When Grey awoke, the world felt distant, as though he were rising through layers of mist both real and imagined. His body remained in a seated posture, legs folded beneath him, hands resting lightly atop his knees. The chill of the mountaintop seeped into his bones, yet his skin burned with the remnants of battle. Thin curls of pale mist drifted around him, forming spirals that slowly unraveled in the dawn breeze.
His breath was uneven. His chest rose and fell in shallow, trembling motions. A faint trail of blood dried on the corner of his lips, sared from where he had coughed in his unconscious state. His robes, once sturdy, were torn in several places, revealing patchwork wounds that glimred faintly as they healed. Flesh knitted together as if invisible threads of wind and essence were weaving him anew.
But despite the pain, despite the exhaustion weighing down his limbs, Grey’s eyes shone. There was sothing different nestled within them, an ember of comprehension, a spark of sothing vast. It pulsed silently, almost imperceptibly, as if a fragnt of the heavens had taken root in the depths of his pupils.
Grey inhaled.
The air tasted strange... familiar... ancient.
Wind brushed against his skin, slipping beneath his torn robes, curling around his shoulders as though greeting him. It did not howl nor roar, but flowed in delicate whispers, carrying ssages only he could hear.
The Wind Monarch...
His mories stirred like leaves caught in an updraft. He rembered standing before that boundless presence, feeling its intent sweep through him like a storm that could blot out the sun. The Monarch’s will had pierced him, tested him, and in the end... accepted him.
A chosen scion.
A seed of the wind.
Sothing inside him trembled at the mory—fear, reverence, and a hint of awe that made his heart beat unsteadily.
He lowered his gaze to the shifting mist below and whispered the words that surfaced naturally in his mind.
"The path of the Wind is not destruction... but control."
The statent did not feel like sothing he had learned. It felt like sothing he had always known, waiting to awaken.
Grey remained still for a long ti. The sky above slowly cleared as dawn light spilled across the mountain. A thin break in the clouds revealed streaks of blue and the faint warmth of the rising sun. Light washed over him, illuminating the healing gleam of his wounds.
When he finally stood, his movents were slow yet deliberate, less the motion of a wounded youth, and more the motion of soone adjusting to a new body. His pale-green robes fluttered as he changed into them, their color echoing the serene mountain around him. He walked toward the cliff’s edge with quiet steps, the ground soft beneath his feet.
The mist below was thick, so thick it looked like an ocean. Even with Dragon Eyes, he could barely sense fifty ters downward. The height of the mountain felt unreal, as though the heavens had lifted him above the mortal world to grant him a brief taste of their vastness.
He did not hesitate.
Grey stepped off the cliff.
There was no fall.
A soft vibration rippled under his foot, subtle but unmistakable. When he glanced downward, he saw a faint grey arc flickering beneath him. It was thin, translucent, unstable... yet undeniably real. A sliver of condensed wind, shaped like an arc, pulsing as if it were half-born from his own understanding.
To any other person, this would be a miracle. To stand on air was the privilege of Foundation Establishnt cultivators. Yet the world could not see the arc beneath his feet, its existence was more Dao than energy, more intent than technique.
His heartbeat steadied.
Grey took another step.
The arc trembled, then stretched slightly, carrying him forward. Step by step, his confidence grew. His walk beca brisk. Brisk turned into swift. Swift beca fluid motion, silent, weightless, natural.
Soon, he was running across the sky.
The wind surged around him like an eager companion. Every step left a fading arc of grey light behind him. He felt as though the world beneath him was distant, irrelevant, and that only the vast sky mattered now. A strange emotion filled him, exhilaration mixed with reverence.
He flew out of the misty mountains in less than an instant, rushing toward Green City.
But as soon as the city’s silhouette appeared within a thousand ters, Grey slowed. His feet touched the earth once more. Leaves crackled softly beneath his weight.
I can’t let them see walk on air.
If they misunderstand and think I’ve reached Foundation Establishnt... the city lord will take notice. And if he discovers I’m only at the Ninth Level... things could get ssy.
A faint sigh escaped him.
It’s better to stay hidden... better to leave Green City soon.
Despite his concerns, a gleam of excitent lit his gaze. His heartbeat picked up, steady and powerful.
Even though I couldn’t find rare treasures... I obtained half a gourd of Golden Syrup.
And more importantly... I touched upon a hidden Dao.
Even matured by hardship, Grey was still under seventeen. The thrill of progress, of feeling power surge through his veins, was sothing he could not entirely suppress. His young heart beat with fire, ambition, and desire.
Once I step into Foundation Establishnt... I’ll finally have enough strength to start searching for my siblings... and for the truth of my own origins.
Minutes later, he was already running toward Green City, his speed deliberately reduced. He suppressed his aura until it resembled the fifth level of Qi Accumulation, ordinary, unremarkable, easily overlooked.
At the city gate, guards perford a brief check and waved him through. No suspicion. No lingering gazes. No trouble.
But Grey did not know, could not know, that from the mont he stepped into the sky, the world had shifted. A subtle ripple spread through the currents of heaven and earth. It was faint, hidden, nearly impossible to notice.
Yet so changes begin quietly.
So fates turn without sound.
And the wind... had begun to move.
**☺️😉**
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