CHAPTER 190—THINGS THAT FEED A REALM
Leylin turned first. The conversation with the spirit was clearly over—for now, at least. Whatever answer it had been on the verge of giving wasn't coming today. Without announcement or discussion, he simply began walking down the mountain path that stretched downward through the drifting crimson mist. After one final glance toward the summit behind him, he moved ahead in silence.
The spirit watched him go, then followed. Seraphine ended up last. For several minutes, the only sounds were the crunch of stone beneath their feet and the distant cry of something moving through the valley below.
Eventually, Seraphine exhaled. "I have about a hundred questions."
The spirit glanced back at her. "I'm aware."
"Good," she said, folding her arms. "Because you're answering them."
For the first time since appearing, something resembling amusement touched the spirit's face, though it faded quickly. Seraphine studied him carefully. Now that his form had stabilized, he looked less like a phantom and more like a person—a strange one. His hair spilled beyond his shoulders, and his face appeared middle-aged. Beneath the crimson transparency of his body, entire galaxies seemed to drift slowly within skin that wasn't really skin. The longer she looked, the more unsettling he became.
Finally, she asked the obvious question. "Who are you?"
The spirit was quiet for a moment. "That depends."
Seraphine frowned. "Depends on what?"
Its gaze drifted toward Leylin's back as he walked ahead, silent and listening. "Which part you're asking about."
"Fine," Seraphine sighed. "Let's start with the simple version." She pointed at him. "Are you the consciousness of the cultivator who owned this realm?"
The spirit thought about that, then nodded. "And no."
Seraphine blinked. "…What does that mean?"
"It means I possess his memories," the spirit replied. "I remember his childhood. I remember his cultivation. I remember his death."
Seraphine's brows furrowed. "Then you're him."
"No." The answer came immediately, firmly, and with absolute certainty. "No."
The spirit looked toward Leylin again. "I'm from him."
The mountain path suddenly felt much quieter. Even Leylin's footsteps slowed slightly ahead of them.
Seraphine pressed on. "So what exactly does that mean?"
The spirit's gaze lingered on Leylin long enough to grow uncomfortable. Then it continued. "When I awakened… as far as I could tell, I was the realm. The mountain. The rivers. The boundaries. The fragments buried beneath the earth."
Its expression darkened. "Then I realized something was wrong. I could remember the realm. I could remember its owner. I could remember things that died here—thousands of things."
Leylin finally stopped walking. He didn't turn around, but he was clearly listening.
The spirit went on. "But there were other memories too."
Seraphine felt a chill. "What kind?"
The spirit looked upward toward the eighty-two stars, its expression uneasy. "The stars. I can feel them. I know they contain memories. I know they belong here—as if they always existed. But they didn't."
The wind moved softly through the mountain pass.
"I can feel what's inside them," the spirit said, swallowing. "Yet I cannot access any of it."
Leylin turned slowly. The spirit met his gaze.
"I can sense entire histories inside those stars. Civilizations. Deaths. Worlds. Names—so many names." A long silence followed. "But every time I try to reach them… it's like a locked door."
Seraphine frowned. "A restriction?"
"No." The spirit's voice had grown careful again as it looked toward Leylin. "I need his permission."