The Walk to Reminiscence

The gates of Glory City groaned open at dawn.

Thirty-seven students spilled out onto the worn trade road, their banners snapping in the morning wind. Armor gleamed. Spirit beasts prowled restlessly at their masters’ heels. Nobles boasted loudly about their bloodlines, comparing weapon inscriptions and laughing at imagined victories already won.

The expedition looked like a parade of young conquerors.

But four among them did not shine.

Nie Li, Du Ze, Lu Piao, and Xiao Ning’er walked in plain gear, their unenchanted crossbows strapped to their backs. No beasts padded beside them. No spirit resonance crackled in the air. They were shadows in a sea of fire.

Sweat dampened their robes where straps rubbed against fresh wounds. Every mile reopened the cuts etched into their backs. None of them spoke of it, but each step was a vow — pain carried as proof that they belonged not to the nobles’ world, but to the Seal.

Lu Piao muttered, “We look like servants who stole the master’s luggage.”

Du Ze kept his eyes on the road. “Better that than beasts gnawing at our souls.”

Nie Li said nothing, but his gaze lingered on the road stretching east — toward the ruins, toward the waiting tomb.

Ye Ziyun walked near the front ranks, her posture noble, her bearing composed. But her eyes strayed. Again and again, they found the same place: Nie Li and Xiao Ning’er walking side by side.

Their silence looked practiced. Familiar. As if they had shared it a hundred times before.

Ziyun’s chest tightened. She had not spoken to Ning’er properly in a year — not since politics and family pressure had walled them apart. Once, they had studied under the same tutors, picked jasmine flowers together in the gardens, even whispered about the futures they dreamed of.

Now Ning’er leaned slightly toward Nie Li, listening as he spoke low. And Nie Li… Nie Li looked at her with an attention Ziyun had never seen him give anyone.

Later, when the trail narrowed between two rocky outcrops, Ziyun matched her pace to Ning’er’s.

“Xiao Ning’er,” she said softly.

Ning’er looked over, surprise flashing before she smiled — warm, but careful.
“Ziyun. It has been a while.”

Ziyun tried to smile back. “Too long. I missed it. I missed… us.”

For a heartbeat she wanted to throw away her family’s commands, to laugh with Ning’er again in the garden. But the voice of her father echoed like iron in her mind: The Winged Dragon girl has shamed her blood. Do not be seen with her. Duty strangled tenderness.

Ziyun stepped closer. “So… you and Nie Li?”

Ning’er blinked. “What about us?”

“You’re always with him,” Ziyun said, her voice calm but edged. “I’ve never seen you spend this much time with anyone.”

Ning’er hesitated, then answered evenly:
“He’s helped me. With… things I couldn’t face alone.”

“But why him?” The words slipped before Ziyun could stop them. “I don’t mean to offend, but his cultivation barely registers above Bronze. He has no beast, no lineage. What could he give you?”

Ning’er’s expression cooled. Her silver eyes caught the morning light, sharp as steel.
Her reply cut sharper than the knife at her hip.
“He gave me silence when pain screamed. He gave me truth when lies dressed themselves as wisdom. Tell me which noble house could offer more.”

Ziyun faltered. She opened her mouth again, but Ning’er had already moved ahead, her steps steady, her silence final.

They marched until dusk, then pitched camp in a wide clearing where moss-choked stones hinted at a road long forgotten.

The nobles clustered together, their fires bright and noisy. They laughed, gambled spirit stones, and sparred with glowing blades that sang when drawn. Ye Ziyun sat among them, her expression serene, but her eyes kept drifting to the smaller fire burning at the camp’s edge.

There, Nie Li, Ning’er, Du Ze, and Lu Piao sat close, their voices low, their food plain.

Shen Yue leaned toward Ziyun, his voice soft but sharp.
“You should be careful around people like them. Nie Li has no background, no beast, no prospects. The Winged Dragon girl’s name is already tarnished just standing near him. You don’t want that following you.”

Others chimed in.
“Chen Linjian’s wasting time letting them join.”
“Four bronze realms with crossbows? They’ll slow us down.”
“One day of marching and they’ll be begging to go home.”
Another voice jeered, “Chen Linjian pities them — that’s all. He’ll throw them coin for food, then leave them behind when real danger comes.”

The laughter spread like wildfire. Even the sparring blades rang louder, as if to drown out the quiet campfire on the edge.

Ziyun didn’t answer. But she didn’t look away, either.

At their smaller camp, Lu Piao stretched out on the ground with a groan.
“My feet are dead. My back’s on fire. And I’m pretty sure my bow weighs more than I do. Remind me again why I didn’t just stay home?”

“Because you swore to stand beside him,” Ning’er said dryly, poking the fire with a stick.

Lu Piao shot her a look, but she didn’t flinch.

Du Ze sat cross-legged, his face lit by flame, his voice quiet.
“My father spent twenty thousand spirit stones to get me into the Institute. Everything he had. For a dream that’s already gone.”

“It’s not gone,” Ning’er said softly. “It’s changed.”

Nie Li finally spoke, his eyes on the fire.
“They’ll mourn for us. Our families. Our friends. They’ll think we failed. That we wasted everything. That we abandoned our path.”

He looked up, his voice steady.
“But the truth is… we’re the only ones who haven’t been devoured.”

Their fire was small, barely enough to warm their hands, but it burned steady. The nobles’ bonfires roared and crackled, casting wild shadows; their fire glowed soft, a coal against the dark. Around it, words were fewer, but weightier. Every silence felt full, not empty.

Lu Piao tried to laugh, but it cracked in his throat. “I miss when our biggest problem was homework.”

A branch snapped in the dark.

All four stilled.

Du Ze’s hand went to his crossbow. Ning’er’s silver eyes scanned the treeline. The nobles by their fires didn’t notice — too busy boasting, too loud to hear anything but themselves.

Nie Li’s breath slowed. He felt it before he saw it: something in the woods watching. Not beast. Not human. Something older.

And then, in the silence between heartbeats, the Voice came.

Steady as a drumbeat:

“The tomb awaits.
The vault will open.
The lamp will reveal what the world has buried.
You are not alone.”

The words did not echo in the clearing. They echoed inside them — four scars burning in unison.

Nie Li bowed his head. His scar burned faintly beneath his clothes.

The others didn’t hear it — not in words. But they felt the shift in the air, like the world had just leaned closer.

Nie Li looked at them through the firelight, his voice low.
“Get some rest. Tomorrow… everything changes.”

The flames crackled. The nobles laughed in the distance.

And at the edge of the woods, something unseen withdrew into the dark.