The monster’s head, a grotesque maw of yellowed fangs, reared high above the silhouette of Xiao Yue’s hut. Its eyes, pinpricks of malevolent light, fixed on the small, unsuspecting dwelling. Li Chen watched through the Sky Mirror, an inferno of helpless rage searing through his ancient heart. The phantom chains of the Mandate hummed a relentless warning, a cruel reminder of his enforced stillness. Not yet. I cannot act. Not directly. The raw, primal instinct to obliterate the threat was a physical ache, battling against millennia of enforced cosmic law.
Down in the mortal realm, the air grew thick with the scent of pine needles and damp earth, a scent Xiao Yue loved. At seven years old, her world was small, bounded by the ancient forest, the meandering river, and the familiar faces of her
