Few Months Ago----
The wind howling through the jagged peaks of the Dragontooth Mountain Range didn't just carry the cold, it carried a biting, metallic tang that tasted of rust and lingering danger.
This was the "Dead Zone" a notorious stretch of jagged topography sandwiched between the borders of the Heaven Dou Empire and the Balak Kingdom. It was a place where maps were often left blank, marked only by vague warnings of magnetic interference that drove compasses mad and sent flying Spirit Masters spiraling into the rocks.
For Arthev, however, it was just another Tuesday.
At 12 years old, Arthev looked less like a child and more like a wraith carved from the mountain stone itself. Clad in worn, travel-stained heavy cloth that had been patched more times than he cared to count, he moved with a silence that defied the crunching gravel beneath his boots. A hood was pulled low over his head, shielding his face, but it couldn't hide the mental uproar echoing inside his skull.
'I hate this place,' a scratchy, high-pitched voice grumbled in his subconscious. 'It's wet. It's cold. And there isn't a speck of decent sand for three hundred miles. Can we please just blow up a peak and sleep in the crater? The magma would be warm.'
'Denied, Shukaku,' Arthev projected the thought back effortlessly. 'Explosions attract Spirit Beasts. And I don't feel like fighting a 10,000 year-old Snow Demon today.'
'You're boring, stunned-face,' the One-Tail Tanuki scoffed, retreating into the deeper recesses of Arthev's mindscape.
Arthev exhaled, watching his breath crystalize in the freezing air.
His eyelids snapped open.
Instantly, the world changed. The dull gray of the mountain range was overlaid with a complex, pulsing network of energy.
His Shinragan activated.
'Spirit Power density is chaotic,' Arthev noted internally.
'Indeed,' a softer, more elegant voice chimed in. It was Matatabi, the Two-Tails. 'The magnetic field here is acting like a prism, scattering the natural yuan power. It is disorienting my sensory perception. Be careful, Arthev. Ambushes are easy to hide in this static.'
'I see it,' Arthev replied, scanning the horizon. 'But I need shelter. If I stay on the ridge tonight, my core temperature will drop too low.'
He scanned the horizon, looking for a cave or an overhang. His vision pierced through rock, fog, and darkness. He saw the heat signatures of small rodents burrowing deep underground. He saw the skeletal remains of a large avian Spirit Beast tangled in a crag miles away.
And then, he saw the anomaly.
About three kilometers to the east, nestled between two towering, razor-sharp peaks that looked like the fangs of a beast, there was a pocket of… stillness.
In Arthev's vision, the chaotic, violent swirls of magnetic energy that plagued the rest of the mountain range simply stopped there. It was as if an invisible bubble had been carved out of the storm. Inside that bubble, the Spirit Power didn't rage, it flowed gently, like a calm stream.
'That's unnatural,' Isobu, the Three-Tails, whispered timidly from the watery depths of Arthev's mind. 'The mist... it's stable there. Too stable. Nature doesn't create perfect spheres of order amidst chaos.'
'Trap?' Shukaku asked, suddenly interested. 'If it's a trap, can I kill it?'
'We investigate first,' Arthev commanded.
Caution warred with curiosity. A twelve-year-old traveling alone survived by avoiding unknowns. But the wind was picking up, screaming like a banshee, and the temperature was plummeting.
"Calculated risk," he whispered to the wind. His voice was raspy from days of silence.
He adjusted his pack, tightened the straps, and leaped.
He moved like a mountain goat, descending the sheer cliffs with terrifying speed. He didn't need to check his footing, his eyes saw every crack, every loose stone, and every friction point before his foot even touched the ground.
As he approached the gap between the two "fang" peaks, the fog became denser. It was a thick, milky white wall that smelled faintly of ozone.
Arthev stopped just before the barrier. He extended a hand, coating it in a thin layer of Soul Power, and pressed it against the mist.
'No resistance,' Matatabi observed. 'No alarm wards. No defensive formations. Just… wet, cold fog.'
He stepped through.
The transition was so abrupt it was disorienting.
One moment, the wind was tearing at his clothes and the air was freezing. The next, silence.
Arthev blinked, his Shinragan spinning slowly as he adjusted to the sudden shift in light and temperature. The howling wind was gone, replaced by the gentle, rhythmic rustling of leaves. The biting cold vanished, replaced by a crisp, comfortable coolness, like a perfect autumn afternoon.
He stood at the edge of a valley that shouldn't exist.
Below him lay a bowl-shaped depression, lush and vibrant. Unlike the gray, rocky exterior of the mountain range, this valley was a riot of gold, amber, and crimson. Trees with massive, ancient trunks and leaves the color of sunset canopying the area.
A crystal-clear river wound its way through the center, sparkling under the light of the setting sun, which somehow pierced through the heavy mist above to bathe the valley in a golden hour glow.
And in the center of it all, was a village.
It wasn't a fortress. It wasn't a military outpost. It was a collection of perhaps fifty or sixty wooden cottages, their roofs thatched with dried golden reeds. Smoke curled lazily from stone chimneys.
'Humans,' Shukaku grunted. 'And weak ones. I smell dirt and vegetables. No blood.'
'Peaceful,' Isobu murmured. 'It feels... nice.'
Arthev stood frozen, his guard raised to the maximum. This was too peaceful. In the world of Douluo Dalu, peace was usually a trap. He scanned the village intensely with his eyes.
'No high-level Spirit Masters,' he analyzed rapidly. 'Most are civilians. A few Rank 10s and 20s. Farmers. Hunters. The strongest signature is… maybe a Rank 40 Spirit Ancestor near the center?'
He began to descend the grassy slope, keeping low, intending to observe from the perimeter. But for all his visual prowess, he had underestimated the acoustics of the valley.
Snap.
A dry twig broke under his boot. In the unnatural silence of the valley, it sounded like a gunshot.
Fifty meters away, near the edge of a small orchard, a man looked up. He was a burly farmer carrying a basket of red apples. He froze, eyes locking onto Arthev's hooded figure emerging from the tree line.
Arthev's hand instantly went to the pouch at his hip. His muscles coiled.
'Right side, three degrees,' Matatabi advised instantly. 'Best escape route if he calls for guards.'
'Just crush him!' Shukaku roared. 'Sand Funeral! Do it!'
The farmer blinked. Then, a wide, crinkled smile broke across his weathered face.
"Oi! You there!"the man shouted, waving a hand enthusiastically.
Arthev didn't move. 'Here it comes. The interrogation. The demand for a toll.'
"You look like you've tumbled down the Dragon's Throat!" the farmer laughed, hefting his basket. "Traveler? You must be freezing! Come on down, the stew is just coming off the fire!"
Arthev stood stunned. His hand hovered over his weapon pouch, uncertain. '...Stew?'
'He is... offering food?' Isobu sounded confused. 'Humans usually throw rocks first.'
Arthev remained silent, walking slowly toward the man, his eyes never leaving the farmer's hands, watching for a hidden weapon or a signal to ambush. There was none. The man's aura was completely open, devoid of hostility
"I am... just passing through," Arthev said, his voice guarded and cold.
"Well, you can pass through after you get some warmth in your belly," the farmer said, completely ignoring Arthev's deadly aura.
He gestured toward the village with his chin. "We don't get many outsiders here in Still Heart Village. The mist usually turns them around. You've got some luck on you, boy."
Still Heart Village. The name fit.
As Arthev walked alongside the farmer into the main cobblestone street, he felt eyes on him. But they weren't the predatory glares.
Children peeked from behind fences with wide, curious eyes. Women washing clothes by the stream paused to nod politely. An old man smoking a pipe on a porch lifted a hand in greeting.
It was surreal.
'I don't like it,' Shukaku muttered. 'They are too happy. It's suspicious. Maybe they eat children.'
'Your paranoia is showing, One-Tail,' Matatabi chided. 'Though I agree, caution is warranted. Arthev, keep your senses sharp.'
"Elder Mu!" the farmer shouted as they approached a larger building in the center of the village. "Found a straggler coming down the North Ridge!"
The door to the large hall opened, and an elderly man stepped out. He leaned on a cane made of twisted ironwood. He had a long white beard and eyes that were cloudy with age, yet surprisingly sharp. This was the Spirit Ancestor Arthev had sensed.
The Elder looked at Arthev. He didn't look at the boy's ragged clothes or the dirt on his face. He looked straight into Arthev's eyes.
"A long road you have walked, child," the Elder said softly. His voice sounded like dry leaves scraping together. "Welcome to the sanctuary of the Stone."
"I have no money to pay for lodging," Arthev stated bluntly, setting the boundary immediately. He hated owing debts.
The Elder chuckled, a wheezing, gentle sound. "In Still Heart Village, we do not trade in gold for basic kindness. Tonight, you are a guest. Tomorrow, the Festival of Serenity begins. Perhaps the Stone guided you here to share in our joy."
Arthev wanted to scoff. He wanted to tell them that luck didn't exist, that he was here because of his own calculations, and that "joy" was a fleeting chemical reaction in the brain.
But the smell of the stew wafting from the communal hall was overwhelming. His stomach gave a traitorous growl, loud enough to be heard in the quiet square. Even though he didn't need food to sustain himself. Why did the stomach growl?
The farmer laughed heartily, slapping Arthev on the back, a touch Arthev barely managed not to dodge. "The belly speaks the truth even when the mouth is stubborn! Come on, lad."
Arthev hesitated one last time. He looked back at the mist-covered peaks he had descended from the cold, the dark, the lonely. Then he looked at the warm, golden light spilling from the open door of the hall.
"Just for one night," he muttered to himself, stepping over the threshold.
But as he entered, unaware of the fate that awaited this peaceful hamlet, the strange energy of the valley seemed to vibrate, as if the threads of destiny were tightening around his neck.
To be continued...