Lian Liu’s head snapped to the side, forcing his neck to cry out in protest. He gasped in pain, immediately cycling his healing qi to his spine and throbbing cheek to ease the pain of the slap.

  He didn’t dare complain, not to the woman who loomed over him. Instead, he lowered himself fully to the ground, kowtowing several times before her.

  “This lowly disciple knows what he did wrong, Sect Leader,” he said. “This Lian should have signaled sooner, perhaps the Sect Leader could have arrived in time to intercept the Demon of Misfortune.”

  Sect Leader Takya Hanako was widely renowned as the second most beautiful woman in all the world. She was the perfect picture of a refined and gentle young woman, despite the fact that she was several hundred years old. Her kind of beauty was something only the heavens could bestow, and no amount of cultivation could improve it any further. Her ethereal nature and the wisps of starlight that sparkled in her hair and eyes made her seem like a true goddess of the night.

  But, to someone in her own sect, she was about as gentle as a howling blizzard. Sect Leader Takya did not tolerate failure, and the pitiful disciple before her had failed rather spectacularly. To successfully track down the Darkened Moon after millennia of searches conducted by those far more skilled at tracking down myths than him was a feat worthy of the highest accolades. Had he successfully kept track of the elusive legend, then he would have been rewarded by Lady Saraia herself. However, the Demon had slipped his grasp during the chaos and disappeared into the one place they could not follow: The Black City.

  “The wards will prevent us from reaching him until he comes out from hiding,” she mused aloud. “Does he know we’re tracking him?”

  “He knows I…this disciple…works for the Chained Demon Sect, but he doesn’t have a good grasp on the current political landscape. This one doubts that Tsuyuki knows anything of her Ladyship’s intentions.” Lian kept his head to the ground, still trying to assess the Sect Leader’s mood.

  “Then we must wait,” she said. “I’ll inquire as to the Philosopher’s plans to take the City for our own, but knowing him, he’s a hundred years from that plan taking shape.”

  Seeing no further need to remain, the Star artist turned and began walking away. Lian chanced raising his head slightly. She hadn’t punished him, but…

  “Sect Leader!” he called, pressing his head to the ground once more. “Forgive this disciple’s boldness, but you promised that I’d be allowed to return to the sect if I found him. I did find him, even if he escaped.” It was a grave risk. Sect Leader Takya was a lesser Ascendent in her own right. It would take less than a snap of her fingers for him to be wiped off the face of reality.

  “I suppose you did find one of the Five,” she mused, tapping her chin in deep contemplation. “You might not have earned our Lady’s praise, but returning to your place within the sect should be enough.” She turned to look at the kneeling disciple. “Just don’t let your previous mistakes happen again. There is no room for mercy when it comes to dealing with monsters.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered dutifully before standing and following her away from the Moon-Soaked Shore.

  *   *   *

  Xinya did not like the situation in which she’d found herself one bit. She was all alone, taken by those brutish yokai scumbags who dared to challenge her uncles. She was certain that if Yoru had been at full strength, and not fresh off the heels of beating his archnemesis so bad there wasn’t even a body left, he’d have been able to wreck those yokai without a second glance. But…

  But they’d taken him by surprise…

  …and then he was stabbed…

  …and then…

  …then…

  It had been nearly a week, and Xinya still couldn’t close her eyes without seeing him. Uncle Yoru’s chains had gleamed so brightly as he struggled against them, and in the briefest moment before he hit the water, Xinya could have sworn that his eyes met hers. Uncle Lin had screamed at the yokai to save him, that Yoru couldn’t swim, that he’d drown…but instead the wood artist and the little girl had been dragged away while the yokai just laughed.

  Xinya had looked back, only to watch Yoru’s spirit wisps flickering over the water’s surface, only to go dark one-by-one until the entire lake was cast into darkness. Even now, the memory brought hot tears to sting her eyes. It wasn’t fair. Yoru was a mighty god…a legend of the ancient world risen from his millennia in prison. He saved her from the death she was destined for at the hands of the Lunar Hunt. He took her in after her father was killed. He trained her, gave her the knowledge to cultivate her own core, rescued her from trial after trial, again and again, and this was his reward?

  “I’ll always come save you. No matter what.” That’s what he’d said after saving Xinya from her wicked grandfather, Shen Tori.

  But, how are you going to come save me, now? she wondered. The tears drew dirty lines on her cheeks as she drew her knees closer. She was only 10, but she had known more death than most of the adults in her hometown. Her mother died when she was young. Her father died before her very eyes at the hand of her uncle who died a few months later at Yoru’s hand. She’d witnessed the death of Shen Tori firsthand, seen the way Yoru’s body was shrouded in the void as an enormous blast of moonlight erupted from the ground, leaving no trace at all of her grandfather for her to spit on.

  Yet, through all that, Yoru had been a monolith of strength. Now…there was no way he could save her now. Now, Xinya was all alone. The dark room around her was dangerous, scary, and the whispering voices of ghosts and monsters lurked just outside her hearing.

  “I’m scared,” she whispered to herself.

  “It’s okay to be scared,” A voice, a woman’s voice, cut through the rest of the eerie noise around the room to settle onto Xinya like a gentle flurry of snow. It was peaceful and a little bit cold, but something about it reminded the little cultivator of warmer days, surrounded by friends and family.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Wh-who’s there?” Xinya stammered softly, not wanting to get the attention of the yokai outside. She peered at the darkness, but her left eye was still blackened and swollen from the last time she’d upset her guards by making too much noise.

  “An old friend of your uncle’s,” the voice answered simply. Something about the voice was vaguely familiar…like something she’d heard once in a dream.

  “Are you here to rescue me?”

  “I gave up my power long ago to save my people,” she explained. “But, I will stay with you. Fear not, Little Wolf. You are strong enough to see yourself through this.”

  Xinya held her knees closer to her chest. She didn’t have the strength. She was just Leaf, the weakest rank of cultivator in the world. How could she possibly fight her way past so many powerful monsters?

  “Your strength is not your advancement, Little Wolf. Find it, persevere. I will remain with you where your uncle cannot.”

  It was as if an arm wrapped around Xinya’s shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze, even though there was no one in the room. To her surprise, she actually felt a little better. It was like when Yoru wrapped her in his arms, or when the Flower Maiden wiped the tears from her face. She didn’t know who this voice was, but they made her feel safe.

  Thundering footsteps sounded outside the door. Xinya leapt to her feet, determined to show no weakness. Her eye was black, her arms were bruised, but her pride was still her own.

  They won’t beat me down. She swore silently.

  Light shone bright through the door as a hulking bear monster leered at her from the doorway. She didn’t recognize him, but she knew his type. He was just another one of the slavers who worked for the big bosses in the Wuning Clan, even if he was one of the ones who spoke the human tongue.

  “Get going, runt,” he growled. “Let’s see how much someone’s willing to pay for a runty scrap like you.” He laughed a deep and guttural sound filled with cruelty. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and some nice noble will take pity on you. Better cry real loud for them, you hear?”

  *   *   *

  A disciple in bright blue robes crept quietly down the dark corridor. His hands shook as he held the map in one hand, but he didn’t dare stop. If he stopped, he might not be able to start moving again. Fear gripped his heart so tight, he worried it would burst, but no matter what, he had to keep moving. Instead of focusing on the death that could take him at any second, he turned his attention to the hallway itself. He would need to be vigilant to spot all the traps that were lurking in the shadows.

  Light from his torch illuminated the beautiful decorations lining the hall. Curtains made from the finest silk he’d ever seen decorated the walls while dust-covered vases and small statues of pure silver and platinum dotted the sides of the hall. It was strange to the disciple. He’d never seen such finery before, seeing how he came from a sect where little value was placed on opulent displays of wealth, but he was still certain that these decorations must be immensely old to be in this place. Yet, the only sign of the hallway’s age was in the thin layer of dust that had collected on every surface.

  Wasn’t this supposed to be the palace of some ancient dead god or something? He thought as he admired a statue of a giant silver moth mid-flight. Why is everything so clean? The detail on the silver was masterful. He almost would have believed the creature to be real and alive, and just as mesmerizing as a real Moon moth would be…

  Before the disciple realized it, his fingers had brushed against the silver moth. Qi flashed from the creature’s eyes, and the disciple scrambled back. He’d been warned of the many traps in this place. The Young Master said that everything you could touch could hide a trap, and now he’d just triggered one.

  Suddenly, the moth was moving. It crawled from the table, flapping its wings as it sensed around the room with its feelers. The disciple kept perfectly still. He could feel the powerful qi radiating from the creature, even if he lacked Iron eyes with which to see it. The moth chittered, its silver feelers waving in his direction. With a hiss, it lunged forward.

  The disciple sprinted down the hall, fear carrying him faster than he’d ever gone before. Wing beats stirred the air in the hall, disturbing the dust into a haze that made the fleeing boy cough. He tore down the corridor, turning first left, then right, then left again in an attempt to lose the creature. The wingbeats remained. They got closer.

  With a start, the boy’s foot caught on a floorboard, and he was sent sprawling to the ground just as the creature lunged. The silver moth sailed over the disciple’s head, only to be caught in another flash of light as three jagged blades of moonlight skewered the creature mid-flight.

  He looked up at the thing, but all that remained of the silver moth was the powder drifting downward from its flight. It settled onto his sleeves, where he could examine it more closely. It was the strangest thing. Though the moth had been made of silver, the powder was just like that of a real Moon moth, with bits of glitter mixed in to attract potential mates.

  The boy took a moment to thank his ancestors for their protection as he stood, straightened first his blue robes, then the ribbon tied about his forehead. He still had his mission. He still had to do his sect proud. With trembling hands, he fumbled at his map.

  Nothing looked familiar. The pathway he’d taken to flee from the moth was off the path he’d been given by the Young Master.

  Cold dread took root in the disciple’s heart as he looked around for anything familiar, but everything was the same. The original owner of the Dark Palace was opulent in the extreme, with thousands of miles of corridors that twisted and turned across the northern cliffs and lakes.

  Calm down. Focus your thoughts, just like Sect Leader Tai always said. He tried to retrace his steps until he found a path that looked half-way like the one he saw on the map. Confident he was back where the Young Master said things were safer, he continued on, studying the floor and walls for a trap marked on his map only as “Light Sphere.” If his brief training was to be believed, there would be a mark on the wall noting where the unsafe section was.

  Though he found no such mark, it quickly became clear to the disciple that he’d gone too far when a large sphere of silver light turned the corner and began moving towards him. From the sphere, a thousand tiny rays of light scoured the walls and floor, each one thinner than a strand of silk.

  According to his instructions, he just needed to hold still and pass between the lights without letting them touch him. The disciple stood still, lining himself up with a section under the sphere and to the left. He held his breath. It was a very tight squeeze with no room for error.

  Just as the orb passed over, the air shifted in the hallway. To the disciple’s horror, the trailing end of his forehead ribbon blew to the side. The symbol of his sect’s discipline was now in the way of one of the rays of moonlight!

  In a desperate attempt to save himself, the disciple reached out, grasping the ribbon, intending to yank it back to safety…

  Pain flared in his hand as the light cut cleanly through flesh. He screamed, the sound echoing through the deserted halls. As he clutched the remains of his hand to his chest, bloodying his brilliant blue sect robes in a desperate attempt to stem the bleeding, the orb of light stopped moving. The light turned red.

  Hope abandoned the disciple as the trap turned its hateful light towards the bleeding boy. Suddenly, he realized exactly why none of the disciples before him had ever returned…

  They’d been sent into a death trap.