Bian winches at her injuries as she struggles against the stone wall to get herself up, every muscle in her body screaming for her to fall. The battle with Elder Loung has drained her; every shallow breath sends a pulsating wave of pain through her ribs. Despite the pain, she refuses to yield. She has been knocked down too many times to count, but she will not go down quietly—not anymore.
She scans the temple grounds, her hand in a fist, ready for the fight. The surrounding monks stand stoic, their eyes moving between Bian and Bo Pham, waiting for his signal. Bo remains still, seated on his throne. His hand strokes his graying beard, a faint smirk at the corner of his lips. Just like when they first met years ago, his gaze following her every movement…
Ha Linh’s voice resonates in Bian’s mind, calm yet filled with tension. “Hold your ground, Bian. He’s not someone we can take lightly… Let him make the first move and we’ll surprise him with a counter.”
“I hope he does it soon… I’m doing everything I can to not vomit blood.” Bian whispers.
“Ha Linh,” he says. “Exactly like you were 100 years ago when we first met.”
“Yeah, and just like then, I’m going to kick your ass.” She retorts.
He lets out a booming laugh. “Is that what happened last time? I remember you being too tired and begging me to stop fighting.”
“Then your memory is worse than you look, old man. Come one! What are we waiting for? Let’s do this.” Bian and Ha Linh call out, using their rage to hide her pain.
Bo’s lips curl into a faint, knowing smile. “You are stronger than you look, child, but strength alone won’t carry you to the end.”
He gestures toward the temple, his monks parting to make way. “Come with me, you need to know the truth.”
Ha Linh gives Bian a warning, “Don’t follow, fighting him in a small space is a bad idea. We need room to move around.”
Bo notices their hesitation, “I have warm wine waiting for us…”
“Okay, maybe we can take the risk.” Ha Linh immediately takes the bait.
***
Inside, the air is thick with the scent of burning incense and the faint hum of chanting. The temple is modest, its wooden beams worn smooth by time, yet it radiates a quiet serenity. Bian tries to maintain her composure, but her exhaustion proves to be too much and she collapses onto a woven mat, grateful for even a moment’s rest.
Bo pours warm wine into two cups and continues his story.
“It was during the Coalition’s final meeting, before our last stand against the Quis.”
Bian drinks the wine. A satisfying moment, but her eyes are still locked on Bo.
“Thanh Rong—the Dragon’s Rage—called the meeting,” Bo continues. “He spoke of unity, of a grand legacy that would bind the continent together. But his vision required more than victory. It needed a sacrifice—a symbol that would cement the Coalition’s power for generations to come. And what better sacrifice than Ha Linh herself?”
Ha Linh’s presence grows in her mind, a hot, seething anger bubbling to the surface.
“He believed that her death would be the ultimate act of heroism,” Bo says. “With her gone, the Coalition, or rather he could rule without oversight. Everyone across the continent would owe their allegiance to them.”
Bian’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade. “And the others? They agreed to this madness?”
Bo nods slowly, his face disappearing into the shadows cast by lights from the lantern. “I argued. I fought. But Thanh Rong had already begun to harness Chaos. He was too powerful, and the others… They were too afraid. Their loyalty to Ha Linh meant nothing in the face of their fear and greed.”
He looks down at his hands, trembling once more while recalling the event. “I tried to stop them. I fought until I could no longer stand. Thanh Rong left me for dead.”
Bian leans forward, her voice low. “How did you survive?”
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Bo hesitates, his eyes distant. “I did what Ha Linh warned us to never do. I tapped into Chaos—just enough to save myself and mend my wounds. Even the slightest amount nearly consumed me, but I clung to what was left of my humanity. When I recovered, I went to find her, to warn her.” His voice stiffens. “But I was too late. The battle was over, and Ha Linh was gone.”
The room falls into a heavy silence. Ha Linh remains quiet in Bian’s mind, her emotions tightly controlled, but Bian feels the weight of her fury.
Bo’s voice softens. “I knew they would finish me if I showed my face again. So, I fled. I came back here, to the mountain where Ha Linh and I first met. I hid myself in shame, but I knew I couldn’t just let her legacy die. I began gathering those who had nowhere else to go—wanderers, the broken, the lost. I taught them what I could, helped them rebuild their lives. It’s not enough to redeem myself, but it’s something.”
Suddenly, Ha Linh’s voice cuts through, sharp and bitter. “You should have killed them! Or died trying.” Bian clamps her hands over her mouth, horrified. “I’m sorry! That wasn’t me. I mean, it was, but—” She falters. “That was Ha Linh.”
Bo matches her gaze, but quickly turns away. “It’s okay… I know. Ha Linh would have fought.”
Pick your head up,” Ha Linh says, her tone softening. “You’re ruining the taste of this wine with that miserable face.”
Bo lets a small smile break through, the weight of her words both a comfort and a sting. He knows this is as close to forgiveness as Ha Linh will offer.
“I didn’t think I’d meet you again,” Bo admits. “I didn’t think I’d see anyone else from those days.”
Bian and Ha Linh exchange a glance. “Anyone else?” Bian presses. “That’s actually why we came to find you first… Did the Vipress come to see you?”
Bo freezes. “Yeah, she did—but not for long. It seemed like she was running something. Or someone.”
Bian’s expression darkens. “She was my teacher at the Orchid Academy. She’s the one who killed my sisters—and almost killed me at the temple of Ha Linh. We’re trying to find her and get some answers. Did she mention where she was heading?”
Bo shakes his head. “Sorry. She didn’t say.”
Bian let out a slow breath. “I figured it wouldn’t be easy tracking her down…” A silence settled over the group. After a moment, the monks bring out some food.
The three share a simple meal, the conversation turning to memories of Ha Linh’s past. For the first time in days, Bian feels a flicker of peace, a momentary reprieve from the vengeance and training driving her forward.
As the night deepens, Bo’s tone grows serious. “What will you do now?”
“Revenge,” Bian and Ha Linh say with single focus.
Bo nods slowly. “Your bond is strong, but it is incomplete. There is something holding you back.”
Bian looks away, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “We know. It’s like… there’s a wall between us. I’m trying to connect with her energy, but we’re fighting each other as much as we’re fighting the enemies.”
Bo strokes his beard in thought. “There is a place deep within this mountain—the Cave of Souls. For centuries, warriors have gone there to confront their inner truths, to test their spirits. It may help you break the barriers within your mind.”
Bian narrows her eyes. “What’s the catch?”
“The trial is not without risk,” Bo warns. “Many who enter do not return. And those who do often come out… changed. Severed from the natural world, their abilities lost. Your spirits are strong, but two souls have never entered the cave before?” He shakes his head.
Bian waits for Ha Linh. “You’re unusually quiet…”
“What choice do we have?” Ha Linh replies. “If we don’t conquer our limitations, then we are destined to fail.”
“Take your time. It’s not a decision you should make lightly.” Bo guides them to a modest room where they can rest.
The temple is quiet, the flickering lanterns casting long shadows on the walls. Bian lies awake, her body still aching from the day’s battles. Ha Linh’s quiet, her presence radiates throughout.
But something feels off.
“Do you hear that?” Bian whispers aloud, her voice barely audible.
Ha Linh’s tone sharpens. “Get up.”
Bian is on her feet in an instant. She moves to the window, peering into the courtyard below. Shadows shift unnaturally in the moonlight, their movements fluid and deliberate.
Bian, unable to make out the movement. “I can’t see what’s going on out there. We better tell Bo and the monks.”
***
Deep in the forest, the monks stand in tight formation, weapons gleaming under the moonlight as they anticipate each attack. With a fluid, synchronized motion, they strike in unison, their weapons striking deadly precision. Each monk moves like part of a whole, harmonious force, fending off the shadowy figures. But the assassins are quick—blurring into the darkness, slipping past their defenses with tiger-like speed, like predators encircling their prey.
One by one, the monks fall, their blood staining the bamboo with dark, crimson marks. The assassins remain relentless, their movements impossibly fast, weaving in and out of the bamboo forest. The last monk stands alone, his breath ragged and desperate. Surrounded, he raises his weapon in a final stance, but the attackers are already closing in.
The figures emerge from the trees, and though their pitch-black clothing conceals their forms, the moonlight strikes them just right, revealing their distinct masks striped in yellow and black.
“Tiger Claws…” The monk whispers.
The leader steps forward, “You know us, then you know what we are capable of. Allow yourself some mercy and tell us what we want to know. Where is the girl? Where is Bian Ong Ma?”