A young man, appearing to be in his mid-twenties, dismounted his horse in front of an average-looking house in Bacain. His bright blue eyes seemed to pierce through you. His dark hair was flecked with threads of silver, a hint of his extraordinary nature. He wore commoner's clothing, but his demeanor suggested more.
As he approached the house, he sensed something was off. He closed his eyes, placed his index and middle fingers on his forehead, and focused.
Time reversed, revealing the morning's events. He saw himself walking out, followed by Prince Khane, who headed towards Bacain Cliff with his sword in hand.
Returning to the present, the young man sighed in relief, knowing Prince Khane had gone to practice.
However, a lingering sense of unease prompted him to investigate further. He walked to Bacain Cliff, then smelt the stench of blood. Immediately he flew hurriedly to Bacain Cliff, then widened his eyes as he saw the dead men on black.
He placed his first foot on the ground, then followed by the other.
Confusion etched his face. "Who has he made enemies with this time?" he wondered aloud. "And where is Prince Khane?"
The young man covered his nose with his sleeve, shielding himself from the stench of blood. He crouched beside one of the dead men, searching for any clues. With his internal strength, he ripped open the shirt, revealing a mark on the body: "D.I.H."
"D.I.H?" he wondered aloud, standing up.
He placed his index and middle fingers on his forehead, focusing his mind. Time reversed once more. He saw Prince Khane meditating before the assassins arrived, followed by the intense battle.
But what caught his attention was Prince Khane's extraordinary ability to turn water into fire.
He was astonished, but then he remembered an old friend with similar internal strength. He waved away the memory and rushed to where Prince Khane was interrogating a surviving assassin.
"Was it Eyrin that sent you?" Prince Khane asked.
The young man's eyes widened as he struggled to recall the name. "Eyrin...Eyrin..." he muttered to himself. Suddenly, memories flooded back—Eyrin, the
He wondered how Eyrin had discovered Prince Khan's location, knowing he had taken great care to hide him and never address him by name since the rebellion.
He had referred to him only as "nameless," and the prince had grown beyond recognition. "Unless he sent a letter to Eyrin. Foolish, Khane! You think he wants you to live?" Ten years had passed—enough time for a person to change. "Stupid boy!" he chided himself.
He watched in horror as Prince Khane was slashed and fell down the cliff.
Without hesitation, he followed, flying down with his hair flying behind him.
He plunged into the Bacain Sea, then emerged from the water with a splash. As he stepped onto the sandy ground, the water dripped from his hair and clothes.
He looked at his palm, and his gaze fell upon a peculiar bracelet encasing a crimson liquid within. The bracelet itself appeared to be made of blood rather than simply being red. With a subtle gesture, he focused his essence, pointing at the bracelet. In response, a small drop of blood emerged from the bracelet.
He carefully aimed the droplet towards the water, his movements deliberate and precise. Then he crouched down, closing his eyes as he placed his hand on the ground. Time seemed to pass, and the air was still, as if waiting for something to unfold.
After a while, he stood up, his eyes opening with a newfound sense of certainty.
A gentle smile spread across his face, hinting at a deep understanding. "I know you won't die like that," he said, his voice filled with conviction. "Still alive... Found you," he added, the smile still present on his lips.
This person was the scholar, Leindi, who had saved Prince Khane during the royal family's attack. Despite the passing of time, he still appeared to be in his mid-20s; his youthful appearance was a testament to his immortal nature. He is a wandering immortal in the mortal world; he was known as Immortal Elyon.
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In the small coastal state of Talim, where the sun rose over the horizon and painted the sky with hues of crimson and gold, fishermen were preparing for their daily fishing trip. The salty air was filled with the sound of seagulls flying overhead, and the smell of saltwater and fish hung heavy over the bustling docks.
Suddenly, one of the fishermen spotted a lifeless body floating on the water, its limbs splayed out in an unnatural position.
His eyes widened in shock as he pointed a weathered finger at the dead body. "A dead body!" he yelled, his voice carrying across the water. The other fishermen turned to look, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern.
Another fisherman, a grizzled old man with a face like worn leather, seemed unbothered by the discovery.
"Another dead body again," he said with a shrug; his voice was a mix of resignation and fatalism.
"People die every day. Must be a demon again." He turned back to his work, his gaze fixed on the horizon as if willing himself to ignore the grim sight.
The dead body washed ashore, carried by the gentle lapping of the waves. The fisherman who had spotted it wanted to cover it with a mat.
As he approached, he saw open wounds and slashing marks, the result of a violent and brutal attack.
He shook his head, his eyes filled with deep sadness. "This one might not be caused by a demon. He looks so young, like my son." A hint of sorrow crept into his voice, and for a moment, he forgot about the dangers that lurked in the world.
"Only heaven knows where that boy is, if he's still alive," he muttered to himself, his eyes scanning the horizon as if searching for answers. As he placed the mat over the body, he heard a faint cough, a sound so soft it was almost imperceptible. His eyes widened in surprise, and he hesitated for a moment.
Some of the fishermen gathered around the lifeless body, their curiosity getting the better of them.
The mat covering the body seemed to stir, and a woman's voice whispered, "I heard a cough." The person beneath the mat coughed again, and the woman's trembling hands pulled down the edge of the mat.
The dead body slowly turned its head to the left, its movements stiff and unnatural. The fishermen took a step back, their eyes wide with fear.
Suddenly, the dead body sat up, its eyes snapping open like windows to the soul.
The fishermen gasped, and some of them yelled, "A ghost!" as they turned and ran, their feet pounding the sand in a frantic bid to escape.
Only two people remained: the fisherman who had first spotted the body and the woman who had pulled down the mat. They were husband and wife, their faces etched with concern and fear.
The fisherman's voice was gentle as he asked, "Young lad, are you alright?" His eyes scanned the stranger's face, searching for any sign of life or coherence.
He slowly opened his eyes, his gaze blurry and unfocused. As he looked around, he saw the concerned faces of the fisherman and the woman who had pulled down the mat. He tried to speak, but his voice was hoarse and barely audible. This person was Prince Khane.
"What is your name, and what happened?" The fishermen asked, his voice gentle.
He tried to remember, but his mind was a complete blank. He shook his head, acknowledging his inability to recall.
"You don't remember?" The fishermen pressed, his voice laced with concern.
He nodded again, feeling a sense of panic rising within him.
"What about your family and where you are from? Do you remember anything?" the fisherman asked, his words gentle but probing.
He shook his head, his eyes clouded with uncertainty.
"This will be troublesome," the fisherman's wife said, her voice tinged with worry.
He looked at the woman, his eyes searching for answers. He tried to speak again, his voice barely above a whisper. "My name is... k... k... k..." He faltered, unable to recall his name.
"Khailian?" the fisherman suggested, his voice soft.
He locked eyes with the fisherman, a glimmer of hope flickering to life. "If you don't remember your name, Khailian will be your name, or do you want to be called K?" the fisherman asked.
"I'll be Khailian," he said, his voice filled with gratitude.