Chapter 3: Fate Does Not Grant Peace So Easily!

Days turned to weeks, and the journey grew harsher. Yoon Hwan had taken refuge in an abandoned temple hidden in the Azure Cloud Mountains. The temple was once a revered sanctuary, its Tang Dynasty architecture now weathered by time. Sloping golden rooftops, intricately carved wooden pillars, and murals depicting ancient battles remained as silent witnesses to its forgotten past. In the heart of the temple stood the Echoing Dharma Bell, which, according to legend, would ring when one reached true enlightenment. Though abandoned, the temple still carried a lingering sense of sacredness, shielding those who sought refuge within its crumbling walls.

stone walls bore the scars of time, yet within them, Hanwool remained safe. The child barely cried, his dark eyes eerily perceptive, as if understanding the weight of his existence.

Yoon Hwan often found himself staring at the child in the dim candlelight. There was something unsettlingly serene about him. A child born from death, given life through a forbidden ritual—what fate awaited such a being? He tried not to dwell on it. He had made a promise. The past could not be undone, but the future could still be written.

Yet, even in the supposed safety of the temple, shadows lurked. That night, as the wind howled through the broken windows, Yoon Hwan felt an unnatural presence creeping into the sanctuary. He grabbed his sword, instincts honed by years of battle screaming in alarm. Holding Hanwool close, he stood before the entrance, his breath controlled, his stance unshaken.

The doors creaked open, revealing a figure cloaked in black. A woman with piercing silver eyes stepped forward, her presence like a phantom in the night. Her long, dark robes fluttered slightly despite the absence of wind. She exuded an eerie calm, the kind that came with knowledge too burdensome for most mortals to carry.

Yoon Hwan did not lower his blade.

"You carry the child of the fallen star," the woman spoke, her voice smooth yet tinged with something unreadable."

Yoon Hwan's grip on his sword tightened. His instincts screamed danger, but his mind urged caution. He had encountered countless assassins, spies, and messengers in his lifetime, yet this woman bore no mark of hostility. She stood as if she had already foreseen this moment, as if she had been waiting.

"Who are you?"

His voice was low, steady, despite the storm of emotions raging within him.

The woman's silver eyes drifted down to the baby in his arms. Hanwool did not cry. He merely stared back at her, unblinking, his tiny fingers twitching as though reaching for something unseen. The woman observed him for a moment, and a flicker of something—curiosity, sorrow, or perhaps fear—crossed her face.

"Not an enemy," she finally answered, raising her gaze to meet Yoon Hwan's once more. "But neither a friend."

Yoon Hwan's knuckles whitened around the hilt of his blade. He had no patience for riddles.

"You knew we were here."

It was not a question.

The ghost of a smile touched the woman's lips, but it was devoid of warmth. "The heavens do not forget. Nor does the abyss. His fate was sealed the moment he drew breath."

Her words sent a cold shiver through Yoon Hwan's spine. He took a defensive step back, shielding Hanwool with his arm.

"What do you know about his fate?"

he demanded.

The woman took a step forward, her expression unreadable. "You run from men, but men are not the only ones who watch. The heavens do not remain blind to what was taken from them. The child—" her voice softened, almost imperceptibly, "—should not exist."

Yoon Hwan's heart pounded. His grip on his sword faltered for the briefest moment before he steadied himself.

"And yet he does," he shot back, his voice filled with quiet defiance.

The woman exhaled, as if she had expected that answer. "Yes," she said. "And that is why he will never know peace."

A silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken truths. The storm outside had begun to subside, leaving only the distant rumble of thunder in the sky. The temple's flickering candlelight cast shadows across the ancient stone walls, illuminating the cracks in the faded carvings.

Yoon Hwan felt a lump rise in his throat. He had known, deep in his heart, that Hanwool's life would never be simple. But hearing it from this enigmatic stranger made the weight of that truth unbearable.

woman studied him for a long moment before speaking again. "To warn you."

"Warn me of what?"

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze shifting once more to Hanwool. "There are those who will seek him. Some to destroy him. Others to claim him. And some… who will try to turn him into something even the heavens fear."

Yoon Hwan's breath hitched. His mind raced with possibilities, with threats he had not yet considered.

"You should have left him to the river," the woman said softly. "Perhaps the currents would have shown him mercy."

Yoon Hwan's fury surged. "Then you don't understand a mother's love," he growled. "Or a brother's promise."

The woman did not flinch at his anger. Instead, she lowered herself to one knee, bowing her head slightly—not to him, but to the child.

"He carries the remnants of a soul that should have faded," she murmured. "That which defies death is not left unpunished. The stars trembled when he returned."

Yoon Hwan clenched his jaw. "Then let the stars tremble."

For the first time, something akin to amusement flickered in the woman's gaze. She slowly rose to her feet. "Brave words," she said. "But bravery will not be enough."

She turned, her cloak billowing as she walked toward the exit. But just before stepping past the temple threshold, she paused. Without turning back, she left Yoon Hwan with one final warning.

"The child will walk a path that no man has walked before. And when the heavens and the abyss reach for him, you will wish you had never heard his name."

Then, in the blink of an eye, she was gone.

The doors creaked shut, and silence filled the temple once more.

Yoon Hwan stood there, unmoving, his sword still raised, though there was no longer anyone to strike. His heart pounded like a war drum, but his arms trembled with exhaustion. Slowly, he looked down at Hanwool, who was still staring at the empty doorway.

The baby made no sound. But in his dark, unreadable eyes, Yoon Hwan swore he saw something shift—like the reflection of a star in an endless abyss.

The temple had become their sanctuary, but it was no place for a child. The cold stone walls offered protection from the elements, but no warmth, no sustenance. Hanwool was barely a few days old, yet his needs were growing. His frail cries in the dead of night made Yoon Seol realize—he could not survive here alone.

He needed food, he needed milk, and most of all, he needed a place where he could grow without the shadow of the past constantly looming over him.

So, before the first light of dawn, Seol wrapped Hanwool tightly in his sister's old cloak, tucking him close to his chest. He took one last look at the abandoned temple—its cracked pillars and weathered statues standing as silent witnesses to his oath—before stepping out into the dense forest that stretched endlessly beyond.

The journey was treacherous. He traveled through thick, untamed woodlands where the trees seemed to close in around him, their gnarled branches reaching like skeletal fingers. The air was damp with the scent of earth and decaying leaves. Every step was cautious, every rustling sound met with a tightened grip on the sword strapped to his back.

Hanwool slept soundly against his chest, his small breaths warm against Seol's skin. But Seol could not afford to rest. The child's safety depended on him.

By midday, he reached a wide river, its waters dark and restless. It was known as the River of Echoing Sorrow—a place spoken of in hushed whispers. Legends claimed the spirits of the fallen wandered here, their voices carried by the current. Standing at the edge, Seol understood why.

The wind howled mournfully, and the mist above the water seemed to take shifting shapes, almost as if watching him. He tightened his hold on Hanwool and stepped onto a series of uneven stones that formed a makeshift crossing. Each step was measured, precise.

The river roared beneath him, surging against the rocks. Halfway across, the sky rumbled with distant thunder, and the weight of unseen eyes pressed against his back.

He didn't look back.

With a final leap, he landed on solid ground, breathing heavily. The whispers of the river faded behind him. Whatever spirits lurked there had let him pass—for now.

As the sun began its descent, Seol finally saw the first signs of civilization. Smoke curled gently from chimneys hidden between the trees, the scent of burning wood mixing with the crisp mountain air.

The village was unlike any he had seen before. Nestled deep in the valley, it was shielded by towering cliffs and dense foliage, its existence concealed from the outside world. Wooden houses stood in harmony with nature, their thatched roofs covered in moss, blending into the landscape. Lanterns swayed from carved wooden posts, casting a golden glow along the winding dirt paths.

Despite its serene appearance, Seol remained wary. He had learned long ago that even the most peaceful places could hide sharp blades beneath soft smiles.

As he stepped forward, a few villagers noticed him, their gazes lingering on the bundle in his arms. Whispers spread, some curious, others cautious.

Then, an elderly woman emerged from one of the larger houses near the center of the village. Her presence commanded quiet respect. She was small, her frame fragile in appearance, yet her silver hair shimmered like moonlight, and her sharp gaze held ancient wisdom. She was no ordinary villager—she was an elf, hiding her identity. that could not be ignored. She studied yoon hwan for a long moment before shifting her gaze to the child in his arms. Her brows furrowed slightly, her voice calm yet firm.

"Who are you?, Where are you from? Whose child is that?"

The air felt heavier.

Yoon Hwan's eyes flickered as he saw the faint green aura surrounding her, an unmistakable mark of her elven heritage. His breath caught for a moment, but he quickly steadied himself. Why is she hiding her identity? he wondered.

The words struck Yoon Hwan harder than he expected. His face darkened, the weight of past losses clouding his expression. His grip around Hanwool tightened as if shielding him from unseen judgment. Pain flickered in his eyes, yet he forced himself to answer.

"I'm just a nameless warrior who seeks refuge here, You must have understood a lot by looking at my condition however I shall tell you.....because of an unnatural disaster my wife died during the bandits attack."

"and as for this child..."

Again his words stuck in his mouth, he saw again a light in hanwool eyes as if he was telling something. Yoon hwan countinued his sentence.

" .....This child is mine."

His voice was firm, yet laced with sorrow. A lie spoken to protect the child's true identity. He had made a choice—a necessary deception to keep Hanwool safe from those who sought him.

She exhaled softly and shook her head.

"You have come a long way."

The elf sighed knowingly, her sharp eyes studying him. "A heavy burden for a father to carry."

Yoon Hwan did not respond. He simply held Hanwool closer, as if afraid that speaking any further would bring the past crashing down upon them.

A knowing sigh escaped the old woman's lips. She gestured for him to follow, leading him into her modest home.

Inside, the warmth of the hearth wrapped around them like a long-forgotten embrace. The room smelled of dried herbs and aged wood. A single wooden table stood in the center, surrounded by woven mats. Inside, Yoon Hwan sat on a worn wooden chair while Hanwool lay on a soft bed, his small body finally at rest.

She poured tea with steady hands, the silence stretching between them until she finally spoke again.

"You seek refuge here."

Yoon hwan nodded.

She took a slow sip of her tea before setting the cup down. "Fate does not grant peace so easily. Not for ones such as him."

Yoon hwan's jaw tightened. "Then let fate try to take him. It will fail."

A faint smile ghosted across the old woman's lips, though it did not reach her eyes. "You are a stubborn, warrior. But even the strongest stones erode with time."

She looked down at Hanwool who was sleeping at the bed of her house, who stirred slightly in his sleep. "The blood that runs in his veins is both a gift and a curse. You will have to be more than just a father to protect him."

Yoon hwan's grip on the cup tightened. "I made a promise to protect him."

"Promises," she said softly, "are the foundation of tragedies."

At those words He said nothing. For a moment, silence filled the room.

The elf's piercing gaze returned to Yoon Hwan. "What are you running from?" she asked.

Yoon Hwan met her stare. "Many things. And none of them matter right now."

She scoffed. "You think hiding here will keep him safe? There are forces beyond mortal understanding at play."

Yoon Hwan remained silent. The elf continued her questions, prying into his past, his journey, and his intentions. He answered carefully, only revealing what was necessary.

Then, he asked the one question to that elf lingering in his mind.

"Why are you hiding your identity?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, the air in the room grew heavy. The elf's eyes darkened. Suddenly, an invisible force crashed down upon Yoon Hwan, forcing him to his knees. A suffocating weight pressed against his chest as the elf's green Qi surged, filling the space with raw, unrestrained power.

Yoon Hwan trembled under the pressure but gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stand. His body shook, but he refused to yield. A flicker of blue light ignited around him, his Divine Mystic Qi surging forth, pushing back against the elf's crushing force.

The room trembled as the two energies clashed. The elf's eyes widened in shock. The moment she felt the Divine Mystic Qi, she immediately withdrew her power, stepping back with a pale face.

She stared at him, her voice unsteady. "Are you… perhaps from the Yoon Clan of heavenly demon divine cult?"

Yoon Hwan remained silent.

The elf's expression darkened, her grip tightening on the edge of the wooden table. For the first time, uncertainty flickered in her ancient eyes.