The moon hung high over the Tiān Yún Diàn Clan's manor , pale, solemn, veiled behind drifting clouds. The hallways were quiet now, emptied of nobles, soldiers, and their endless chatter. The echo of the grand dinner still lingered faintly in Jin's mind as the attendants led him and Ruan through the stone corridors.
Their guest room was spacious , too spacious. The walls were lined with hanging scrolls and soft paper lamps that flickered dimly in the night air. There was only one bed, large enough for two, though Jin had already decided he'd sleep on the floor before Ruan's glare decided it for him.
The moment Ruan's head touched the pillow, she was out cold. Her breathing softened, her face serene though a faint furrow lingered on her brow, like even in sleep, she was angry at something. Maybe him. Probably him. Jin smiled faintly as he watched her, his body wrapped in fresh bandages, exhaustion crawling up his spine.
He exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling.
The word lingered.
Martial King.
Who was he? A god? A legend? A myth carved into the bones of history? Every time Jin heard that name, something deep within his soul stirred .....a strange, heavy ache, as if he were remembering a song he once knew but had long forgotten.
"Beat a god?" Jin whispered to himself, his voice faint and cracked. "I can't even beat stairs."
He closed his eyes, letting his mind sink into the quiet. The candles dimmed. The night grew colder. Then...
The sound of wind.
The weight of air pressure.
The scent of dust and earth.
He was standing. Not in bed, not in any room, but upon a vast stone training ground that stretched endlessly beneath a sunset sky. The horizon burned crimson and gold, and the mountains in the distance glimmered with something like divine light.
Jin blinked , his body felt strong, powerful. His injuries were gone. His clothes were unfamiliar, elegant yet battle-worn: black robes trimmed in gold, tied by a crimson sash. In his hand was a practice blade made of spirit-steel.
And before him , a woman with silver hair streaked in red, eyes like molten rubies. Her blade shimmered in the sun. A smirk curved her lips.
"Come on, Jin," she said. "Or have you gone soft again?"
Before he could respond, her foot slammed against the ground and she moved. A blur of silver and red, her strike cut the air like thunder. Jin reacted on instinct. Their blades met "clang!" sending a shockwave that tore across the ground. The air itself shuddered.
They moved like titans in a dance. Every blow, every turn of the wrist, created ripples of energy. Dust rose around them in golden waves. Jin's eyes burned with excitement this felt right. His body knew these movements. His heart remembered her rhythm.
Another strike and another clash until both stepped back, panting, grinning like rivals who had long since stopped keeping score.
On the edge of the training ground stood two others , men.
The first, tall with sharp eyes and the permanent smirk of a man in love with his own reflection, clapped loudly. "Excellent, absolutely splendid! I must say, I'd cheer for you, lady silver-flame, though my loyalty goes wherever beauty does!"
The second said nothing. He was quiet, wearing a deep blue robe and a cold gaze. His aura was sharp, silent, and deadly the kind of man who spoke rarely, but when he did, the world listened.
Jin laughed and sheathed his blade. The woman tossed her silver hair, smirking.
Moments later, they sat together under the shade of an old tree at the edge of the training ground, steam rising from their teacups. The silver-haired woman poured wine into hers, ignoring the tea entirely.
The proud one leaned back lazily. "The world's gone strange, hasn't it? Every lord and soldier trying to prove their worth ?it's exhausting."
"Mm," the quiet one murmured. "It's fear. People cling to pride when the end feels near."
"The end?" Jin asked.
"The war," the silver-haired woman said softly. Her voice carried a calm strength. "The realms will clash again soon. The north, the south, the divine cities — all of them preparing. And us…" She took a sip of wine. "We can't sit idle. Each of us governs a kingdom. We'll be drawn into it whether we want to or not."
Jin looked down at his tea. His reflection rippled faintly in the liquid. "Power always drags its owners into wars they didn't start," he muttered.
The proud one laughed. "Ah, Jin the philosopher! You always say you hate politics, yet here you are ,our reluctant prince!"
"I'm no prince," Jin said. "Just a man trying not to burn the world down."
The woman smirked, resting her chin on her hand. "And yet you hold the strength to do it."
Silence stretched comfortably between them. The sunset bled deeper into violet.
Then, suddenly, she spoke again.
"Have you heard the newest rumor?" Her eyes glinted. "They say he has awakened again — the Martial King."
Jin froze.
He set his cup down, his expression darkening. "Don't start."
"Oh, don't be such a bore," she teased. "You never believe in things you can't punch."
"I believe in what I can see," Jin replied. "And no one's ever seen this so-called Martial King. People use that name as an excuse — as a banner to fight wars that don't belong to them."
The quiet one nodded in agreement. The proud one, of course, shrugged. "If such a man exists, I'd love to meet him preferably to see if he's handsomer than me."
The woman laughed, the sound like bells in the dusk. "Then perhaps you'll get your wish. Because whether he's real or not, we all have our roles. And I've already decided mine."
She looked at Jin then, eyes fierce and tender all at once.
"No matter what happens," she said, "I will always protect the Martial King."
Jin gave her a long, puzzled look. "You say that like you already know who he is."
"Maybe I do." Her smile was mysterious, almost sad. "Maybe I don't."
The flap of cloth interrupted their quiet.
A young girl entered ... small, delicate, with wide round eyes and hair the color of dawnfire. She ran straight to the silver-haired woman and hugged her tightly. The woman smiled warmly, wrapping an arm around her.
"You couldn't wait, could you?" the woman teased softly.
The girl giggled and shook her head.
Jin leaned back, smirking. "Didn't know you brought your wife along to training."
The proud one choked on his drink. "Wife?"
The woman rolled her eyes, cheeks flushed. "She's clingy, that's all. Don't tease."
The girl smiled, still hugging her. The sight was gentle, pure , a moment of peace amidst power.
The quiet one finally spoke. "Jin, will that arrogant monkey of yours aid us in this war?"
Jin laughed out loud. "That idiot? He'd rather die in a tavern than lift a finger! You could call him a coward, drunk, and shameless, and he'd probably take it as a compliment."
A voice rang behind them.
"Coward, drunk, and shameless? You flatter me! If it's me you are talking about"
They all turned.
A silhouette stood against the burning horizon — tall, calm, presence vast as the sea itself. The air shifted around him; even the birds went quiet.
The silver-haired woman smiled faintly.
"Looks like the Martial King himself has decided to join us."
Jin sighed, his hand resting against his forehead. "Tch… and here I thought we had peace for a day."
He turned — and saw him.
A figure draped in gold and shadow. His eyes shone like distant stars. His presence was not divine .... it was beyond divine. Familiar, yet unfathomable. The weight of time, of infinity itself, seemed to ripple through his every step.
And as Jin's gaze met his, something deep within him snapped open.
That face…
Before he could speak before he could breathe the dream shattered.
Jin gasped awake, sweat clinging to his skin, heart racing like a war drum. The room was dark again, silent except for the soft breathing of Ruan sleeping nearby. The moon had shifted past the window, its pale light brushing his face.
He pressed a trembling hand to his forehead.
That wasn't just a dream. It felt real. Too real.
He remembered the scent of the tea. The sound of their laughter. The silver-haired woman's eyes. The Martial King's gaze the way it pierced through him like it had known him forever.
Jin swallowed hard, his breath uneven.
"...He was real," he whispered. "The Martial King… was real."
But the thought that followed was far more terrifying.
If that was true
then why did he remember it as if he had lived it himself?
And who, in that long-forgotten dream… had Jin really been?