The marketplace was alive with sound and color—bustling streets packed with wandering cultivators, traveling merchants, and curious onlookers. Exotic beasts roared in the distance, spirit fruits floated mid-air in display cases, and rare treasures shimmered from beneath enchanted glass. But none of it held the crowd's attention the way two particular figures did.
They walked side by side, a presence that made the street part before them—not out of fear, but instinctual awe.
He stood tall, draped in flowing robes of midnight silk lined with silver veins, the emblem of a celestial dragon faintly etched across his chest. His hair was stark white, flowing like moonlight, but his most striking feature were his blood-red eyes, glowing faintly with a dangerous, otherworldly light. The very air around him seemed heavier, charged with a quiet pressure—as if reality itself adjusted to make room for him.
They called him Young Dragon now. A name whispered with both reverence and fear.
She walked beside him, just as radiant in her own right. Her silver-white hair shimmered under the sunlight, cascading down her back like liquid starlight. Her eyes, once a soft violet, now gleamed with an ethereal rainbow hue, ever-shifting like a prism kissed by dawn. She carried herself with divine grace, her expression serene yet unshakably powerful.
Some had begun to call her the White Phoenix, not merely because of her aura, but because she now bore the unmistakable signature of ethereal beauty to her.
The crowd couldn't help but stare.
"Who are they?" someone whispered.
"You don't know? That's the Young Dragon… and the White Phoenix."
"They're the ones who cleansed this place. Just a few months ago, this region was overrun by bandits and cultists. One by one, they were wiped out—some say the White Phoenix descended like a comet and burned them from the sky. Now the locals call them heroes… husband and wife, some say divine protectors."
"But there's more. Did you hear about the merchant lord who tried to buy them off? Offered them a fortune and even insulted the Young Dragon in public. The next day, he was gone—his entire estate reduced to ashes. And no one dares mention his name anymore."
"All the outposts around here recognize them now. Some say the Young Dragon inherited the bloodline of an ancient dragon sect, and he's marked this land as his territory. Others claim the White Phoenix isn't just a cultivator—she's a divine being reborn in mortal form. Her beauty alone has turned arrogant heirs into wandering monks."
"Whatever the truth is, no one wants to test it."
The whispers continued, spreading like wildfire through the marketplace. But Asher and Valeris simply walked on, unfazed by the rumors that clung to their presence like mist to the mountains.
After spending nearly a year hidden away in their secluded pocket realm, Asher and Valeris finally emerged into the world once more. Their return was quiet, but their presence was anything but subtle.
They arrived in a province long ruled by fear—the Everpave Wastes.
A lawless region plagued by chaos and ruled by strength alone. Here, the so-called Bandit King held dominion over the scattered factions, his name whispered with fear across dozens of towns. Arrogant, powerful, and mad with delusions of grandeur, he quickly took a dangerous liking to Valeris.
He demanded she become his concubine.
Valeris didn't even need to lift a finger. Asher acted before the insult finished leaving the man's mouth. The entire throne room, once filled with mercenaries and lieutenants, was reduced to smoldering ash in an instant. Only blackened bones remained of the Bandit King.
But that wasn't the end of it.
The Bandit King had a brother—Wan'tor, a self-proclaimed noble who had recently bought his way into the Megath Lord's Court. Wan'tor thought himself clever. Instead of attacking, he offered gold, property, and influence… in exchange for Valeris.
He died just as quickly.
Now, word had spread. The name of Asher and Valeris had reached the gates of the City of Lords, the capital of this region. Whispers of their power swept through every noble house, from wandering mercenary lords to retired war generals. Cultivators and opportunists began arriving at the city, hoping to witness the couple with their own eyes.
Some came seeking alliance.
Others came seeking revenge.
But all of them brought only one thing into Asher's path—a reason to act.
And when Asher acted, they took notice and end up giving him Young Dragon name.
A prideful being who bows to no one—
That was how they described him.
But there was another strange detail that kept surfacing among the rumors. Despite the way he carried himself—with the calm confidence of a seasoned cultivator, the cold gaze of someone who had seen lifetimes pass, and the sheer presence of a dominator—he looked barely older than a teenager, Hence Young was added to his nickname. The link to the origin of this information rests in Novel~Fire. (n)et
Though neither Asher nor Valeris cared for the fame or the whispers that followed in their wake, they had spent the last few months simply roaming—wandering from one region to the next like twin storms with no destination, only purpose. They moved as they pleased, unfazed by sects, kingdoms, or self-proclaimed emperors.
It had been Valeris' idea, born in a quiet moment beneath moonlight.
"To see the best this world has to offer," she had said. "To reach the peak—not just through cultivation, but through experience."
And so they wandered, hand in hand, soul and spirit rising ever higher as they witnessed the marvels and ugliness of the world. Ancient ruins, forbidden forests, shattered battlegrounds, and hidden paradises—no place was beyond their reach.
Now, once again, They had returned from a journey, their robes dusted with the scent of rare flowers and aura tinged with blood.
As they walked from the market, they looked at their Mansion.
Not just any mansion—the former estate of the city lord. A man who had once ruled with arrogance and lust, who'd dared to lay greedy eyes upon Valeris.
He was now just a memory. One that ended the moment Asher crushed his heart without a flicker of emotion.
The mansion was theirs now—rebuilt, repurposed, and protected. A haven for the few they cared for, and a base they returned to between adventures.
As Asher and Valeris stepped through the grand gates of the mansion, the mood shifted.
The faint hum of spiritual arrays guarding the estate activated at their presence, and the heavy obsidian doors—engraved with the emblem of a rising dragon and a phoenix in flight—swung open silently.
Inside, the once-cold halls were now warm and alive. A gentle scent of incense lingered in the air, mingling with the fragrance of freshly prepared meals. The polished marble floors shimmered under the soft lantern light. And standing respectfully in the main hall were the nine former slaves—now dressed in fine but simple robes, acting as maids and stewards of the mansion.
They had been taken in by Asher and Valeris a year ago, back when the world still whispered their names with uncertainty. Some of them were barely teenagers, others a bit older. All of them bore scars from lives once marked by chains and silence. But now, there was purpose in their eyes—strength, even a hint of pride.
The youngest, Kael, the boy with the Soul Heart, stood straighter than the rest, his aura faintly pulsing with controlled energy. The Ethereal Soul Art had done wonders for him. He bowed respectfully when Asher entered, then grinned faintly. "Welcome back."
A chorus of similar greetings followed. "Master Asher. Mistress Valeris."
Valeris gave them a gentle smile, brushing windblown strands of silver hair behind her ear. "We're home," she said softly.
The older girl, Mira, stepped forward to take their cloaks. "Shall I prepare the bath? And dinner is nearly ready. We were told you might return today."
Asher nodded. "Prepare it. And gather everyone in the inner courtyard afterward. I want to hear what's been happening here… and we'll tell you what we've seen out there."
Later, after their bath and a quiet meal taken in the serene comfort of their private quarters, Asher and Valeris stepped out beneath the night sky. The inner courtyard was lit by hovering soul lanterns, their flames flickering with a rainbow hue.
The nine gathered there, kneeling respectfully—but no longer with fear, only reverence and curiosity.
Kael was the first to speak. "Where did you go this time?"
Valeris smiled, her eyes glinting. "The southern mountains. A dragon graveyard hidden beneath the clouds. Dozens of soul remnants, a fallen sect, and a monster born from hatred and bone."
She looked to Asher, who raised a brow. "It tried to claim my heart," he said, deadpan. "So I claimed its skull instead."
Kael's eyes widened in awe, while a few of the others gasped.
"But what was it like?" one of the younger girls asked, eyes sparkling.
Valeris knelt beside her, resting a hand on her head. "Terrifying. Beautiful. Sad. And powerful. Every place we go is like that—carrying stories long forgotten. This world is old, children. And it's filled with things far beyond your imagination."
Asher, still standing, let his gaze sweep across them. "Which is why you'll train harder. Eat well. Rest deeply. Because one day… I won't be telling you stories. You'll be out there living them."
There was silence at that. A soft, heavy kind of silence—the kind that makes one realize they've just been offered something extraordinary.
And then Kael bowed his head. "We'll be ready."