Chapter 87: A CLOSE BRUSH

CHAPTER

87

A CLOSE BRUSH

JIEYUAN

—∞—

Jieyuan stood just at the edge of the tracks, staring down at the massive footprint.

Meiyao was on the opposite end of the pocket, inspecting the spot where the tracks disappeared into the denser mists beyond.

Jieyuan’s experience with animal footprints was—well, nonexistent. That wasn’t exactly a skill you needed in the city.

He could tell some things, though. First and foremost, he wanted nothing to do with whatever beast it belonged to.

The footprint had flattened a patch the size of his chest onto the ground—with four smaller, almost drop-shaped patches arranged just ahead of it, these ones being, say, about the size of his open palms. The gleam wolves they’d faced back in the Gleamstone Forest had been huge—large enough to ride on, easily—but they’d have probably looked cute next to the owner of these footprints.

Jieyuan looked up at Meiyao, who wasn’t moving just quietly, but without any sound whatsoever. She was actually taking her time with her steps. He didn’t dare move—Meiyao only got this silent when the situation was really dire. He’d even had Maeva stop chanting.

The good news was that this was the first time they’d come across this set of footprints.

The bad news was that this was the first time they’d come across this set of footprints.

Because there had been others.

They’d been working their way up the incline for a week now. They first came across animal tracks three days ago—except those had been much smaller than these, so small he wouldn’t have noticed them if Meiyao hadn’t stopped to inspect. Since then, they’d come across tracks every few pockets, some familiar, some new.

Jieyuan glanced around, noting the clear, unmistakable incline they were on. The slope was now pronounced enough you could call it steep. Give it a few more inches, and they wouldn’t be walking anymore, but climbing. He’d have thought the higher up you were, the less animals you’d come across. Someone had apparently forgotten to tell the beasts in the Dome that, though.

Ahead, Meiyao stood still again, now at the very edge of the clearing, practically touching the mist.

Despite all the signs of beasts they kept coming across now, that was all there was to it. They hadn’t come across the beasts themselves. Without a doubt, they had Meiyao to thank for that. The downside was that to make this possible, Meiyao had stopped at every single pocket so far to do her thing.

What that thing was, Jieyuan still didn’t know, either. Since their talk a week ago, they hadn’t talked much. It wasn’t that she’d gone back to ignoring him. Nor was she cold, or curt. She was just… drawn in. She’d answer if he asked something—pleasantly enough, even—but Jieyuan didn’t press her. She’d asked for time to think. Before, he’d kept away because he didn’t know what else to do. This time, at least, he knew it was the right call.

There was one thing he’d figured out about her handling of the mist, though. She could probably control, at least to some extent, where they ended up when crossing clearings.

He glanced over at Daojue, who was still standing at the entrance of the pocket, beneath the shade of a large tree. Most of its trunk wasn’t visible, the branches extending in from the mist behind.

Except there hadn’t been any such tree in the previous pocket—which meant whatever was behind them wasn’t the clearing they’d just stepped out of.

It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed something like this happen—signs that distance and direction weren’t merely skewed, but completely scrambled—but he couldn’t help but remark on it each and every time. How his mind was wholly at the mercy of the viridian mist.

How, without Meiyao, chances were he’d be dead a dozen times over, even with Daojue with him.

And how it was really a good thing she’d come up with up the ropes idea. He hadn’t really understood, when she’d said it, what it meant when she’d said they’d be split up if they weren’t in contact with each other when they crossed. And he still didn’t, but now he had proof of it.

Jieyuan stared down to the tracks again.

It wasn’t just the size he could tell, of course. Maybe it would’ve been, if all he had were this life’s memories. His old man’s interest in animals—and, by extension, what he thought Jieyuan ought to know—only stretched as far as value. Which ones were worth buying or trading, which were better off dead for parts, and what those parts were worth. If a creature—or anything it left behind—couldn’t be sold, Jieyuan wouldn’t even hear its name.

His biology lessons back at Amyas had been considerably more inclusive. Enough, at least, for him to recognize a paw print when he saw one. Four toes—so probably not a bear. More likely canine or feline. Then again, that was hardly minted in coin. Chromal creatures treated nature’s rules more like suggestions.

Still, he would bet on a cat. A big cat, triple emphasis on big.

“And you’d be right,” Maeva said. Since she wasn’t chanting at the moment, she’d stepped out of him and was inspecting the footprint too. “I never cared much for biology, but cats are the ones with retractable claws. See how it ends with the pads? If it were a canine, you’d also see the nail impressions.”

He nodded. That sounded about right. But—well, big cat or big dog, it didn’t really matter. Only whether they’d survive the encounter.

Catching a flicker of movement off to the side, he looked up again. Meiyao had raised her hand, then stepped through the mist without a word.

Too dangerous for sound, then, but safe enough to proceed.

Jieyuan exhaled slowly, then started forward, each step deliberate, mindful not to snap a twig or shift a pebble. Daojue followed just behind, silent as a ghost.

He reached the edge where Meiyao had crossed, then carefully stepped through. As soon as his vision cleared, he scanned the immediate space—no briers, good—and completed the step, fully entering the new clearing. He took a moment to survey the rest of it.

Two trees, one on either side, both with that familiar cone-shaped silhouette. No briers at all, which was always welcome.

And best of all—neither beast nor tracks in sight.

As always, Meiyao had come through—

Already halfway through the pocket, Meiyao froze mid-step.

Jieyuan tensed, but this happened so often he wasn’t all that concerned. Just stepped quietly to the side so Daojue wouldn’t stumble into him.

But then Meiyao whipped her head up.

Jieyuan blinked.

That didn’t happen often.

No, that was new.

Meiyao always looked around plenty, in just about much every direction—except up. Never up.

He looked up—just in time to see a great, massive, white-green shape plunge through the mist, bursting through it, and slam down into the middle of the pocket, just in front of Meiyao.

For a moment, the creature was wreathed in a whirling, spinning trail of mist—a glowing white-green blur, wrapped in a turret of vapor.

Then wings unfolded from the haze—enormous, sweeping things that stretched so wide their tips vanished into the thick mist enclosing the clearing. Pearly white—almost ivory—feathers edged each wing in a glowing frame, with several rows of jade-green plumes layered beneath. Every feather looked as large and sharp as the blade of a sword.

Then the wings gave a single beat—and Jieyuan had to brace himself against the surge of wind that slammed into him, the usually faint mist crashing over him in a rolling wave of green. And then, just as suddenly, it passed—and he saw the creature.

It was nothing like the flying beasts that had rushed them on the way to the Dome.

He hadn’t gotten a proper look at those, but their shape had vaguely reminded him of eagles—sleek, fast, built to strike.

This one was built for endurance, for blood. No sleek lines, no cutting glide—a hunched, heavy, looming beast. More carrion-feeder than sky hunter.

A vulture.

It stood nearly twice Meiyao’s height. Its body was thick with white feathers, wide through the chest and shoulders. That bulk tapered down into a pair of thick, green-scaled legs. Even sunk into the forest floor, its talons were visible—each claw long enough to wrap around a full-grown person, curved like hooks meant to hold, not just pierce.

Its neck stretched long—easily a third of its total height—featherless but not bare. Rows of white and jade-green scales ran down its length in glowing, overlapping bands. The head followed the same pattern: scaled and gleaming, with a bright green beak shaped in a long, brutal curve. A jagged white crest rose from the bridge of the beak and swept back over its crown, ridged and spiked.

Its eyes were set deep in its skull—small for its head, but still as large as open hands. Green, like the mist, but glowing with a fiercer light.

The massive bird slowly turned its head, scanning the clearing—Jieyuan noticed then that Daojue had stepped through at some point—before lowering its gaze, curving its neck down to stare directly at Meiyao, who stood just in front of it.

It rotated its head to one side, then the other, making no sound as it moved. Its neck seemed almost like a separate creature—long, coiling, sinuous. It could’ve easily passed for the body of a serpent.

Jieyuan held his breath. The size wasn’t the problem. If anything, it made things easier. A bird that big wouldn’t be fast—not on the ground. A bird that large wouldn’t be agile, not this close to the ground. And with that much bulk, it’d be hard to miss. He’d take giant bird over massive cat any time. Wouldn’t even have to think about it.

No—the issue was that his soulsense couldn’t catch it.

That ruled out Redsoul entirely. And there was no chance—none—that this creature was mundane.

Jieyuan gripped the Shifting Feathers tighter, though it was pure instinct. They wouldn’t make a difference here.

If they were lucky, the bird was only first-sign Orangesoul—making Gleaming End the only thing nearby that could harm it. If they weren’t… then it might be higher-sign. Or worse, higher-realm.

He didn’t dare move. Part of him wanted to toss the odds, rush forward, drag Meiyao out of harm’s way—anywhere but beside the massive, deadly beast. But the rational part knew better. Meiyao was their only chance. If she couldn’t get them through this, then that was it. The end.

He risked a glance to the side. Daojue had moved, Gleaming End in hand, but hadn’t raised it. Looked like he was willing to let Meiyao try first.

The vulture folded its wings tight against its body, then slowly began to lower its head—down, and down, its neck curving back in a wide arc—until it hung just short of eye level with Meiyao.

Meiyao remained completely still. She had her side to him, and from the angle, Jieyuan could just make out her profile. Her expression was blank—utterly unreadable—as she stared into the creature’s eyes.

Whether that was a good sign or not, he had no idea. But one thing caught his attention: Meiyao’s eyes and the beast’s were nearly identical—practically the same color. The only real difference was size.

Because—unless it was some trick of the light—Meiyao’s eyes were glowing too.

The beast swiveled its head to one side, then the other—same as before, but slower now, more deliberate. Its eyes never left Meiyao’s.

Then it parted its beak, slowly, and let out a low, grinding rumble—like stone scraping against stone. The sound hit Jieyuan in the ribs, a deep vibration that rattled straight through him.

Meiyao didn’t seem to notice. She lifted her hand and rested it gently against the creature’s beak—calm, precise, deliberate.

The world might’ve stopped right then.

The noise died. The vulture froze.

Then, slowly, it drew its head back, neck unfurling like a coiled rope. Its wings spread wide once more—massive and gleaming, stirring the mist as they rose.

The first beat came heavy and slow, a wall of air slamming outward. Mist churned in a wide spiral, branches creaked, and Jieyuan had to plant his feet to keep from stumbling.

The second came faster. Stronger. The mist surged like a green tide, billowing upward in turbulent rings as the creature lifted off the ground, massive talons tearing free from the soil with a sound like roots ripping loose.

It surged upward, wings carving through the mist, glowing feathers slicing the air with each beat. A final burst of mist spiraled around it as it punched through the ceiling—then it vanished, swallowed by the pale green haze above.

Jieyuan would’ve slumped forward. But Meiyao hadn’t moved—her hand still raised, exactly as it had been when she touched the beak. So he forced himself to stay still.

Then, like a weight had finally shifted, she let her hand fall and turned to face them. Her face was pale, her forehead damp with sweat. The glow in her eyes was gone—if it had even been real—but something sharp lingered, clear and vivid.

She nodded at them, then turned and closed the distance to the edge of the clearing.

Jieyuan finally let himself slump, a wave of relief dragging through him like gravity. But Meiyao had already slipped into the next pocket, so he snapped back upright and followed.

No rest for the wicked.

—∞—

“Here’s good,” Meiyao said.

It had been several hours since the close call with the vulture. They hadn’t come across any more beasts, though they’d seen more animal tracks—and rather than slow their pace, Meiyao had picked it up.

They were still on a slope—except now it was a downward one. They’d reached the crest a while back, a ridge by the look of it, and had been descending since. By now, they’d been walking for over a day. Normally, Meiyao would’ve called it off sooner, but it seemed she hadn’t wanted to stop so close to the top.

Jieyuan approved wholeheartedly. He wouldn’t have minded walking a few more hours, even. It would’ve been a fair trade for getting further down, dropping their altitude, putting more distance between them and the ridge.

“I’ll take first watch,” Jieyuan offered. He glanced over at Meiyao.

She closed her eyes, like she was checking for something, then gave him a nod.

Only then did he really ease up. Meiyao wouldn’t pass off first watch unless she was sure it was safe.

Daojue settled onto the ground without a word, right where he was, at the edge of the clearing.

This particular mist pocket was nearly empty—just a bit of shrub off to one side—so it didn’t much matter where you sat.

Jieyuan was about to do the same, drop where he stood, when Meiyao caught his eye.

She gave him a small nod, then crossed to the opposite edge of the pocket and sat down with her back to him.

He’d had Maeva resume chanting a while back, but he called her off now as he walked over, the soft crunch of his steps the only sound for a while.

Just as he reached Meiyao, she patted the ground beside her without looking his way. “Sit.”

He was only too happy to oblige. He dropped down beside her, just shy of touching—aware of her in that faint but undeniable way that hummed just beneath his skin

Meiyao stared off into the mist, motionless. Not tense, exactly—just unreadable.

Jieyuan waited, not saying a word. He didn’t fidget, didn’t press.

There was weight in the quiet, like something about to land. Or something on the verge of tipping.

Then Meiyao gave a small nod, like something had finally lined up in her head, and turned fully toward him.

“Let’s talk.”