Somewhere in the castle around the Bliss Palace, Xian and his wife had just met a new figure who landed at their door.
The figure looked seventeen, covered in a dusting of snow that clung to his draped cape like a shroud. He placed his bag on the ground and looked at Xian, his eyes burning with a cold, single-minded fire. "I want to be strong. No matter what it takes."
Xian smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. "Lio Kai. Is that your name?"
Lio bailed his fists. "Who I am is not important. I want the strength to take a Divine General down. I want it now."
Xian's smile widened. "Then come in."
His wife looked at Xian, her eyes still full of love but now layered with something heavier—resignation, perhaps, or a deep, weary understanding. She sighed softly as she walked by his side, leading the snow-dusted boy into the darkened depths of the castle.
***
In another part of the world, Li Zhan had just arrived in a desert that stretched to the horizon. He held a frayed map in his single remaining hand, his eyes scanning the endless dunes. Ever since he lost his hand to Nix, movement was not easy. But he did not care.
He lifted his head, pointing his chin forward. "The Lost Triangle Mountain should be somewhere in this direction." His voice was a dry rasp against the wind. "My next puppet should not be far now."
Li Zhan leaned against the sun-baked wall of a cave, staring up at the four pillars of light piercing the sky far to the north—the Damocles. He asked himself, *What could my dear friend Gen Jiang be doing now? Has he grown stronger? Could it be that it is time for me to go and collect their souls?*
A slow smile touched Li Zhan's lips. He played with the fine sand in his single hand, letting it trickle through his fingers as he waited, and hunted.
***
Still on another mountain, Juxian sat in a lotus position on the lap of a massive, slumbering ape. He opened his eyes slightly, the now-matured seventeen-year-old boy sighing as he stretched his lean frame. It had been a year now since he began training here. Although he wanted to leave, he knew it was not yet time. Not when his grandpa was in this weakened state.
He looked toward the edge of the mist-shrouded cliff. "Gen, I hope we meet again," he said, staring into the void.
The voice of the ape rumbled from within the mist, deep and resonant. "You speak so highly of that boy. Why is that so?"
Juxian stretched his arms, a genuine smile on his face. "I have not met anyone daring enough to chase after the Damocles themselves."
***
On the Lost Triangle Mountain, a dazzling girl stood in the middle of a training hall. She looked about eighteen now, moving with a new grace and elegance. She finished explaining the basic principles of the Wheel to the younger disciples, then waved the class away. The little kids all smiled, bowing and chirping, "Thank you, Teacher Fen!" before running out into the courtyard in a wave of joyful noise.
Outside, Kaito's imposing frame came into view. "Do you want me to follow you out today?" he asked, his voice careful.
Li Fen shook her head. "I would like to observe the Damocles alone today."
Kaito sighed softly. "Still thinking about him?"
Li Fen held a fist to her now-grown chest, over her heart. "I feel like he will be coming here. I cannot explain how, or why. But I can feel it."
Kaito wanted to say it was just her mind playing tricks, that it was just a way to pass the time, but he decided not to. If it helped Li Fen bear all of this, then so be it. He turned his gaze to the sky, wondering. *How capable has he grown to be by now? Master Ting has been declining... How come that unfilial disciple still hasn't come back?*
***
On the first day of the next year, two figures sat in the quiet compound around a tea table.
One was a male, drinking slowly from a porcelain cup. The other was a female, watching him with an elegant, serene glance. All around the inn, flakes of snow fell slowly, painting the ground and the eaves a pristine white. In the silent scenery, the duo looked like a couple born from an ancient painting.
Then, a slightly bulky figure moved out of the inn, a travel bag on his back. With him was a leaner male figure dressed in plain, sturdy robes.
"Ready," Liang said.
Gen placed his cup on the table with deliberate ease and stood up. Lorel smiled in his direction as she let go of her own jar. They took each other's hands, their fingers intertwining naturally, and ascended into the falling snow using **Shidow**.
Chubbs and Liang did the same, moving into the grey sky.
Gen and his friends stopped to look one last time at the Four Heaven Gate. This was the territory of Juo Si. Now that he had allied the four kingdoms under his banner, his strength would only grow. Despite all the grudges Gen held against these people, he knew now was not the time. He could not avoid Buqu.
"We will come back to save your teacher," Gen said, his voice firm in the crisp air. "Once we deal with Buqu. I promise."
Lorel nodded, her expression conflicted as she stared at the distant, daunting silhouette of Juo Si's palace. All she wanted now was to barge in there and end him. But she had to be patient. "You promised, Gen. Do not forget it."
Gen smiled. "Yes, madam."
Lorel's face turned slightly pink, but she did not look away. She was slowly getting used to this—to his teasing, to their new closeness.
Chubbs then lifted his hand forward, letting the snow collect on his palm. "I almost forgot. This is about two years now since the last winter. No wonder it came this year."
Liang smiled too. "I thought the Damocles would alter the weather, but it hasn't. Every two years, this snow falls down for an entire year. It is going to be cold."
They all shared a quiet laugh, the sound muffled by the snow, and moved out.
Gen and Lorel, hand in hand with the others, flew out to meet Buqu in the sky.
"Where are we going?" Gen asked, his voice cutting through the wind.
Buqu didn't answer. He simply turned and began to fly faster, a dark streak against the white-gray sky.
"Follow me."
Somewhere in the heaven gate
The candle guttered, its lone flame casting long, trembling shadows across the vast, empty hall. King Juo Si sat on his throne, the silence a thick, oppressive weight. The hall, once bustling with advisors and guarded by the formidable presence of General Mearl, was now a cavern of polished stone and cold air. He had all this power, a continent united under his banner, yet a hollow, restless ache sat where satisfaction should have been.
He picked up his cup of wine, the metal cool against his fingers. He thought of executing General Mearl. The woman failure was absolute. But the thought felt… flat. A sterile exercise. The zeal, the sharp-edged pleasure of crushing a failed tool, was gone. It would serve no clear purpose. Not yet.
*No,* he decided, the single word echoing in the vault of his mind. *I will wait.*
He would wait until Gen Jiang and his ragged band of survivors showed themselves again. Their defiance was the last loose thread in his tapestry of control, the only spark of chaotic color in his perfectly ordered design. When they emerged from whatever hole they'd crawled into, he would snuff them out. Not just defeat them. Erase them. Only then, with their last, fading echo silenced, would his control feel absolute. Complete.
Juo Si had not even noticed. The heavy silver cup in his hand was already misshapen, its sides crushed inward by the unconscious pressure of his grip. A trickle of cold, crimson wine, like thinning blood, slid over his knuckles and down his wrist. His expression, a mask of regal, detached elegance, did not flicker. He simply stood, placed the ruined cup silently on the arm of his throne, and walked out of the hall, his footsteps the only sound in the kingdom's silent heart.
***
The world was turning. Souls across the continents were hunting in deserts, training in misty mountains, longing in quiet courtyards, or waiting in candlelit halls. The first snow of the new year was a blanket, covering the scars of the last.
The year had just begun, and with it, a desperate clock resumed its count. New trials, new alliances, new betrayals waited in the wings—adventures that would either break the weary or forge them into something harder, sharper.
High above, indifferent and luminous, the four remaining Damocles hung in the sky.
Their light was a silent, constant demand.
Gen and his group, a speck against the falling snow, followed a dark shape into the clouds. They had no luxury for rest, for long goodbyes, for peace.
Time was chasing them. And it was faster than any of them could run.