"Mother."
Kyorin called out as Xia approached, her face hidden beneath the curtain of her hair. As she arrived before him, without a word—Paa!
A slap.
Then, a pull.
An embrace.She held him tightly, her body trembling, her breaths uneven.
Small sobs escaped her lips, whispered words breaking through the silence.
"I am so glad."
"I am so glad."
Kyorin did not return the embrace, but he did not pull away either. His body, which once rejected the touch of others, now stood still within her grasp.
For a moment, he remained unmoving. Then, slowly, his arms lifted, wrapping around her in return.
Xia smiled, feeling the warmth of his embrace for the first time.
Kyorin had always been like stone—unyielding, unaffected. Perhaps he had wanted to appear strong. But she knew better. He wasn't trying to be fearless; he was simply acting tough.
Yes, Kyorin had always put on an act. But his toughness did not stem from trying to appear courageous.
"Your prayers have been answered, oh grieving one."
DEVA's voice cut through the moment, carrying a weight beyond its words.
Xia turned toward the sacred tree, understanding its meaning. After all, it was this tree that had given her this life. Without hesitation, she bowed in reverence.
Then, without a word, she forced Kyorin to bow as well.
A gesture that once would have made him recoil.
Now, he simply followed.
DEVA chuckled. "Looks like you aren't that all-mighty after all, Resonator."
Kyorin tilted his head, gazing at his gourd. "You seem to have eaten some leopard's gall to utter such words." His voice carried no anger, only quiet amusement.
But even as he spoke, he understood the strangeness of it all.
He had bowed alongside them—The Villagers.
It wasn't that he found it bothersome; rather, he saw the uncertainty in forging relationships—the way they tethered a person, making it impossible to remain truly detached from society.
He, who once clung to individualism, who once saw society as a force that eroded the self, now stood among them—not as one who had been swept away, but as one who had endured.
The weight of four years settled in.
Four years of endurance.
Four years of walking among those he did not fully understand.
Four years of resisting the instinct to remain apart.
He had no father figure. No guiding hand—apart from his mother.
He had been bullied, mocked, scorned, labeled a criminal for an act they could not comprehend. Yet here he stood—not as a pariah, not as an outsider, but as a part of this village.
The thought of leaving came to him, pressing against his mind like a tide. The fear of attachment threatened to take root, whispering that he was being pulled in, tethered.
But he remained steadfast, knowing there was a way to walk among many without belonging to any. And now, he had finally found his answer.
'The seed burrows into the earth, yet it is not bound by the soil.'
Yet, it does not surrender to it, nor does it lose itself within it. Its roots dig deep, seeking sustenance, yet its stem rises above, reaching for the sky.
'The desert bloom unfolds its vibrant petals under the relentless sun, thriving where others might wither.'
Yet, it does not retreat from the arid heat; it does not curse the barren land. Instead, it searches—hidden streams beneath the sands, droplets of morning dew—finding a way to endure, to flourish.
This was his Perseverance.
And now, he stood as the first Resonator of Yang Niu.
For four years, he had persisted—not to conform, not to be accepted, but because he refused to break.
He had resisted the urge to walk alone, to convince himself that isolation was the only path. And in doing so, he had shattered his own preconceptions of individual strength.
And now, standing here, becoming a part of society without feeling burdened, he comprehended what detachment truly meant.
He was not burdened by their expectations.
He was not bound by their customs.
He was not trapped.
Society was not a chain that shackled its members, nor was it a stagnant pool where individuality drowned.
People were not lifeless stones, colliding and settling in place. They were currents—flowing, shifting, weaving together and then apart.
Kyorin closed his eyes, understanding settling over him.
'The roots of a tree do not reject the soil just because they do not own it.'
They took what they need, anchor themselves, and yet, they do not cling. When the time comes, they break free, seeking new ground.
'The sun does not cease to be part of the sky because it does not cling to the clouds.'
It shines, indifferent to their drifting forms, untouched by their passing.
And if that was the nature of things, then there was nothing to fear.
This was his Detachment.
To endure without being consumed.
To persist without clinging.
To stand among them without losing himself.
For so long, he had believed he understood—believed that to exist in society was to be bound by it, that relationships inevitably led to ruin.
But now—he understood something.
"I do not know anything, but—" he whispered.
He let the thought settle, let it breathe.
"I don't know much."
And yet, the uncertainty did not unsettle him. The need to grasp, to define, to cling to a single unchanging truth—that was the final weight he had yet to put down.
Perhaps he did not need to know.
Perhaps it was enough that he was here.
And in that moment—he was free from the burden of society, even as he embraced his place within it.
His previous belief of detachment had been shattered; now, he comprehended true detachment, feeling unburdened by membership yet fully integrated.
In that moment of enlightenment, a thought surfaced.
'Immortality,' he murmured.
Had he, perhaps, made a mistake in seeking it?
The immortality that once consumed him, that had driven him like a feral beast in hunger, no longer stirred the same ravenous need within him.
No—perhaps he still hungered for immortality. But the immortality he had once sought was not the kind he longed for now.
Kyorin's thoughts twisted in on themselves.
'I once sought immortality,' he mused.
But as the words settled, his expression darkened, his tone grave, as something foreign and chilling surfaced in his mind.
'But who was this "I" that sought immortality?'
His Tacet Mark pulsed faintly.
Who was this "I" that had yearned so desperately for eternity? It was Kyorin—but was it the Kyorin who stood here now? Or had he already become someone else? A new sensation crept in, foreign and suffocating—paranoia.
A cold sweat traced his spine as the threads of fate, once infinite, seemed to loosen around him. Some snapped altogether, and where once infinite paths had stretched endlessly, now only a few remained. His choices narrowed.
And with it, a question settled into his mind, sharp as a blade.
"Who is 'me,' and who is 'I'?"
Yet, as his thoughts churned, the masses paid him no mind. Their eyes were drawn to the great tree, lost in awe and reverence.
By dusk, Kyorin and Xia walked home. The quiet of the evening stretched between them until Xia finally broke it. "Kyorin, were you scared?"
His response was immediate. "I am."
He did not elaborate. He did not tell her that something far deeper than fear had taken root in him. An identity crisis loomed over him like a specter, but he kept it unspoken.
Xia's grip on his hand tightened. Her gaze, fierce with determination, flickered, carrying a sense of adamancy.
DEVA, watching, found something peculiar in his demeanor. A mental whisper reached him. "Are you alright?"
Silence.
Then, after some time—"As in me, I am alright." He simply said.
DEVA's internal circuits buzzed. Something about the way he referred to himself unsettled her. But she let it go, dismissing it as one of his usual eccentricities. Her mind drifted elsewhere—to the village, to the years ahead.
Or so she thought.
By dawn, they were already sailing.
A ship carried them away, leaving Yang Niu behind. Their destination—Mount Firmament, an island belonging to the Huanglong Region.
DEVA, stunned, muttered to herself, "I see. So this is what he meant when he said he was unsure."
Her focus flickered to Kyorin, who sat stiffly, his expression caught between deep thought and something almost… constipated.
'Is he seasick?' she wondered, watching the waves shift beneath them.
Then her thoughts turned elsewhere, gazing at a huge mountain that seem to resemble a dragon.
"I wonder how that Long is doing?"
End of Volume 1: THE DAWN
To be continued...