The calendar flipped.
December had arrived.
And with it, the winter moon.
Leon stood before the Fang ancestral home—a sprawling estate surrounded by black iron gates and memories soaked in resentment. Stone lions guarded the path like sleeping beasts. He hadn’t stepped foot here since he was fifteen.
Since the day they threw him out.
Now he returned not as the lost heir.
But as something far more dangerous.
A hidden formation beneath the gates flickered as he approached, but his Qi flared in response—enough to silence the trap without tripping it. He walked through without pause.
A servant spotted him and dropped a porcelain tray.
“Young Master Leon?!”
Word spread quickly.
By the time Leon reached the inner courtyard, half the Fang elders had gathered. Some wide-eyed. Some grim. And one—Uncle Gerald—furious.
“You’ve got some nerve walking in here after all these years,” Gerald snapped.
Leon didn’t even blink. “I was summoned.”
“By who?” Gerald barked.
“By someone who outranks you,” Leon replied.
The tension thickened until a slow voice broke through.
“Enough.”
Everyone turned.
The old patriarch stepped forward, cane tapping softly on stone.
“Leon,” he said. “You’ve come for the Winter Convergence.”
“I have,” Leon replied.
The patriarch gave a slow nod. “Then you may proceed. But be warned—old ghosts walk these halls during the convergence. And not all of them are friendly.”
Leon didn’t flinch. “Neither am I.”
—
That night, deep within the Fang archives, Leon uncovered the seal.
A circular chamber built beneath the ancestral temple, long forgotten by most of the family. But not by him.
He placed his palm on the dragon-etched door and released a pulse of Qi.
The stone shuddered. Shifted.
Opened.
Inside, the room glowed with pale blue flame—spiritual fire that burned without consuming. Shelves lined the walls, filled with scrolls bound in silk and talismans sealed in jade.
In the center sat a box.
Black iron. Etched with runes from a language no one in the Fang clan had spoken in generations.
Leon opened it.
Inside: a single ring.
Silver. Simple. Sleeping.
Until he touched it.
Then it sang.
A surge of memory struck him like lightning—visions of an ancient battlefield, a tower wreathed in flame, and a girl with silver hair calling his name as the sky collapsed.
Then darkness.
Leon gasped and staggered back.
“What was that…?”
The ring pulsed once.
Then went still.
He slipped it on.
—
The next morning, chaos erupted.
Three black cars pulled up at the Fang estate gates. Men in suits spilled out, followed by a tall woman in crimson—face half-covered by a veil, but her voice unmistakable.
“I am Envoy Lan of the Southern Covenant,” she declared. “We request audience with Leon Fang.”
Gerald intercepted her. “He’s not available. Nor is he authorized to represent the family.”
The envoy tilted her head. “That’s unfortunate. He’s the only one we’re willing to speak to.”
From the second-floor balcony, Leon appeared, arms crossed.
“You’re a little early,” he called down. “The winter moon doesn’t reach its peak until tonight.”
Envoy Lan smiled behind her veil. “We thought you might appreciate a head start.”
Leon descended the stairs slowly, passing the elders, who looked at him like he was walking off a cliff.
“Let’s walk,” he said.
They moved into the garden, where lanterns swayed in the cold wind.
“The Covenant has eyes,” she said softly. “We saw the seal reactivate. We saw you enter the temple.”
Leon studied her. “Then you know more than you should.”
“We know what’s coming,” she replied. “The old sects are stirring. The Valley is calling. And the girl—”
Leon’s gaze sharpened. “What girl?”
“The one who called you back.”
Leon froze.
Lan’s eyes sparkled. “You think she died in that fire. But flames cannot consume what was never born of flesh.”
“What do you mean?”
“She lives… in pieces,” Lan said. “Fragments. Soul shards hidden in sacred places. You’ve already touched one—in your dreams.”
Leon thought of the jade pendant. The voice. The echo.
“I can help you find her,” Lan said. “But only if you join us when the moon reaches its zenith.”
He said nothing.
Lan turned to leave, voice barely a whisper. “Think carefully. The next time you dream… she might speak back.”
—
That night, Leon meditated beneath the open sky.
The winter moon rose—full, pale, heavy with fate.
And he dreamed.
She stood at the edge of a frozen lake, her silver hair dancing in the wind, her eyes glowing like stars.
“Leon…”
He reached for her—but the world cracked like ice beneath his feet.
And he awoke with a single word on his lips.
“Valeria.”