"Children," master said, staring past us as if watching ghosts, "our galaxy is falling into shadows."
A murmur rippled through the hall; fear, disbelief, dread.
Master continued, each word like a stone dropping into water.
"Revolutionary powers… merciless and unknown… have begun wiping out entire clans in the red cliff . No mercy, no pattern, no survivors."
He swallowed hard.
"They are unlike anything we've seen. Their strength… their brutality… their purpose is not conquest. It is eradicated."
Someone behind me choked back a sob.
Master closed his eyes.
Even that silence answered us.
I felt my heartbeat stutter.
Red Cliff wasn't far, we'd visited there once. We made feasts with its clans, shared jokes and fun stories,they were peaceful, kind, masters of healing chants, they even had a heavenly healing power of diseases.
Gone?
All of them?
Beside me, Si yuan's hands balled into fists, but his shoulders trembled. He looked like he was trying not to be sick.
Master's voice finally cracked.
"My children… this mountain may be next."
The hall erupted, not in noise, but in crushing, suffocating fear. And deep inside my chest, a cold breeze told me: The paradise we knew was ending.
One by one, the disciples rose, their steps were slow… dragging… as if fear had wrapped chains around their ankles. some hurried off to prepare defenses, some ran to the armory.
Others simply wandered—lost, shaking, trying to breathe.
When the hall finally emptied, it felt way too big.
Way too quiet.
Si yuan nudged my shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper.
"So… uh… do we panic now or later?"
I shot him a look.
"Later. Maybe. Probably."
He exhaled, long and shaky, tugging at his robe like it was strangling him.
"I mean, these revolutionary psychos wiped out Red Cliff! Red Cliff! The nicest monastery in our galaxy . The one that made us soup when we got lost during training!"
"Don't remind me," I groaned, though my chest tightened at the memory. "Their soup was heavenly."
Si yuan nodded dramatically.
"And now they're… gone. Just like that. You think they'll come here? Like, actually climb this whole mountain? 'Cause honestly, I don't think murderers like hiking."
Despite the fear coiling in my stomach, a small laugh slipped out.
"That's not how it works."
He slumped against a pillar.
"So. What now? You thinking what I'm thinking?"
I raised a brow. "Which is?"
He leaned in, whispering like he was sharing forbidden tea:
"Do we hide?"
The word hit the air like an arrow.
Hide. Run. Disappear.
Pretend we never existed.
The thought was tempting..painfully tempting, but it twisted something inside me too.
"I don't know," I admitted softly. "Master said this mountain could be next. If we hide… if we run… we leave everyone else behind."
Si yuan stared at the floor.
His usual goofy grin was nowhere to be found.
Just fear.
And something else..loyalty, maybe.
"Yeah…" he muttered. "I hate that you're right."
A gust of wind drifted into the hall. The once-bright colors looked dull now, like they understood what was coming.
Si yuan straightened, scratching his head.
"Okay, okay, so what are we gonna do?
Prepare?
Spy?
Train until our legs fall off?
Or… y'know… still vote for hiding but in a cooler, more strategic way?"
I smirked.
"That's called retreating."
"Exactly," he said proudly. "See? Sounds heroic already."
The truth was, we didn't know.
No one did.
But in that moment, with the world tilting toward chaos, one thing felt painfully clear: We had decisions to make, fast.
We stepped outside the hall, the cold air clinging to our skin.
The courtyard was nearly empty.
Siyuan stopped walking.
At first, I thought he just needed to catch his breath.
But then he stayed still… too still.
He stared at the mountain horizon, the clouds drifting slowly past the peaks, and for once, he wasn't fidgeting or cracking jokes.
His shoulders… they looked smaller.
"Hey," I said softly. "You okay?"
He didn't look at me, not right away.
When he finally did, his eyes were glassy, not from tears yet, but like tears were waiting for permission.
"I'm not scared of dying," he said quietly.
It caught me off guard.
Si yuan was always loud, chaotic, full of life—hearing him speak like this felt wrong, like the world had tilted sideways.
"I mean… dying's scary, sure," he continued, voice thin. "But that's not what's messing with me."
He brushed a hand under his nose, pretending it was the cold.
"I'm scared of being useless."
I opened my mouth, but no words came.
He kept going.
"I'm scared that when everything falls apart, I won't be strong enough. That I'll freeze. Or fail. Or…" His voice cracked. "That I'll watch people I care about get hurt. Again."
The last word hit like thunder.
Again.
Si yuan swallowed hard, glancing back at the temple, its carved doors, the stone steps he used to race down, the places where we laughed, trained, ate midnight snacks we definitely weren't allowed to have.
"I lost my older brother during a war 300 years ago, they came from a mysterious galaxy no one knows about " he whispered. "I was so young and unaware of what's happening around me , I was hiding under a cart the whole time, closing my eyes, too scared to move, too scared to even breathe loud. When I got out I found no trace of my brother's body, he just disappeared."
His lips trembled.
"I don't want to be that kid again."
The air tightened around us.
For a heartbeat, the world felt like it was holding its breath.
I stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"You're not that kid anymore," I said. "And you're not alone."
For a second, I thought he might break.
But instead, he let out a shaky laugh,Si yuan's laugh, the one that always came with a little chaos in it.
"Promise you won't let me embarrass myself too badly?"
I grinned. "I can't promise that. You embarrass yourself automatically."
He shoved my shoulder, but there was relief in it.
Warmth.
The kind that returns after being missing for way too long.
Then, almost too quietly, he said:
"I'm just scared of losing you too."
The wind slowed.
The world softened.
And for a moment, despite everything, we just stood there, two disciples sharing the kind of honesty that only comes right before a storm.