The training fields behind the Inner Sect Hall were quiet at dawn, veiled in a fine silver mist. Rows of weapon racks stood like soldiers at attention, their blades catching the pale light. The dew clung to the grass, and the only sound was the steady thump—thump—thump—of a fist meeting wood.
Yao Yi stood before one of the hardened stonewood dummies, his hands wrapped in thin linen, his breaths slow but shallow. Sweat darkened the back of his robe.
He had been striking the same spot for an hour.
Not because he lacked control.
Because he had to remember what normal strength felt like.
Since Blackwater Ravine, his mirror had not spoken. But he could still feel something beneath his skin—like a second heartbeat, deeper, older, and not entirely his.
And it scared him.
He struck again.
This time the dummy cracked.
A jagged fracture, running straight through the torso. His hand trembled slightly, but not from pain.
Behind him, someone clapped.
"Well, well. You are strong," came a lazy voice.
Yao Yi turned, already knowing who it was.
Li Zhi. Second-ranked among the new Inner Sect disciples. He walked with his hands tucked behind his back, a crooked smile on his lips and eyes that never quite matched his smile.
"I heard what happened at Blackwater," Li Zhi continued, circling slowly. "Jiang Yuan's still recovering. Elder Ru Lan's been very quiet."
Yao Yi said nothing.
Li Zhi stopped beside the broken dummy, nudging it with his toe. "You know, people are starting to wonder. You, Ling Yue, Elder Silvermoon… It's almost like a little faction, isn't it?"
Yao Yi met his gaze. "If you came to fight, say so."
Li Zhi grinned wider. "No, no. I'm not here to fight. I'm here to warn you."
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping.
"The sect is watching you now. Closely. And not just the Elders. Some…older disciples think you might be dangerous. Unstable. You don't want to end up like Wu Han."
Yao Yi's brow furrowed. "Who?"
Li Zhi straightened. "Exactly."
Then he turned and walked away.
Later that day, Yao Yi returned to his quarters to find a scroll pinned to his door with a wooden knife.
"Come to the Mirror Lake at dusk. Alone."
There was no signature, but the ink was faintly scented with plum blossom.
His father's scent.
Mirror Lake was named for its stillness. Even the birds seemed to avoid making ripples.
Yao Yi arrived as the sun began to sink, painting the sky in red and gold. The lake caught every hue perfectly, a second sky stretching beneath his feet.
He waited.
And waited.
Then, a splash.
Across the lake, a boat emerged—small, unpainted, gliding without oar or sail. Standing in it was Ling Yue.
She wore no sect robes this time, only a dark blue tunic and a pale scarf. Her hair was tied back, and in the fading light, her silver eyes seemed to glow.
"You came," she said, guiding the boat to the dock.
Yao Yi nodded. "You sent the note?"
She shook her head. "Elder Silvermoon did. He wants to see you."
Yao Yi stepped onto the boat. It rocked slightly under his weight.
As they drifted into the lake, Ling Yue sat on the edge, trailing her fingers in the water.
"He told me you've started to hear the mirror," she said softly.
"I don't understand it," Yao Yi admitted. "It doesn't speak in words. It shows things. Feelings. Memories that aren't mine."
Ling Yue was silent for a long moment.
"Do you know how Elder Silvermoon got his title?" she asked at last.
Yao Yi shook his head.
"He used to be named Lei Chen. Twenty years ago, he was the strongest among the Sect's core disciples. They said he would become Sect Master."
"What happened?"
"He went to war. The Eastern Rebellion. Something…broke. When he returned, his hair had turned silver, and his eyes—" she paused, "—were no longer human."
Yao Yi stared at her.
She continued, "The Sect didn't know what to do with him. So he became the guardian of the old things. Forbidden scrolls. Sealed artifacts. Mirrors that whisper."
Yao Yi's hand brushed his waist.
"You think the mirror changed him?"
"I think he let it."
The boat stopped. They had reached a small island in the lake, barely more than a rocky outcrop with a stone pagoda.
Ling Yue stepped off. "He's inside."
The interior of the pagoda smelled of dust and plum blossom.
Elder Silvermoon stood at its center, back to the door, staring into a basin filled with water. His long robes shimmered faintly, and his silver hair hung like a curtain.
"You've begun to awaken," he said without turning.
Yao Yi bowed. "I don't know what I've awakened."
Silvermoon turned.
His eyes were pale. Not white—but silver, like burnished steel under moonlight.
"Power does not ask for permission. It awakens when it must. The question is whether you awaken with it—or drown."
He stepped forward, lifting Yao Yi's chin with two fingers.
"You have your father's eyes."
Yao Yi froze.
"You knew him?" he asked.
Silvermoon nodded. "He was my junior brother. And one of the few who tried to destroy the mirror."
Yao Yi's heart slammed against his ribs.
"He failed," Silvermoon said. "But not before binding part of himself to it. That's why it chose you."
Yao Yi stumbled back.
"I never wanted this."
"No one does," Silvermoon replied. "But now that it's begun, you must understand what you are."
He gestured toward the basin.
"Look."
Yao Yi stepped forward.
The water shifted.
He saw fire. Cities burning. Ten suns in the sky—then nine.
And in the center, a child screaming as the last sun devoured his shadow.
Yao Yi staggered back.
"What—what was that?"
"A possible future," Silvermoon said. "Unless you learn to master the bloodline you carry."
Yao Yi gripped the mirror.
"Why me?"
"Because you survived," Silvermoon said. "Your mother died to keep you hidden. Your father died to seal the truth. And now, the mirror has chosen to remember."
He turned away.
"There is a path. But it is not safe. Not easy. And not short."
Yao Yi's voice was barely a whisper. "Then show me."
Silvermoon smiled faintly.
"Come at dawn. Bring the mirror. And be ready to bleed."
That night, Yao Yi couldn't sleep.
The stars overhead looked too much like eyes. The silence around his room too deep. The mirror pulsed at his side, a soft heartbeat in the dark.
He sat on his meditation mat and closed his eyes.
The mirror drew him in.
And this time, there were no dreams.
Only flame.