The beast hit the ground in a spray of dirt and frost.
A streak of silver light carved across the valley like a falling star, splitting the air with a sharp, metallic hum. Lauri didn't move at first. He couldn't. His legs refused to obey him. His breath stalled in his chest. All he could do was stare as the figure who had stepped between him and death lowered their weapon with a calm that bordered on terrifying.
The wolf‑beast snarled, staggering backwards on trembling limbs. A single gash burned across its flank, faint golden light seeping from the wound as though the cut itself resisted closing.
The newcomer stood tall, spine straight as a fir tree. Cloth of muted charcoal wrapped around a lean frame, embroidered with silver patterns that wriggled subtly—like frost creeping across a windowpane. A long sword gleamed in their right hand, its blade slender and elegant, a faint mist curling from its surface as if the steel breathed winter.
The person's face remained half-hidden beneath a broad, pale hat with dangling threads—far more delicate than anything Lauri had ever seen worn for practical use. Yet there was nothing delicate about the aura surrounding them.
Calm.
Balanced.
Dangerous.
"Outsider," the figure repeated, voice low and smooth as flowing water. "Did you not hear? I told you to step aside."
Lauri blinked hard. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"I… I didn't exactly have time," he managed.
The figure angled their head slightly toward him, as if assessing the sound of his voice rather than the words themselves.
"Your qi is unstable. Your presence here is anomalous."
Qi. The word again. He didn't know what it meant, but his body reacted as though recognizing an old, half-forgotten song.
Behind them, the beast gathered itself. Frost spread beneath its paws as it snarled, baring its twin rows of icy fangs. Its two tails lashed the air, scattering shards of crystalline mist.
The swordsman—or swordwoman?—shifted their stance.
The movement was subtle. Quiet. Controlled.
But something in the air snapped taut, like a bowstring drawn to breaking point.
The wolf-beast lunged.
The figure moved.
Lauri barely saw it. One moment they were a silhouette of calm; the next, a flash of silver cutting the space between heartbeats. Their blade swept upward in a graceful arc, tracing a pale crescent in the air. The crescent fell like a drifting snowflake.
And the beast froze.
Lauri's breath hitched.
The creature's body stood rigid, mid‑leap, suspended as though pinned by invisible threads. For a moment, its icy eyes flickered with primal fear. Then the crescent line drawn by the blade glowed along its body.
Soft.
Pale.
Beautiful.
The beast dissolved.
Not into blood.
Not into flesh.
But into shimmering frost‑dust, scattering on the wind like a sigh given physical form.
Lauri stared, stunned into silence.
The swordsman flicked the blade gently. Frost mist trailed from it, melting away in the warm valley air. They sheathed the sword with a motion so smooth it felt rehearsed by a thousand lifetimes.
Only then did they fully turn to face him.
Under the wide hat, he caught glimpses of sharp cheekbones, a calm jawline, eyes narrowed not in anger, but in thought. The gaze they leveled at him was neither hostile nor trusting—simply observant, as if he were an unexpected equation that had appeared on a scholar's scroll.
"What sect are you from?" the figure asked.
"Sect?" Lauri repeated. "I… don't have a sect."
A long pause.
The person tilted their head again.
"Everyone has a sect," they said slowly. "Even wanderers find their alignments. And your qi… your origin is strange. Foreign. Untamed."
Lauri swallowed. "I'm not from here."
Another pause—longer this time.
The wind shifted. Grass whispered. Overhead, one of the three suns dipped slightly, its lavender glow dimming like a lantern softening for night.
"Not from here," the swordsman echoed. "Not from this valley?"
"Not from this world," Lauri said.
He expected shock.
Laughter.
Suspicion.
Instead, the figure exhaled softly, as if the answer merely confirmed a suspicion.
"I see." The sword-hand relaxed slightly. "Then the heavens have brought trouble to my patrol shift once again."
Lauri blinked. "What?"
But the swordsman ignored the question and stepped closer, studying him with unnervingly perceptive eyes. Their voice lowered.
"You carry no qi signatures," they murmured. "Your soul vibrates irregularly. And yet… there is a thread tethered to you. Faint, but present."
Lauri felt something flutter in his chest.
The thread.
The aurora light.
Mei.
He didn't know how to put it into words, didn't even know if the words existed here. Yet something inside him whispered her name like a prayer.
The swordsman sheathed their sword fully and tapped the hilt.
"State your name, outsider."
"…Lauri," he said. "Lauri Kallio."
A subtle nod. "I am Yanmei of the Jade Frost Pavilion."
Yanmei.
The name slid into his mind like a shard of poetic ice.
Jade Frost Pavilion.
The words sounded elegant and dangerous and ancient all at once—like a cultivation version of a military battalion crossed with a monastery.
Yanmei stepped back and gestured toward the distant mountains where golden clouds clung to sheer cliffs.
"You should not be here alone. Spirit beasts prowl during the Resonance Cycle. Even lesser ones can shred an untempered human in moments."
Lauri forced a dry laugh. "I noticed."
Yanmei didn't smile.
"Your humor suggests you're not entirely without composure. That is good. Fear would only hasten your death."
"Comforting," Lauri said under his breath.
Yanmei turned, cloak shifting with a soft whisper, and began walking.
"Follow."
Lauri blinked. "Where?"
"To safety," Yanmei replied without looking back. "And to answers, if your mind is stable enough to accept them."
Lauri hesitated.
He didn't know this world.
He didn't know this person.
But the valley hid beasts that dissolved into frost, and he had no phone, no gear, no idea how to defend himself. Even the air felt alive, humming faintly with qi—or maybe that was just nerves.
Yanmei stopped several steps ahead when they noticed he wasn't moving.
Those calm, assessing eyes turned back to him.
"Lauri Kallio," they said evenly, "you stand on soil that has no memory of you. If you stay here alone, you will die. If you follow me, you may still die. But one path has a chance. The other does not."
Lauri exhaled shakily.
Northern logic. Brutal and honest. He could understand that.
"Fine," he said at last. "I'll follow."
Yanmei nodded once and resumed walking. Lauri hurried after them, stumbling slightly on uneven ground.
As they moved through the valley, Lauri noticed details he hadn't before. Runes carved into stones shaped like natural pillars. Flowers that glowed faintly blue, bending toward Yanmei—as though recognizing a familiar presence. Clusters of grass that shifted color with the wind.
This world breathed.
It whispered.
It watched.
Somewhere far above, a long, distant roar echoed across the heavens. Yanmei paused, gaze sharpening.
"Not good," they murmured.
"What was that?" Lauri asked.
"A Sky-Born Serpent. A juvenile, from the sound of it." Yanmei's fingers flexed near their sword hilt. "It shouldn't be this low. Something is disturbing the natural flow of qi."
Lauri felt his stomach clench. "And you think that something is… me?"
Yanmei didn't answer.
Which was answer enough.
They continued in silence for several minutes until the path narrowed between two towering cliffs. Strange symbols glowed faintly on the rock faces—wards, protections, warnings.
Yanmei stopped abruptly.
Lauri nearly bumped into them. "What now?"
Yanmei lifted a hand for silence.
The air shifted—tightening, thickening, pulling warmth from Lauri's skin.
A whisper threaded through the wind.
Not a voice.
Not words.
A vibration.
The same vibration from the sauna.
The same resonance that had brushed against his soul.
He gasped.
Yanmei's eyes sharpened. "You felt that?"
"Yes," Lauri whispered. "It's… familiar."
Yanmei drew their sword in a slow, controlled motion. Frost mist swirled around the blade.
"That was no beast," they said quietly. "No cultivator I know." Their voice dropped to a whisper of steel. "Something ancient is responding to your presence."
Lauri forced himself to breathe. "Is that… bad?"
Yanmei didn't answer immediately.
Instead, their gaze drifted upward—to the sky where the three suns dimmed simultaneously, as though veiled by unseen hands.
Clouds thickened unnaturally fast.
The wind died.
The silence around them deepened into something heavy and expectant.
Yanmei's voice finally broke the stillness.
"Lauri Kallio," they said, tone grave, "the heavens do not veil themselves lightly. Whatever thread brought you here… it is being pulled again."
The ground trembled.
Light flickered across the cliffs.
A pulse of aurora green—so bright it stained the air.
Yanmei stepped in front of him, sword raised. "Stand behind me."
Lauri obeyed instinctively.
A second pulse.
Stronger.
The air cracked like ice splitting on a frozen lake.
And then—
A jagged tear of light split the sky above them.
The same color.
The same brilliance.
The same thread.
Yanmei braced, ready to face whatever emerged.
Lauri's breath snagged in his throat.
Because through the tear—just for an instant—he saw a silhouette.
Slender.
Graceful.
Holding a jade bookmark that glowed like a shard of moonlight.
Mei.
Her lips moved.
He didn't hear the words.
But he felt them in his bones.
And then the tear snapped shut.
Yanmei's voice cut through the shock.
"What did you see?"
Lauri opened his mouth to answer—
But the cliff beneath their feet buckled.
A shockwave hurled them both backward—
And the chapter ended as the valley split open, swallowing the truth with it.