[World] Origin

Be it for honor’s banner or under iron compulsion.

The [Hero King] boarded a boat and slid into the fog, a pale shroud over gray water.

He brought a full year of provisions, ready to drift alone like a leaf on a boundless sea.

Yet.

Against his expectations, in barely five minutes he cut through the mist like a blade through gauze and reached the far shore.

He landed, heart fluttering like a startled sparrow. He looked back—and where was that ocean?

It was only a river, a strip of water a hundred meters wide, a silver belt across the land.

[Fear] had veiled eyes and ears like heavy cloth, swelling water and waves into thunder inside a cave.

They had feared for centuries, yet a single river ringed them like a moat; a good swimmer could cross as easily as breathing wind.

How absurd.

No endless sea. No terrible leviathan in the deep.

Across from the continent lay more continent, a calm earth like a sleeping field under noon light.

So he turned his keel to return.

He would carry home the bright news, welcome the world’s revel and honor, prepare—bells and laurel—to be crowned king.

Yet.

He was wrong.

Spectacularly wrong, like a compass gone mad.

…

On the [Third] day of the [Demon King]’s birth.

Let’s turn the hands of [Time] back, to dawn brushed with frost at the window.

Morning drills ended, and the blonde girl, breath quick as a bird’s wing, sheathed her silver longsword like moonlight.

She looked at the black‑haired youth across from her, skin dry, not a bead of sweat; her teeth met her lip as her heart dropped like a stone.

“Master Bai—do I—really have talent?”

“Honestly, no. But it doesn’t matter.” Ye Weibai’s voice was cool as a shaded spring.

“But—I lost again today. I didn’t even touch the hem of your coat, Master Bai,” she blurted, frustration fluttering like torn silk.

“Aerin.” Ye Weibai held her with a gaze still as a deep well. “What are you rushing?”

Aerin flinched, then lowered her head; her eyes sank to her toes like leaves drifting down.

“Rushing—I don’t even know why I’m rushing. But a voice inside keeps pushing me.”

“Maybe—maybe it’s because we met Stardust yesterday. She’s the [Hero King]’s companion, right?”

“Uncle John told me—the [Hero King] meets the first companion, then the next like stars gathering. Once all companions gather, they’ll meet—the [Demon King].”

“Aerin, are you afraid?” Ye Weibai cut in, voice soft as mist. “Lift your head and answer me.”

“I—I don’t know—” She obeyed, meets his gaze, her eyes adrift with fog. “Maybe I’m afraid, but I’m only afraid I can’t fulfill the [Hero King]’s mission.”

She clenched her fists; dawn spilled through the lattice like liquid gold, pooling on her white training clothes and trembling lashes.

“I’m afraid—I won’t be able to kill the [Demon King].”

“Then…” Ye Weibai’s tone dropped like dusk. “What if I had a method to boost your strength several fold right now?”

“Really?!” Aerin’s head lifted, hope flaring like a lantern.

“Yes.” Ye Weibai nodded, calm as night water. “But you’ll pay a price.”

“I’m not afraid of hardship. I’m not afraid of pain. I’m even—not afraid of death.”

“Don’t—say you’re not afraid of death so lightly.” Ye Weibai shook his head, the gesture a winter branch refusing wind. “If you’ve never met death, don’t say that.”

“Besides—”

“Besides?” Aerin stared, confusion drifting like smoke.

“There are countless things more frightening than death.” Ye Weibai’s black eyes held no light, a pair of wells without stars. “Are you truly ready for that kind of price?”

“I—”

She almost nodded, but those eyes were an ink‑black abyss. Her gaze slid in, and a cold blade climbed her spine, seeped into the shadowed rooms of her mind.

A nameless dread, a foreboding, poured like rain into her skull, whispering without sound that the price would be far beyond her imagining.

That was the [Hero King]’s and a woman’s sixth sense, a thin string humming like wind through pine.

Her lips parted, then shut in a heartbeat.

Ye Weibai smiled. “Exactly. You’re not ready.”

“I—” Aerin’s mouth opened, words failed; regret nipped her lip like a small animal. “I don’t know why— I clearly—was ready to sacrifice everything for the [Hero King]!! I don’t know—why!”

“No. You’re not ready. It’s not time.”

“Not time? When?” Aerin’s eyes searched Master Bai like stars searching a moon.

Ye Weibai didn’t answer when. He said, “Aerin, you know this? Only after tasting pain do we yank our hand back—humans are that foolish, animals chasing flame.”

“So, next—”

“Next—?”

“Let’s go shopping.”

“Eh—eh?!”

…

“So, why am I here too?”

“Idle hands rust. Move your body a bit, or you’ll swing a sword like a stiff door.”

They spoke inside a jewelry shop on Pingning Avenue, the capital’s most bustling street, a river of people under flags.

It wasn’t lavish, but refined like carved bamboo; muted colors rested on the walls, and deep green vines outside framed the window like painted scrolls.

Across a small table with tea, Ye Weibai and Uncle John sat and watched the two girls huddled together at the counter, choosing bright trinkets.

Golden hair and silver hair bent together; noon light filtered through the vines like rain, laying on their slender, almost transparent outlines, a quiet picture easy on the eye.

“Relax.” Uncle John snorted, a gust through old pines. “I haven’t touched a sword in ages, but I was once hailed as Sword God.”

“Ha. I hope so,” the [Demon King] smiled, a crescent cold and light. “Just don’t die on your own. You’re a very important actor.”

“—Actor?”

“That’s right.”

“Hmph.” Uncle John cut him a glance, sharp like a knife on a whetstone. “Such arrogant phrasing.”

“Of course. Because I am—” he bared his teeth in a grin, “the [Demon King].”

“What are you talking about?”

Windchimes tinkled like glass rain as the two girls parted the crystal curtain and stepped into the tea nook.

“Aerin, what did you buy?” Ye Weibai slipped the topic aside like a silk fan.

“A bracelet!” The fool girl followed easily, her joy light as a sparrow; she lifted her wrist, where an amber bell hung from a translucent ribbon and chimed on her pale skin.

“Beautiful.” Ye Weibai gave praise like warm sun without stint.

Aerin blinked, stunned; it was her first compliment from Master Bai, and her mind stalled like a wheel in mud.

Ye Weibai’s gaze slid to the silver‑haired, silver‑eyed girl, cool as moon on water.

“Stardust?”

Her outfit today was dazzling, a dark bloom under lamp‑light.

Aerin adored Stardust; last night she begged to dress her up. At dawn she grabbed her, forced on a dark gothic lolita set, turning her into a doll with porcelain hush.

Honestly, it fit Stardust—her blank, unreadable face and dark‑silver short hair matched the black gothic like ink and paper.

“This.” The girl answered in her signature light voice, a feather across stone.

She extended her hand and pointed; a silver crystal ring flashed on her finger, sparkling like frost under sun.

“Mm! Very pretty.”

“…” Praise landed, and Stardust didn’t speak; her head tilted, and the corner of her mouth trembled like a ripple—maybe a smile?

It passed in a blink. Then she seemed to recall something and lifted her other hand; in that pale palm lay another silver ring, a twin moon.

“For me?” Ye Weibai was surprised and took it, fingers smooth as flowing water.

The girl nodded.

“Ah—so sly—” Aerin clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes bright as bells. “You secretly bought a matching one!”

Stardust flicked her eyes at Aerin, a glance like a needle.

Who knows what happened in a half morning of shopping, but their bond had grown like vines. From that one look, Aerin caught the meaning and pouted.

“I bought something too, but mine isn’t a pair.”

She drew her hand from behind and opened her palm; a pair of black teardrop earrings lay there like night rain.

“—Earrings?”

“Mm‑mm!” Aerin nodded hard, hope sparkling like mica. “The moment I saw them, I felt they fit you so well, Master Bai!”

Ye Weibai lifted a brow and took the earrings, the motion a cat’s tail in the sun. “Why do you think earrings suit me?”

“Uh—” Aerin wilted, her mood drooping like damp paper. “M‑Master Bai doesn’t like them?”

“If he doesn’t, give them to me!” Uncle John, already unable to bear it, reached to snatch the [Demon King]’s spoils. “Aerin’s gift, and you’re picky? That’s a crime.”

“Tsk. Like it or not, no one takes anything from my hand.” Ye Weibai turned his wrist, water slipping past stone.

“Uncle John, ‘crime’ is too much!” Aerin waved, cheeks pink like sunset. “If you like them, I’ll buy you a pair.”

“Save your coin, Aerin.” Ye Weibai’s voice drifted like smoke. “This old man has likely passed the age for these.”

“Bringing up age again! How many times today!” Uncle John’s mustache puffed with anger like a bristling cat.

“Ha, that’s—”

Both voices stopped together, like strings cut.

Ye Weibai’s smile halted mid‑curve.

Slowly, his lids lowered, shading those black eyes like a curtain. “Looks like we have guests.”

Uncle John’s face went still in an instant; his wrinkles sharpened like etched lines on copper. Aerin had never seen that visage—yet a brief haze rose, as if she had glimpsed it once, far away in the past.

“Another actor in your plan?” Uncle John’s voice was heavy as water in a deep cistern.

“No, probably an uninvited guest.”

Even Aerin felt the shift; warmth froze into steel, and the room grew taut like a drawn bow. She looked around, flustered. “What happened?”

“John, take them back first.” Ye Weibai spoke, and Stardust seized his hand; he started and met the ash‑gray eyes that held him like winter sky.

He smiled at the little girl. “Don’t worry. I won’t forget our promise.”

“Aerin, take care of Stardust.” He turned to the blonde.

Aerin wanted to ask more, but she saw his face.

It was a solemn look she had never imagined on him; even before Silver, that terrifying woman, he always wore a smile like a calm lake.

Unease slid through her chest like a thin knife; she shut her mouth and reached for the girl’s hand, ready to obey.

But Stardust slipped past her fingers.

The girl kept holding Ye Weibai’s hand, silent, expression blank as porcelain.

Meeting her gaze, Ye Weibai read her heart like ink on white paper.

He saw deep unease and trembling fear, a cold mist in a sealed well.

“Relax. I won’t forget you.” Ye Weibai said, voice warm as sun through cloud.

She shook her head slightly and murmured, “Last time, the time before, the time before that…”

Ye Weibai paused. He understood. Stardust was afraid that once separated, he would forget her—just like always in her life, a pattern pressed like a seal.

Every time, “that person” said the same words as he did, then forgot her like smoke dissolving.

Ye Weibai fell quiet for a breath; then he touched her hair, a light brush like wind over grass, and smiled. “Then come with me.”

“…Mm!” Her gray pupils widened, and tiny gray motes lifted like ash‑snow.

“Then I’ll—” Aerin blurted, eagerness flashing like kindled straw.

“No, Aerin. You can’t.” Ye Weibai shook his head, a firm gate closing.

“Why—”

“Because you have your mission. Remember—you are the [Hero King].”

“…How sly.” The blonde bit her lip, a rose thorn to skin. “Master Bai is so sly. Bringing out the [Hero King]… too sly.”