staff, a talisman, a focus... they may increase that amount two or three times."
May‑Lin exhaled loudly. "All of this is known."
Xun inclined his head.
"Then let us move to what is not commonly known."
Her eyes sharpened.
"Those with Valyrian blood can produce at a minimum twice the magi‑kai of a normal magus. Their bodies naturally can contain more."
May‑Lin froze.
Behind her, Khen-Zai, the Silent Mountain, actually shifted his weight... a tiny movement, but for him it was the equivalent of a gasp.
Xun continued, voice composed.
"And most of the time, those with Valyrian blood awaken their ability to sense magi‑kai without training, and magi-kai containment is second nature for them… they learn this aspect of the magi instinctively."
Both princess and guardian stared at him, mouths slightly open.
"This fact was known long ago, but never openly acknowledged."
May-Lin's expression twisted, caught between incredulity and annoyance.
Xun added, almost casually... "And the Imperial bloodline contains this Valyrian trait. This is the reason why all Azure Emperor offspring awaken as magi."
A flush of heat crept up May-Lin's neck, and she felt her face prickle with embarrassment.
How had she never noticed...? Why had no one told her...?
Xun watched her reaction with quiet sympathy. She was brilliant in many ways, but she had blind spots, especially in her own studies.
He cleared his throat. "Now, as for the actual content of the scroll..."
May‑Lin blinked. "Wait. You mean… that wasn't the scroll's content?"
She looked down at the rolled parchment as if it had betrayed her. Xun nodded.
"That was only the foundation. The scroll contains my conclusions and research of more than twenty years of my life."
He tapped the golden‑thread binding.
"I believe the Valyrian bloodline was artificially created."
May‑Lin shot to her feet.
"What?"
Even Khen‑Zai's helmet tilted a fraction... the closest thing he ever showed to shock.
"There are reasons for this belief. Those who draw magi‑kai from the world are taught never to exceed their containment limit. If they do, two outcomes are possible."
He raised two fingers... "Magi‑kai overflow, which destroys the body... and magi‑kai corruption, which destroys the mind."
May-Lin swallowed. This was not new... every magus in the Empire knew the dangers... but hearing it in this context made her skin crawl.
"These dangers are why the Shadow Lands and the Grey Waste exist. They are traces left by magi who tried to exceed their limits."
He let the statements settle.
"And yet, Valyrian bloodlines do not suffer these limits in the same way. Their containment capacity is unnatural... too perfect, and among those with Valyrian blood, it is too consistent."
He looked directly into the princess's eyes.
"Someone made this blood that now flows in my blood vessels and in Your Highness's veins."
May-Lin sat down slowly, her countenance shaken. Khen-Zai stood behind her like a silent monolith, but even he seemed unsettled.
"How it was done is unknown," fingers resting lightly on the scroll. "But according to the Empire's oldest records, in Old Valyria magi were as common as ordinary citizens. Entire bloodlines lived and breathed magi."
May‑Lin nodded, though her expression was tight.
She knew a few stories, but hearing them framed this way unsettled her.
"Those same records describe the dragon‑riders... the strongest magi of their age. Their power description was… more like a force of nature. And I believe they created dragons as a catalyst."
May‑Lin blinked. "A catalyst?"
"Yes. A living vessel to absorb the overflow of their magi‑kai automatically, it is recorded that there was a kind of bond between the dragon and the rider. Instead of risking corruption, they channeled excess energy into their dragons. It allowed them to wield far more than their bodies should have endured."
Behind her, Khen-Zai shifted again... a tiny movement, but for a man who normally stood like carved stone, it was the equivalent of collapsing into a chair.
"As you already know, it is vital for a magus to release magi‑kai regularly. If it accumulates beyond the body's limit, the consequences are catastrophic."
May-Lin nodded abruptly, almost too quickly... the gesture of someone trying to hide how shaken she was.
"There are records of dragon‑riders who escaped the Doom of Old Valyria. A small remnant. They fled east, then south, and eventually settled in the far western continent beyond Essos... a land called Westeros."
Princess May‑Lin tilted her head.
"What I gathered from those distant accounts confirms my suspicions. Those who survived the Doom were the lowest caste of dragon-riders, according to tales about them. They never used magi-kai arts. I believe they were more like dragon caretakers, not true magi."
May-Lin frowned as Xun unrolled a small section of the scroll. "As you now know, Valyrian bloodline awakens by itself, sense, and eventually magi-kai containment."
"There is something fascinating in all of this story. In their first two hundred and fifty years, there were no reports of any of them going mad or becoming sick," Xun said, taking a deeper breath.
"Then, around one hundred and fifty years ago, their bloodline fractured. Infighting. Civil war. And in that chaos, they lost almost all their dragons. Only one remained... a female... but she was killed off ten years later..."
May‑Lin blinked. "Why does that matter?"
"Because without dragons, they had no outlet for their magi‑kai. No catalyst. No way to release of magi-kai."
He looked directly at her. "And without that release, without magi-kai safening, later generations went mad."
May‑Lin's eyes widened.
"The last Valyrian King in Westeros... was infamous for burning people alive for amusement."
May-Lin's jaw dropped. "A clear sign of magi-kai mental corruption." Xun nodded.
She leaned forward, suddenly animated... "Wait. If I had a dragon… could I become a dragon‑rider? You are telling me I could become much stronger?"
Xun blinked. "That… was not the point I was making."
But the rest of his explanation slid past her, unnoticed.
A spark lit in her eyes... bright, hungry, and ambitious.
It was the kind of spark that made Xun's stomach tighten.
He knew that look well.
It was the look of someone who had just discovered a new path to power, and Princess Bu May-Lin was not a woman who let such paths go unexplored.
And he had successfully misdirected the princess's attention away from matters concerning the Azure Emperor.
-------------------
Weir-Grip...
The training clearing lay at the edge of the ancient stone foundations, where the forest opened into a wide circle of packed earth.
Tall pines ringed the space like silent spectators… their branches rustling in the pleasant breeze.
Wooden dummies, straw targets, and makeshift posts stood scattered around, all worn from weeks of intense practice.
The ground was scarred with footprints… drag marks, and the occasional crater where someone had been thrown a little too hard.
Dalla, a lean 5.4 feet, young woman with long brown hair tied in a ponytail and storm‑grey eyes.
At age twenty-one… her build was wiry, she looked to be made for speed… a type of fighter who shifted before others even realized she'd moved.
Her clothes were a simple tunic with sleeves rolled up, brown pants with patched up holes… her knuckles wrapped in cloth.
Mora was head taller, with similar clothing, looked physically stronger, and carried herself with discipline. At age twenty-five, her dark auburn hair was braided tight against her head, and her green eyes were focused with a predator's calm. She had the solid, grounded stance of someone who knew how to use her weight. A thin scar crossed her left cheek.
They circled each other in the center of the clearing.
Dalla moved first.
A streak of lean muscle and sharp intent, she darted forward with a low stance, her grey eyes focused on her opponent. Her brown hair whipped behind her as she launched a straight punch aimed at Mora's sternum.
Mora didn't retreat… she advanced into the strike, redirecting Dalla's fist with the heel of her palm.
The deflection sent Dalla off the punch line by inches... just enough. Mora's counter arrived instantly... a short… brutal elbow toward Dalla's jaw.
Dalla ducked, sliding under the blow, her body twisting like a ribbon. She swept her leg in a tight arc, aiming to take Mora's feet out from under her.
Mora jumped.
Her shadow passed over Dalla, and she came down with a descending heel kick that cracked the air. Dalla rolled aside, dirt spraying as Mora's heel struck the ground where her head had been.
They rose at the same time. Dalla's grin was wild, while Mora's eyes burned with cold fire. They clashed again.
Dalla struck with a flurry of rapid jabs... left, right, left... each one sharp and precise. Mora blocked them with forearms hardened by weeks of drills, her stance rooted, immovable. She caught Dalla's wrist, twisted, and pulled her forward.
Dalla used the momentum... she flipped, planting her free hand on Mora's shoulder, and tried to swing behind her. Mora anticipated it, pivoting sharply, trying to disrupt Dalla's landing, but like a cat, she still lands on her feet.
A heartbeat of stillness, Mora attacked… she surged forward with a driving knee.
Dalla blocked with both arms, the impact forcing her back a step.
Mora followed with a palm strike to the chest… Dalla parried.
Then a sweeping kick... Dalla leapt over it.
A spinning backfist that sliced the air… Dalla bent backward, the strike passing inches above her nose.
She snapped upright and countered with a rising knee aimed at Mora's ribs. Mora caught it with both hands, twisted, and threw Dalla sideways.
Dalla hit the ground, rolled, and sprang up in one fluid motion.
Dalla dashed in with a feint, but Mora didn't fall for it.
Dalla switched angles mid-step, striking from the side.
Mora blocked and countered with a hammer-fist.
Dalla slipped under it, Mora pivoted, Dalla spun, and Mora stepped in.
Their forearms collided with a crack.
Dust spiraled around them as Dalla's speed met Mora's strength… Mora's precision met Dalla's unpredictability.
Dalla launched a spinning kick... Mora caught her ankle mid‑air.
Dalla twisted, using the capture to flip herself forward and land behind Mora.
She struck for the spine... Mora spun, blocking with her elbow, and drove her shoulder into Dalla's chest.
Dalla staggered, Mora pressed forward, fists flying in a tight, merciless rhythm.
Dalla parried, deflected, absorbed… Mora's power pushed her back step by step, until Dalla saw an opening.
She dropped low… swept Mora's leg... Mora stumbled but did not fall, Dalla surged upward with a rising palm strike... Mora caught her wrist.
Their eyes locked... for a moment, neither moved.
Dalla spun into a backfist... Mora caught her wrist, yanked her forward, and slammed her shoulder into her chest. Dalla staggered but rolled with the momentum, flipping backward and landing in a crouch.
The eight young women watched from the side, screamed, and encouraged.
"YES, MORA, BREAK HER!"
"DALLA, DON'T LET HER THROW YOU AROUND!"
"FASTER! HARDER! C'MON… AGAIN!"
A small child peeked from behind a training post, eyes wide with terror.
David, Raimond, and Bran stood off to the side, sweat running down their backs.
Raimond leaned toward David. "This doesn't look healthy…"
David slowly turned his head, giving him a look that said… are you tired of living?
He shook his head sharply, warning Raimond to shut up before the girls heard him.
Bran sighed, looking at the guys, rubbing his temples, and murmuring, "You two are idiots."
David's gaze drifted and then froze. Nearby, on a log, sat Lipa. She wasn't cheering. She wasn't even watching the fight.
She was sharpening a kunai... a kunai that was already sharp.
David knew because she had asked him to forge a weapon similar to Erick's training tools. He had done so. And now she was sharpening it again with slow, deliberate strokes.
She looked up, their eyes met, and David swallowed hard.
Dalla darted forward again, this time using a low sweeping kick. Mora leaped over it, twisting mid‑air, and came down with a heel aimed at Dalla's shoulder.
Dalla blocked... barely... the force driving her a step back.
Mora pressed the advantage, fists flying in a flurry of short, brutal strikes. Dalla parried, dodged, and countered with a rising knee that Mora deflected with her forearm.
They locked for a moment... strength against strength.
Dalla grinned... Mora didn't.
She shifted her weight, hooked her ankle, and sent her crashing to the ground.
Dalla lay there for a breath, staring up at the sky... then she laughed, breathless, exhilarated.
Mora extended a hand, and Dalla took it.
The spar was over... at the same time, a voice could be heard from the far, closing in... a shout... Anna's voice... "They are back!"