The capital city stretched before her, its towering walls casting long shadows over the streets below. Even in the early morning, the city was alive—merchants shouting their wares, laborers carrying goods, and warriors standing guard at every gate. It had been years since she last set foot in this place, and yet the memories flooded back as if it were yesterday.
But there was no time to dwell on the past.
She tightened her grip around the jade token hidden within her robes, her son resting quietly in her arms. The Heavenly Pavilion was her destination, but she couldn't just walk up to their gates. A sect as powerful and mysterious as theirs did not entertain visitors so easily.
She needed a way in.
The first place she went was the market district. Information flowed through these streets as freely as gold. If anyone knew how to contact the Heavenly Pavilion, it would be the traders and wanderers who made their living off rumors.
She approached a small tea house, its wooden sign swaying gently in the breeze. Inside, the scent of freshly brewed tea mixed with the musty aroma of old scrolls. Scholars and merchants sat in quiet discussion, their voices murmuring like rippling water.
She found an empty seat near the back, adjusting the cloth that concealed her son. It wasn't long before a server approached, a young girl with bright, intelligent eyes.
"Tea or wine?" the girl asked.
"Tea," she replied softly, sliding a few coins across the table. "And information."
The girl's expression did not change, but her fingers hesitated as they picked up the coins.
"What kind of information?"
"The Heavenly Pavilion," she said, keeping her voice low.
For a moment, the girl said nothing. Then, without a word, she took the coins and left.
She waited, her fingers drumming lightly against the wooden table. Time passed slowly, but eventually, a different figure approached. A man this time—middle-aged, with a thin mustache and a calculating gaze. He sat down across from her, his movements smooth, practiced.
"You wish to find the Heavenly Pavilion," he stated rather than asked.
She gave a small nod. "I was told they might help my son."
The man studied her for a long moment. His eyes flickered briefly to the bundle in her arms, then back to her face.
"The Heavenly Pavilion does not take visitors," he said. "Their location is not something that can be bought with coin."
"I am not offering coin," she said, keeping her expression steady. "Only the truth. If they do not wish to help me, I will leave."
The man tapped his fingers against the table, thoughtful. Then, with a quiet sigh, he reached into his robes and pulled out a small wooden plaque, setting it down before her.
"Take this to the western gate at sundown," he said. "There will be a carriage waiting. If you are truly seeking the Pavilion, they will take you as far as the mountain path."
Her fingers closed around the plaque.
"Thank you."
The man gave a wry smile. "Do not thank me yet. The Heavenly Pavilion does not welcome outsiders lightly. If they find you unworthy, you may not leave alive."
She met his gaze steadily. "I have no other choice."
The man chuckled, standing from the table. "Then may fate be kind to you."
With that, he was gone.
The hours passed slowly. She spent the remainder of the day gathering supplies—nothing more than a few dried rations and a waterskin. When evening came, she made her way toward the western gate, the wooden plaque clutched tightly in her hand.
As promised, a carriage awaited her.
It was simple in design, drawn by two black horses, but there was no mistaking the insignia carved into its side—a crescent moon and a swirling cloud, the symbol of the Heavenly Pavilion.
A man stood beside it, dressed in plain robes. His face was hidden beneath a deep hood, but his stance was firm, commanding.
"You seek the Pavilion?" he asked as she approached.
She nodded, holding out the plaque.
He took it, examining it briefly before nodding. "Get in."
She stepped into the carriage, settling in as it began to move.
The city streets faded behind them, replaced by open fields and distant hills. The journey was silent, the only sounds being the steady clatter of hooves against the dirt road.
Her son remained asleep in her arms, his breathing soft and even.
She held him closer.
Whatever lay ahead, she had to be ready.
The carriage came to a stop at the base of a mountain path, the road ahead winding upward through mist-covered cliffs.
"This is as far as we take you," the driver said. "Follow the path. If you are worthy, you will find the Pavilion."
"And if I am not?" she asked quietly.
The driver did not answer.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped down from the carriage. The moment her feet touched the ground, the carriage turned and disappeared into the night.
She looked up at the mountain.
It was steeper than she had expected, the path uneven and treacherous. The mist swirled unnaturally, twisting into shapes that almost seemed alive.
She adjusted her grip on her son and started forward.
The climb was brutal.
The air grew thinner the higher she went, the cold biting at her skin. The path itself was narrow, barely wide enough for one person at certain points. One misstep would mean a fall into the darkness below.
But she pressed on.
Minutes turned into hours.
She could feel something watching her.
The presence was faint at first, nothing more than a whisper at the edge of her senses. But as she climbed higher, it grew stronger.
A pressure weighed down on her shoulders, invisible yet suffocating. Her breath grew heavy, her legs trembling under the strain.
Then, suddenly—
A shadow moved.
She froze.
Ahead of her, barely visible through the mist, a figure stood on the path.
It was neither man nor beast.
Its form shifted, undefined, its eyes gleaming like cold fire.
A guardian.
She had heard of them before—spirits bound to ancient sects, testing those who sought entry.
She took a deep breath, steadying herself.
She could not turn back.
She could not fail.
Taking one step forward, then another, she faced the unknown.
And the mist swallowed her whole.