The sun cast long, gold-drenched shadows across the landscape, its warmth gentle, almost apologetic, as if trying to wash away the weight of

  The sun cast long, gold-drenched shadows across the landscape, its warmth gentle, almost apologetic, as if trying to wash away the weight of yesterday’s blood and silence.

  The Silentwake River shimmered beneath its gaze, the surface rippling softly like a silver sheet stirred by breath alone. The nearby road, still muddy from the rains, bore shallow footprints that slowly faded under the sun’s patient drying. Leaves whispered in the breeze, not loud enough to distract, but just enough to remind the world it was still alive.

  No one noticed when he arrived.

  No one saw the boy with mud-crusted feet, one arm low, holding something—creased, dark-streaked, and crushed in his grasp … the torn remains of his old tunic, still wet with memory. Standing there like a shadow carved into the light. He had wandered without aim—not seeking a place, only escape. As far from everything as his legs would carry. And now, for the first time in hours, Veylan stopped.

  He stood unmoving at the edge of the water for several long moments, the breeze tugging gently at his damp hair, clinging to his skin. The river touched his toes. Cold. Clear. Real. A contrast to the numb, pulsing ache seated deep inside him.

  Eventually, he sat.

  His legs folded slowly, like stone cracking under its own weight. His hands rested on his thighs, then slipped to his sides, fingers curling into the soil. The soft squelch of earth between his nails didn’t register.

  His eyes were open, but they weren’t seeing. Not really.

  A single dragonfly drifted by, its wings glinting like glass in the light. It hovered, then zipped toward the river, vanishing in a blink. The ripples it disturbed faded almost immediately.

  But nothing inside Veylan faded.

  A tight, twisting ache curled in his gut, low and relentless. It wasn’t sharp anymore. It had passed that edge hours ago, dulled now into something heavier—like stones dragging him inward. Hunger. He hadn’t even noticed it until his body had begun trembling faintly from emptiness.

  It was a different kind of weakness. One he had never truly known—not in his old life, not in this one. Something that blurred the world at the edges, that made even the smell of wet earth feel distant and bitter.

  ‘Add one more thing I didn’t appreciate enough…’

  He stared blankly ahead, then down at his feet. Mud had caked between his toes, but the water had begun washing it away, bit by bit, like it was trying to help. His throat tightened.

  ‘Is she crying right now? Or searching? Or calling my name through the bamboo grove?’

  The water kept moving. The world kept moving. But inside, he felt… stuck. Wounded. Heavy. The image of Rhen’s face, broken and helpless, surfaced again. That last look before Veylan turned away.

  His hands trembled. Hunger. Grief. Loneliness. Rage.

  For a moment, he wanted to scream. Not out of pain—but from the silence. From the waiting.

  But he didn’t. What good would a scream do? It wouldn’t reach anyone. Wouldn’t undo anything. All it would do was prove he was still alive—and right now, he wasn’t sure he deserved even that.

  The wind brushed past him. The trees rustled gently, as if whispering words he couldn’t quite catch. And then, slowly, he looked up.

  The sun was still shining. But the world still felt cold.

  The river stretched pale and dull beneath the overhead sun, its surface stripped of color, like the sheen on old glass left too long in the light. No gold shimmer remained—only a bleached quiet. The wind moved through the grass with a brittle edge, less a whisper now, more a rustle—dry, uncertain, like a thought half-remembered.

  Veylan stood still.

  He had meant to leave. His body had begun to turn, muscles slow from exhaustion, when a flicker in the water caught his eye.

  He looked down.

  At first, he saw nothing unusual—just his own reflection: sweat-streaked face, dishevelled hair, dirt smudged beneath his eyes. But something in it made him pause. The way his expression didn’t quite match how he felt.

  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

  And then… it changed.

  The reflection tilted upward—chin high, eyes gleaming with pride. The image of himself standing victorious on the stage, arms loose, gaze calm, drinking in the crowd’s silence. That memory twisted now. Too proud. Too careless.

  A breath hitched in his throat.

  The water rippled. The reflection shifted again.

  Now it was him, kneeling—forehead to the floor, robes soaked in blood and mud, spine bent not in humility, but in shame.

  Of course, the water showed nothing but fractured light—but his mind… it bared everything.

  “This is all your fault,” he whispered, barely audible.

  His voice didn’t echo. The world had gone too still for that.

  “It was then. It is now.”

  His fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t blink.

  “You liked being the genius, didn’t you?” His voice cracked. “Didn’t you think you were above all? You smiled when they praised you… you let it all in. She died because of you. And now—now you let her become small for you.”

  His breath trembled. His knees gave.

  “YOU DID THIS.”

  He fell to the riverbank, the soft mud accepting him without resistance. His shoulders trembled as the tears came—hot, bitter, not loud but raw. They rolled down silently, streaking a path on his cheeks, falling into the river that said nothing in return.

  “You don’t deserve praises,” he choked. “You don’t deserve someone admiring you. And you—” his voice barely rose above the wind “—surely don’t deserve her love.”

  A moment passed. Then another.

  Even the insects quieted.

  The whole world seemed to hold its breath. Waiting. Letting him speak without judgment.

  “Not until you’re enough,” he whispered.

  Then, slowly, his body straightened. The grief didn’t leave—but it settled deeper, turned inward like a seed burying itself in cold soil.

  He looked up.

  “Until I am enough,” he said, voice steadier now, “I don’t get to be the one they love.”

  A gust of wind lifted his hair slightly. He let it brush past.

  “From now on… I am Xiao Lei.”

  He stood. He staggered at first—knees wobbling, legs screaming in protest—but he forced each step forward. He didn’t look back.

  Behind him, the river flowed on, as if sealing a vow.

  And somewhere deep within, a distant memory stirred—of a soft voice in another life, laughing through exasperation.

  “My little storm…”

  He had chosen the name to become someone else. To atone. But he didn’t know—couldn’t know—that the name still carried love.

  Even thunder begins as a whisper.

  And so Xiao Lei walked on.

  ?? — ? — ??

  Xiao Lei stood at the edge where the brightness of the Silentwake River ended and the shadows of Duskroot Wilds began. While the river sparkled beneath the afternoon sun, its silver ripples dancing in the light, accompanied by the soft chatter of travellers resting along its banks, the forest swallowed everything—the warmth, the sound, the sky itself. Its entrance was a wall of ancient trees, their roots like gnarled fingers gripping the soil, their leaves knitting so tightly above that even the sun dared not intrude.

  He exhaled slowly, his face blank, a slate wiped of all traceable emotion. Without hesitation, he stepped into the gloom. The light dimmed instantly, and with it, the lively sounds of the river faded into silence. Inside, it felt like dusk, a world locked in perpetual twilight. Each step sank into the soft carpet of decaying leaves, and the air smelled of wet moss and the faint metallic tang of old rain.

  His eyes moved constantly, scanning for movement, for anything that could fill the hollow ache in his stomach. The hunger gnawed at him, twisting deeper with every passing minute. Branches scratched against his arms as he pushed through thickets, the sound sharp against the quiet.

  A sudden rustle stirred to his left. He froze, breath shallow. Slowly, he crept toward the sound and parted a bush to see a small rabbit-like creature chewing lazily on fallen leaves. Its fur was streaked with brown and white, blending with the undergrowth. Xiao Lei’s heart quickened. He crouched, inching closer, each step careful.

  Just as he lunged, the creature bolted, vanishing into the underbrush with a flash of fur. Only the trembling leaves remained.

  Xiao Lei stayed there for a moment, staring at the empty spot where it had been, his breath fogging faintly in the cold air. He straightened slowly and walked on, as if his body remembered how to move even when his heart had forgotten.

  Twice more he tried—once at a squirrel-like animal clinging to a tree trunk, and again at a bird scratching the forest floor. Both times they escaped, the sound of their retreat a mocking whisper in the stillness. His movements grew sluggish, the weakness in his limbs a reminder of how little he had eaten.

  Finally, he spotted another creature—a rat-like animal nosing through the leaves. This time, instead of rushing, he crouched lower, the damp earth cold against his knees. The rock felt rough, almost biting into his palm, its weight far heavier than it should have been.

  For a moment, he just breathed—slow, shallow—while the creature’s small nose twitched, unaware. The forest seemed to hold still with him, as if waiting for his choice.

  Then, with everything he had left, he hurled it.

  A sharp crack split the silence, and the animal fell where it stood.

  Xiao Lei approached slowly, his chest rising and falling in tired relief. He picked up the small body, its fur still warm, and wrapped it in broad leaves he found nearby. His fingers trembled slightly, whether from hunger or exhaustion, he couldn’t tell, and dragged himself to a small clearing.

  His movements were sluggish as he gathered fallen wood, each stick feeling heavier than it should. The fire took time to catch, its smoke curling upward and disappearing into the dark canopy.

  He placed the animal over the flames, watching absently as the skin blackened and curled. Whether it cooked properly didn’t matter. When it was done enough to hold, he tore into it, the heat searing his hands, the taste irrelevant.

  When nothing was left but bones, he leaned back against a tree, the small fire crackling beside him. Above, there was no sky, only the shifting outline of branches. Around him, the forest breathed, rustling in a low, constant whisper.

  Xiao Lei lay down beside the embers, his body heavy, his stomach finally quiet. The warmth of the fire touched his skin as his eyes drifted closed, swallowed by the dusk. Before the snap of a twig, too heavy to be the wind, forced him to open them again. His breath caught. The warmth of the fire felt suddenly thin, fragile against the cold creeping in.

  Favourite button, drop a rating, write a review, and leave a comment—I read them all (even the unhinged ones). Your support fuels my writing, and hey… maybe the protagonist will suffer slightly less if you do. No guarantees though! ??

  [Click here to head to the main page!]

  Destiny Reckoning. It’s set in the same universe, and you definitely don’t want to miss it, because the stories will eventually crossover.