The twilight painted the sky with hues of blood and shadow, cloaking the world in a mantle of silence so thick it seemed tangible. Yang Mei moved forward with delicate steps, her black robe swaying in the cold breeze that wove its way between her and Elowen. Beside her, Elowen hovered motionless, her gaze locked on the distant horizon. Her bare feet floated above the endless void, her stance betraying a fragile grace intertwined with an odd, unyielding strength—as though every motion were a quiet struggle against an unseen foe.
"Tell me about yourself, Elowen. There's something about you… that doesn't fit in this world. Who are you really?" Yang Mei's voice pierced the stillness, low and almost tender, yet laced with curiosity and a flicker of mistrust that gleamed in her dull green eyes—eyes so intense they seemed capable of peering into souls. Beneath it all, though, lay a genuine yearning to understand, perhaps even to offer solace.
Elowen faltered, her face an unreadable mask, as if each word she might speak carried an unbearable weight. After a long sigh—a sound woven with weariness and resignation—she murmured, "There's not much to say. My whole life was lived in the Dao Holy Land." Her voice, soft yet heavy with melancholy, reverberated through the vast twilight. "I don't know how I got there. I don't remember… But it was there that I found myself, or at least what was left of me."
Yang Mei's eyes narrowed, drinking in every syllable as though each held an ancient riddle. "You don't remember anything? What does that mean? How don't you know how you got there?" she pressed, leaning slightly closer, as if she could reach into the shadowed depths of Elowen's tale.
Elowen turned her head, her silver hair catching the wind in a shimmering dance. For a lingering moment, silence reigned. Then, in a low, rasping whisper—as if the truth itself exacted a toll—she said, "Not necessarily… Over time, I learned to see fragments of destiny, traces of possibilities. And something tells me that… I don't belong to this world. Nor to this domain."
Yang Mei's stare hardened, and the air around them grew colder still. A wind thick with whispers, like an ancient dirge rising from the abyss, accompanied Elowen's words. "What do you mean by that? If you don't belong to this world, where did you come from?" she demanded, her voice dropping to a near-growl, pulsing with a restless blend of fear and fascination.
In a moment that stretched into eternity, Elowen remained silent, as if each word cost a shard of her soul. How can I explain the inexplicable? she mused inwardly, the twilight wrapping her in its chill embrace. At last, her reply emerged, heavy with secrets, almost a confession: "I… don't know for sure. But I feel that I am made of fragments of other destinies, of other realities. Perhaps I am the bridge between worlds, a shadow that refuses to fade."
The wind's murmurs grew louder, and the sky—streaked with hues teetering on the edge of the supernatural—seemed to affirm that something extraordinary was unfolding. Yang Mei held Elowen's gaze, unease and awe wrestling within her expression.
"So, who are you, truly?" she asked again, her question echoing through the dusk like a challenge to existence itself.
Elowen fell silent for a few heartbeats, her eyes mirroring the pain and beauty of an unknown fate. The answer, if it could be called that, hung between them—an enigma only time might unravel. In that fleeting instant, beneath the encroaching veil of night, two souls stood poised at the precipice of the unknown, braced to confront the mysteries of destiny.
Elowen closed her eyes briefly, as if summoning the strength to face her own essence. When she spoke again, her voice was steady, yet shackled by a sorrow that bound her very being. "I come from a higher domain. A place that exists beyond what you can imagine. But… I was rejected. They threw me here like a piece of trash." She paused, then let out a hollow laugh—a faint echo of a time when she might have been human. "A man did this. Who is he? I don't know. Why? I don't know either. I only know that he looked at me… and saw that I didn't have enough talent. So, he discarded me."
A shiver raced down Yang Mei's spine—not from the night's chill or their lofty perch, but from the way Elowen laid bare her pain. There was no rage, no defiance in her voice—only a vast emptiness, an acceptance more terrifying than any venom.
"That's absurd," Yang Mei whispered, her voice wavering. "No one can be discarded like that. You… you are powerful, Elowen. I can feel it. You are not someone without value."
Elowen turned her head slowly, her silver eyes glinting like faded stars. "Powerful?" she echoed, her tone skirting sarcasm. "Perhaps. But power without purpose is nothing. I am just a shadow of what I should be. A mistake in a much larger plan."
Yang Mei opened her mouth to reply, to offer some shred of comfort, but the words withered unspoken. The silence that followed was pierced only by the wind's soft lament as the clouds parted below, unveiling mountains and rivers aglow in the twilight's gleam. The vista was breathtaking, yet steeped in a mournful sadness, as if the earth itself grieved.
"You are more than a mistake, Elowen." Yang Mei's voice was quiet but fierce with resolve. "It doesn't matter where you came from or why you were thrown here. You are still here. And that means something."
For a fleeting second, something unnameable flickered in Elowen's gaze—a spark gone as quickly as it came. Then she shook her head slowly, a bitter smile curling her lips. "Maybe. But for now… don't ask me to believe that," she whispered, her voice nearly lost to the breeze.
Will I ever find a purpose? Yang Mei wondered silently, as the twilight cradled secrets only the night dared unveil.
Neither spoke again. They floated in stillness, two solitary figures dwarfed by the boundless sky, each bearing scars and truths the world below could never fathom.
The clouds, dyed a deep blue and flecked with golden traces from the nearly vanished sun, wove a divine shroud over the mortal realm. Yang Mei studied Elowen, striving to decipher the enigma beside her—like a mirage slipping away with every attempt to grasp it.
"Your story is… lamentable," Yang Mei said at last, her voice thick with pity and unease.
Elowen tilted her head slightly, her silver eyes fixed on the horizon. Yet beyond the melancholy in her demeanor, there lingered something more—as if she could see the unseen, a vision transcending time and space.
"Not as much as it seems," Elowen replied, her tone low and steady, tinged with a mystery that creased Yang Mei's brow. "Destiny, my dear Aunt Mei, has curious ways of surprising us."
Yang Mei's eyes narrowed, confusion flickering within them. "What do you mean? Now I'm not understanding anything."
Elowen sighed, and in that breath lay an almost playful lightness, as if she relished the tangled web of her own existence. She turned to Yang Mei, the gleam in her silver eyes flaring with an otherworldly intensity. "Let me explain. I am not just someone lost in the midst of destiny; I am a part of it. My soul carries the essence of destiny itself. And with it, an overwhelmingly great luck, as if every possibility had aligned to create something truly impossible."
Yang Mei leaned forward, straining to absorb each word, though bewilderment still clouded her gaze. "Overwhelmingly great luck? So… what would be the chances of you being born without talents?" she asked, her voice tentative.
Elowen smiled, but it was a cold, empty gesture—almost cruel, as if mocking some hidden truth. "Zero," she said softly, the word landing with undeniable weight. "Absolutely zero."
Yang Mei recoiled, a chill seizing her that owed nothing to the wind. "And yet, you were born without talents. How is that possible?" she pressed, her voice trembling between disbelief and dread.
Elowen's reply floated forth like a melody laced with riddles, impossible to fully unravel: "Because destiny willed it so," she said, her calm demeanor at odds with the pain throbbing in every syllable. "Sometimes, destiny acts in ways that even we cannot understand."
Yang Mei shook her head, frustration spilling over. "That doesn't make sense!" she snapped, irritation threading through her concern. "And what do you mean by this 'soul of destiny'? You speak as if you were an entity… something more than human."
Elowen laughed—a cold, hollow sound, far removed from human warmth. She raised a hand as if to touch the air itself, then drew back, restrained by a blend of fear and reverence. "That… I cannot answer," she said, her words faltering with a subtle tremor, as if revealing more might unleash something perilous.
Yang Mei pressed her lips together, her voice sharp with irritation yet softened by care: "The more you speak, the more confused I become. If you have all this luck, why be born without talent? Even a mortal-level talent would be better than nothing."
Elowen fell silent, her gaze drifting to where twilight met encroaching darkness. When she spoke again, her voice was a whisper, yet each word rang with power: "Because destiny willed it so," she repeated, irony and resignation coloring her tone. "It's ironic, isn't it? A soul destined to carry the luck and fate of entire worlds, cast into a mortal domain—without talents, without power. I wasn't eliminated. I wasn't killed. Just discarded, like a broken piece."
Yang Mei's heart clenched at the raw honesty spilling from Elowen's words, yet an unspoken weight hung in the silence. "That doesn't make sense…" she murmured, her eyes searching for clarity amid shadows. "You speak as if you were an aberration, but I know there's something more. Something you're hiding."
Elowen turned, her silver eyes blazing with the brilliance of a cosmos. "Not always can one understand destiny, Aunt Mei. Sometimes, it is just chaos," she said, her voice gentle yet brimming with unyielding strength. "But I'll tell you one thing: a person who carries a soul like mine has only existed once before me. And she… she didn't need time or learning. She was born a Cosmic Lady. She controlled karma, destiny, everything. But even she was incomplete."
Yang Mei's throat tightened at the revelation, and with a hesitation born of unease, she asked, "Incomplete? How… do you know that?"
Elowen didn't answer at once. She merely smiled—a bitter curve of lips, steeped in a sadness that spanned eons. She looked away, her focus returning to the horizon. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that destiny chose this path for me. And for now, I accept it," she said, her words drifting into the air, leaving Yang Mei with questions piling atop one another.
Silence descended, thick and unyielding. The wind hushed its whispers, as if the sky itself held its breath for further revelations. But Elowen offered no more. Frustrating as it was, Yang Mei knew pressing her would yield nothing.
Will we ever grasp the true purpose of this destiny? Yang Mei pondered, as twilight's shadows cloaked secrets too vast for time to unveil.
Night had fallen, draping the sky in a tapestry of stars. Moonlight glinted off scattered clouds, weaving an ethereal glow that made the world below feel like a distant dream—as if they drifted between realms. Amid this scene, Elowen's soft, curious voice broke the quiet.
"And you, Yang Mei? Tell me about your life. What was it like growing up as the patriarch's daughter? But… I don't want to know about him. I want to know about you, about what it was like living with your brothers. I want to know your world." Her silver eyes sparkled with rare warmth, a sincerity that caught Yang Mei off guard.
Yang Mei hesitated, staring downward as if the clouds might whisper forgotten truths. She drew a deep breath and began, her voice weighted with nostalgia: "My life? It wasn't exactly special…" She laughed, but it was a hollow sound, tinged with old wounds. "I grew up with three older brothers. My eldest brother, Yang Hao…" Her voice faltered, her eyes narrowing as buried memories resurfaced. "He was the pride of the Yang house. Promising, brilliant, invincible. His determination set everything around him ablaze, and no one doubted he would be the pillar of our family. But destiny…" Her voice quivered, and she looked aside, the recollection a raw, open scar.
Elowen listened in silence, each word sinking into her with an intensity that seemed to charge the air.
"One day, he was killed," Yang Mei went on, her voice dropping to a pained whisper. "Not in a battle against formidable enemies, nor defending our family. He was killed by a spoiled young master, just because they accused him of coveting his woman. A lie, of course, because my brother would never do such a thing. But that didn't matter… They killed him, and his world was extinguished."
Elowen tilted her head, her gaze unwavering, as if she sought to catch every unwept tear. "And your family's world? How did they deal with it?" she asked, her tone a gentle plea for the past to unfurl.
Yang Mei let out a bitter laugh, a sound blending disbelief and anguish: "My father almost went mad. I'll never forget that day: him, covered in blood, holding Hao's body and screaming—not as a patriarch, but as a man watching his universe collapse. He craved revenge, wanted to kill the young master, to obliterate that entire family. And I… I wished he would do it." She paused, inhaling sharply to stem the tide of emotion threatening to break free. "But the ancestors intervened. They said the Yang house couldn't afford a clash with such an ancient lineage. So, he had to accept it, swallow the pain. And do you know what happened next?"