Xiao Yan — POV

The dream came again.

I was standing at the edge of a cliff so vast it felt as though the world itself ended there. There was no land stretching beyond it, no sky above or below—only an immeasurable drop that swallowed everything it touched. The abyss did not reflect light. It devoured it. Staring into it made my eyes ache, as though I were looking into something that should not exist.

The air was strange.

It carried a heat that was neither warm nor cold, a suffocating heaviness that pressed against my chest and made every breath feel deliberate. It clung to my skin, crawling along my arms and neck like an unseen weight. I could not tell whether I was standing still or already falling. The sensation was always the same.

I never knew how I arrived there.

I never remembered walking to the cliff, or why my feet stood so close to the edge. Each time the dream began, I was simply there—as if the world had placed me at that spot and demanded I face it.

Then I heard footsteps.

They were calm. Unhurried. Heavy enough to echo faintly across the empty space behind me.

My heart tightened.

I turned slowly.

A man stood several paces away.

He wore a flowing blue robe, the fabric moving gently despite the complete absence of wind. The robe looked untouched by dust or age, as though it had never known decay. His figure was tall, his posture relaxed, and yet he dominated the space without effort.

He looked young.

Too young.

Yet the moment our eyes met, that illusion shattered.

His gaze burned.

Sharp, fiery, and piercing—eyes that seemed to look through flesh and bone, into something far deeper. My chest tightened painfully, a strange pressure blooming beneath my ribs as if my heart itself recognized him before my mind could.

His face was handsome, refined, almost serene.

And yet… ancient.

That was the only word that fit. He felt like a mountain that had stood unmoved through countless eras, watching empires rise and crumble beneath its shadow. He did not need to speak for his presence to feel overwhelming.

He looked at me.

No—

he recognized me.

The realization sent a chill down my spine.

Before I could speak, before I could step back or demand who he was, his lips curved into a faint smile. There was no malice in it. No anger. Only certainty.

Then he raised his hand.

And pushed me.

The ground vanished.

My feet found nothing. The cliff disappeared beneath me as though it had never existed. I plunged downward, the abyss opening wide to swallow me whole. The air screamed past my ears, tearing at my clothes, my hair, my skin. My body refused to respond—my limbs locked in terror, frozen by a fear so deep it numbed my thoughts.

I could not scream.

I forced my eyes open as I fell.

And I saw the impossible.

The man's form twisted in the air above me.

His limbs stretched unnaturally, bones reshaping as scales erupted across his skin. Blue light flared, brilliant and terrifying, as his human shape dissolved. In the space of a single breath, the man was gone.

In his place—

a colossal blue dragon.

Its body coiled through the heavens, vast beyond comprehension. Scales shimmered like polished steel, each one reflecting a power that made my soul tremble. Its eyes burned with the same fiery gaze, locked onto me with unwavering focus.

It opened its mouth.

And the sky itself trembled.

Fear crushed me.

I shut my eyes—

—

And woke up gasping.

My body jolted upright as I tore the bedsheet from myself, my chest heaving violently. Cold sweat soaked my back, my palms, my neck, as though I had truly fallen from the heavens rather than woken from sleep. My breath came in harsh, uneven pulls, my heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the silence of the room.

Again.

Seven nights.

Seven nights of the same dream.

I dragged a trembling hand through my hair and let out a bitter laugh. "What kind of cursed fate is this…?" My voice sounded hoarse, unfamiliar, as if it had followed me back from the abyss.

The room was quiet.

Early morning light filtered through the paper windows of the outer disciple quarters, soft and ordinary. Wooden beams. Simple furnishings. Everything was normal—too normal. And yet my heart refused to calm, still racing as though it had not fully returned.

I rose from bed and poured myself a cup of water, drinking deeply. The coolness grounded me slightly, though my hand still trembled when I set the cup down.

Then—

hurried footsteps approached.

"Senior Brother Xiao Yan!"

The door slid open, and a young disciple rushed in, his face flushed with excitement. "The master has returned!"

I froze.

"Master?" I repeated, my voice tight.

"Yes! Saint Lu Qi has returned to the sect and summoned you immediately!"

My grip tightened around the cup.

Saint Lu Qi.

One of the Seven Saints of the martial world. A man whose inner energy and qi were said to rival the heavens themselves. A figure of absolute authority.

More importantly—

my master.

And perhaps…

the only one who could tell me why that face haunted my dreams.