Chapter 104
Dust and moonlight blew outward in a violent gust, revealing a narrow opening into the valley beyond—dark, cold, and pulsing with the moonwell’s faint heartbeat.
Poppy took a shaky step forward… only for Mingxi to catch her elbow.
“Stay behind me,” he said roughly.
She shook her head. “It’s calling.”
“I know,” he whispered, voice pained. “But I’m not losing you to a shard of Void.”
Lirrane rolled her shoulders. “Everyone through. Quickly. Before it seals again.”
They slipped into the valley one by one—Caelan first, then Lirrane, then Yunlian, and finally Mingxi with Poppy close against him. The instant all five crossed the threshold, the ward slammed shut behind them with a sound like stone folding in on itself.
The air inside the valley was wrong. Heavy. Cold. Metallic. The ground trembled underfoot as if something massive turned beneath it.
Poppy steadied herself. “It’s worse than I remember.”
“Because the shard is awake,” Caelan murmured.
“And hungry,” Lirrane added.
Mingxi bristled. “It will starve before it touches her.”
Poppy placed her hand over Mingxi’s. “We’re almost there.”
Ahead, through the twisted birches and frost-burned ferns, the path dipped downward into the moonwell basin. A faint glow pulsed below. Not bright.
Not alive.
A dying heartbeat of light.
Poppy felt it—soft, weak, pleading.
“We’re coming,” she whispered.
The valley did not welcome them, but it let them pass.
The deeper they walked into the valley, the more the landscape shifted.
Trees bent toward the basin as though pulled by gravity, their branches drooping like melted wax.
Frost sheathed the leaves despite the warm air.
Stones along the path hummed faintly underfoot, vibrating with the moonwell’s labored pulse.
Every few steps, Poppy felt another tug. Not physical. Not emotional.
Spiritual.
A thin thread of qi pulled at her sternum, steady and rhythmic, like a weak hand knocking from far away. Mingxi stayed glued to her side. Every time she swayed, his arm wrapped tighter around her waist.
“You feel it too?” he murmured.
“Yes.”
Poppy’s voice came out small. “It’s asking me to come closer.”
“Then we go carefully.”
Ahead, Caelan stopped abruptly and lifted a hand. “Hold.”
Lirrane inhaled sharply. “Oh. That’s bad.”
“What?” Mingxi demanded.
Caelan pointed, and the air ten paces ahead of them warped, like heat rising off stone, except colder. A ripple spread across the path, distorting the ground beneath it.
Poppy frowned. “What is that?”
“Pressure,” Caelan said. “The shard’s pressure.”
Lirrane clicked her tongue. “More like a temper tantrum.”
“It will crush anything that touches it,” Caelan clarified.
Mingxi’s tails rose in alarm. “Then we go around.”
“We can’t.” Caelan gestured at the twisted trees. “The whole valley reoriented after the battle. This is the only direct path to the moonwell.”
Lirrane crouched and pressed her palm to the frozen earth. Her eyes narrowed.
“It’s not trying to stop us,” she said. “It’s trying to keep Poppy out.”
Mingxi’s foxfire flickered violently. “That is not happening.”
Lirrane smirked. “Relax, Fox Prince. The tide is unstoppable.”
She placed both palms forward. Water-magic surged out, expanding in a translucent arc that pushed against the warped air. Caelan stepped beside her, adding his own tide force. Together, they pressed the distortion back, smoothing the air like flattening a wrinkled cloth.
Poppy felt the pressure shift and suddenly slam toward her. Mingxi’s foxfire erupted in a ring, burning the force away with crackling blue-white flame.
“Stay away from her!” His voice wasn’t loud, but it echoed like thunder.
The valley went still. Even Caelan looked impressed.
“Your foxfire’s gotten stronger,” he said.
Mingxi didn’t look away from Poppy. “I will burn the world before it touches her.”
Poppy blushed so hard she forgot to breathe for a moment.
Lirrane snorted. “You two are either going to save the valley or set it on fire by accident.”
“Both are possible,” Caelan admitted.
With the distortion cleared, they continued downward. The air grew colder. The light dimmer. The dirt beneath their feet shifted from brown to pale gray. Poppy stumbled as another tug hit her chest—this one harder, almost desperate.
She gasped. “It’s calling again.”
Mingxi steadied her in a heartbeat. “The moonwell?”
“No.” Her voice trembled. “The shard. It’s trying to drown out the moonwell’s voice.”
Another tug—this time softer, faint, like a dying heartbeat tapping against her ribs.
“Help.”
Poppy’s breath stuttered. “That’s the moonwell,” she whispered. “It’s so… tired.”
They reached the last slope.