The night was alive with whispers as Mei-Ling slipped out of the village, the Lantern of Eternal Regret floating ahead like a solitary star. Its indigo glow illuminated the narrow path winding through the Valley of Ten Thousand Blossoms, where peach trees stood sentinel, their branches heavy with dew. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and the faint tang of incense from the village's offerings for the Night of Shattered Veils. Mei-Ling's heart raced, her mother's jade pendant warm against her chest, the bamboo flute tucked securely in her sleeve. The Peaks of Eternal Dawn lay beyond the valley, shrouded in clouds and legend, where the Temple of Unseen Threads awaited.
Old Man Zhao's words echoed in her mind: The path is perilous, and the spirits will hunt you. She glanced at the lantern, its flame flickering as if urging her forward. The scroll in the shrine had marked the way—a trail of starlight etched into the mountains, visible only when the heavens aligned. Tonight, with the veil between worlds thinning, the stars burned brighter, their light pooling in the distance like a river of silver.
Mei-Ling adjusted the small pack slung over her shoulder, filled with rice cakes, a water gourd, and a single talisman Kai had pressed into her hand before she left. "For protection," he'd said, his eyes betraying worry he wouldn't voice. She'd refused his pleas to join her, knowing the village needed him to guard the shrine. Lin-Xi's threat lingered like a shadow, and Mei-Ling couldn't shake the feeling that the Obsidian Clan was watching.
The path steepened, leading into a forest of towering pines that blotted out the sky. The lantern's light cast eerie shapes on the ground—claws, wings, faces that vanished when she looked too long. Her fingers brushed the flute, its plum blossom carvings grounding her. She hadn't meant to wield its power against Lin-Xi, but the notes had come unbidden, as if her mother's spirit guided her hands. Now, alone, she wondered what else the flute could do—or what it demanded.
A rustle broke the silence, sharp and deliberate. Mei-Ling froze, her breath catching. The lantern flared, its light sweeping the trees to reveal a pair of glowing eyes, amber and unblinking, set in a face of shimmering scales. A creature emerged, its body serpentine yet feathered, like a dragon crossed with a phoenix. Its claws scraped the earth, and its voice was a low hiss, layered with echoes. "Child of Wu, why do you tread the path of falling stars?"
Mei-Ling's hand tightened on the flute, but she kept her voice steady. "I seek the Temple of Unseen Threads. The lantern guides me."
The creature circled her, its feathers brushing the air with a sound like rustling silk. "The lantern is a liar's light, lit by regret, not truth. I am Fei-Long, guardian of this pass. None may cross without offering a thread of their soul."
"A thread?" Mei-Ling's eyes flicked to the pendant, its dragon sigil glowing faintly. "I don't know what that means."
Fei-Long's eyes narrowed. "A memory, a secret, a piece of your essence. The Loom demands balance. Give, or be taken."
Mei-Ling's mind raced. The Masked Scribe had spoken of threads, and Zhao had called the pendant a key to the Loom. Was this creature part of the Court of the Azure Star, or something older? She pulled the flute from her sleeve, her fingers trembling. "I'll give you a song instead," she said, raising it to her lips.
Fei-Long hissed, its feathers flaring. "A song is no thread."
But Mei-Ling was already playing, a melody soft and mournful, like the one her mother played on moonless nights. The notes wove through the air, and the forest seemed to listen—the pines swayed, the stars pulsed, and the lantern's flame steadied. Fei-Long froze, its amber eyes softening, as if caught in a memory of its own. The pendant grew warm, and Mei-Ling saw a flicker in her mind: her mother, standing in this very forest, playing the same melody to a creature of scales and feathers.
The song ended, and Fei-Long lowered its head. "Your mother's song," it murmured. "She passed here once, bearing the stolen thread. For her memory, I will let you pass—but beware, child. The Peaks of Eternal Dawn are no place for mortals. The Loom's threads tangle all who seek them."
Fei-Long retreated into the shadows, its form dissolving like mist. The lantern pulsed, urging Mei-Ling onward. She stepped forward, the path now sloping upward into a rocky gorge where starlight pooled like water. But as she climbed, a new sound reached her—a low, rhythmic chant, like monks reciting sutras. It came from above, where the clouds parted to reveal a figure silhouetted against the moon. Not Lin-Xi, not the Masked Scribe, but someone new, their robes shimmering with threads of silver, holding a staff topped with a spinning orb that glowed like the lantern.
"You're late, Wu girl," the figure called, their voice sharp and melodic. "The Night of Shattered Veils is upon us, and the Loom is waking. Come, if you dare—or the threads will claim you first."
Mei-Ling gripped the flute, her heart torn between fear and resolve. The lantern's light flared, and the path ahead shimmered, revealing a staircase of starlight leading into the clouds. The Peaks of Eternal Dawn loomed, and with them, the truth of her mother's legacy.