The First Sky Realm was unlike anything Cled had ever imagined.
Mountains floated like drifting islands, suspended in seas of glowing mist. Rivers of light flowed between them, carrying fragments of memory from worlds long gone. The air shimmered with a quiet hum — the pulse of the heavens, alive and watching.
Cled stepped onto the cloudpath, his robe whispering against the silver mist. The relic within his chest throbbed in rhythm with the realm itself. The Trial of Stillness had awakened something new in him — a sense of connection, not just to the sky, but to the unspoken truths between breaths.
Still, he remained wary. The relic's voice had grown faint, as if conserving its strength for something ahead.
He followed the path until he came upon a small shrine built atop a floating boulder. It was old — impossibly old — its stones cracked and moss-covered, its incense long turned to dust. Yet a single bell hung by the entrance, still swaying gently, though no wind blew.
Cled's eyes softened. He approached and bowed once, placing a hand on the bell.
The moment he did, it rang.
The sound was not loud, but it carried through the sky like a memory returning home.
> "Ah," a voice said from behind him, gentle and amused. "It's been a long time since that bell remembered how to sing."
Cled turned.
A man in tattered monk robes sat cross-legged near the shrine, sipping tea from a cracked cup. His face was youthful, yet his eyes were ancient — not in years, but in weight. His bald head shone faintly under the light, and a lazy smile curved his lips.
> "You're early," the monk said, motioning to a second cup. "Sit. The tea's warm, though the leaves have forgotten what flavor means."
Cled hesitated, then sat across from him. "You were expecting me?"
> "I expect everyone," the monk said cheerfully. "But only the right ones arrive."
Cled studied him. There was something strange — not about his appearance, but his presence. The air around him was perfectly balanced, neither heavy nor light, as though he had long since made peace with everything that was and was not.
> "Who are you?" Cled asked.
The monk blinked. "I don't remember."
Silence.
He said it so simply that Cled almost believed it was a joke. But the monk's smile faded, replaced by a distant calm.
> "I woke here centuries ago," the monk said softly. "Without a name. Without a purpose. Only this shrine, this tea, and the sound of the bell that never rang."
Cled's hand brushed his chest, feeling the relic's faint pulse. "You're a guardian."
> "I was," the monk admitted. "Once. When the heavens still sang and the Council still cared. But time has no meaning in these realms. Even guardians are forgotten when they have no one left to protect."
He poured more tea, watching the steam curl upward.
> "But you… you carry something that remembers."
Cled met his gaze. "You know of Heaven's Heart?"
The monk chuckled. "Boy, everything above the First Sky knows that pulse. It was once the core of all creation. You bear a heavy burden — or perhaps a final hope."
Cled said nothing, but his silence spoke of acceptance.
The monk studied him for a while, then leaned forward.
> "Tell me, seeker — what do you believe power is for?"
Cled blinked. The question seemed simple, yet it carried weight.
> "To protect," he answered. "To heal what was broken."
The monk smiled faintly. "A kind answer. But too soft." He lifted his cup. "Power that only heals soon learns that not all wounds wish to close."
Cled frowned slightly. "Then what is it for?"
> "To understand," the monk said. "Power is the language by which the universe expresses truth. Those who speak it blindly destroy. Those who listen... become part of the song."
The words struck deep. Cled looked into his cup, watching the ripples settle.
> "Stillness, balance, mercy — you walk a path most would abandon," the monk continued. "Yet beware, boy. The more you seek peace, the more chaos will chase you. Heaven does not love mortals who question its silence."
Cled's gaze lifted. "And yet I must question it. If the heavens break again, peace will mean nothing."
The monk's eyes softened. "Then perhaps you will be the one to remind even the gods what silence truly means."
For a long while, they sat together, drinking in peace. The silence between them was not empty — it was warm, patient, full of meaning.
When Cled rose to leave, the monk did not stop him.
> "You'll find your next path where the wind forgets its name," he said, smiling faintly. "Follow the storm — it remembers what the heavens forgot."
Cled bowed deeply. "Thank you, master."
The monk chuckled. "Don't thank me. I am no master — merely a shadow who forgot how to fade."
Cled turned and began walking down the path of clouds. But as he did, the air behind him shimmered.
He glanced back — and the shrine was gone.
Only the faint sound of a bell lingered, fading slowly into silence.
The relic pulsed once, gently.
> "The Monk Who Forgot His Name was once a Heaven Guardian," it whispered. "He chose humility over eternity. His blessing will guide you through the storm."
Cled placed a hand over his heart. "Then I will honor his silence."
He continued onward, the mists parting before him to reveal a distant horizon. Far ahead, a dark storm churned across the floating peaks, lightning weaving patterns of divine script across the sky.
The storm called to him — wild, ancient, alive.
And Cled walked toward it, calm as ever.