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In the Fairy Realm, Lord Fei Muchen stood alone in a remote area, as if standing on a field of nails digging into his feet. Sharp, cold winds whispered through the barren trees. Across from him, a hooded figure loomed like a shadow, half of his face hidden by his cloak as he delivered his report.

"So, Feng Deming is distracted?" Muchen's voice cut through the silence.

The man inclined his head, the motion quick and respectful. "Yes, my Lord."

A dark flicker crossed Muchen's eyes, the tension around him tightening like a drawn bow. "You are dismissed."

The man bowed before vanishing into the night as silent as he had come, like a wisp of smoke, his movements almost invisible.

~*~

Lord Fei Muchen sat on his throne in the grand hall. His fingers curled around the armrests with such force that the smooth, cool surface beneath his palms creaked. His knuckles, pale against the darker, polished surface, stood out as a tremor ran through his hand, simmering behind his steely gaze.

"With Feng Deming preoccupied, we have a golden opportunity to strike and shatter his forces," Muchen's low voice reverberated through the chamber. "His reign has brought nothing but fear to our kind. If we act now, we can weaken his rule and restore harmony to our realm." His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed into a hard, unyielding glare. The muscle in his temple twitched beneath his calm facade.

From the corner, a man stepped forward, his approach cautious, like a prey animal sensing the predator's eyes upon him. His gaze darted around the room, his movements jittery, as if the very air around Muchen might crush him. "If I may, Lord Muchen," his voice trembled.

Muchen's gaze sharpened as he leaned forward, giving a curt nod. "Speak, god of wisdom."

The man drew a breath, gathering his thoughts as if piecing together a delicate puzzle. "There is a possibility that Feng Deming's distraction is a ruse—perhaps he is planning an assault on our realm. A preemptive strike against Astara could be our best course of action."

A heavy silence fell over the council, their faces set like stone as they exchanged looks. One by one, they nodded.

Muchen's lips twisted into a thin, satisfied smile as his voice carried through the room. "Yize has already begun to train our warriors and sharpen their skills for the battles ahead. If we cannot kill Feng Deming, we must find a way to get rid of him."

~*~

In the majestic city of Middle Astara, where sandy-colored spires pierced the azure sky, the Flare Wing Palace's grand chamber gleamed with a mosaic of rich colors under the glow of countless torches. The torches emitted a subtle, smoky scent that mingled with the faint odor of old wood and fabric. At the center, the throne—crafted from gold and encrusted with precious gems—caught the light and scattered it in every direction.

A figure emerged from the shadows of the chamber's edge, her presence almost melding with the dim light. She swathed in dark, silken robes that rippled as she moved. Her ash-brown hair, sleek as a raven's wing, flowed down her back, and her brown eyes caught the light with each step.

Approaching the throne with an effortless grace, she drew a folded parchment from her robe and bowed with a subtle smile. "Greetings, my lord. I have some urgent matters that are rather... intriguing. I believe you'll find them quite compelling."

Sitting upon the golden throne, Deming gave a minimal glance upward, his expression cold with disdain. "Articulate, Daxia," he sneered, impatience sharp in his voice.

Without a word, Daxia extended the parchment toward him, her gaze lowered and a hint of a smirk on her lips.

He snatched it from her hand, his focus already shifting. "You are dismissed."

She inclined her head in a deeper, more respectful nod, then turned with fluid grace, retreating into the shadows where her presence evaporated into the darkness without a sound.

Left alone with the message, Deming unsealed the parchment, his eyes narrowing as he absorbed the secrets within.

~*~

Feng Deming sat with a crumpled piece of parchment in hand, his fingers tight around it as if he could crush the news it bore. His face remained a mask of cold fury as he studied the paper. 'The audacity...'

Zixin approached with careful steps, his concern plain in the tightness of his brow. "My Lord, what do you plan to do?" An acrid bitterness, like the aftertaste of poison, lingered on his tongue.

Deming stood without hesitation, his voice thunderous in the grand chamber. "Assemble the council. Gather all the generals and strategists at once."

The command snapped through the air like a whip. Boots scuffled across polished marble, their echo blending with distant murmurs and the occasional clatter of metal against stone.

As the council members gathered, the Astaran Supreme's thoughts churned like a stormy sea. Tension filled the room as esteemed generals and advisors exchanged glances at one another, their anticipation like a coiled spring, waiting for their leader to break the silence.

Deming sat on his ornate golden throne, his sharp gaze falling on his servants. Each man and woman stiffened, their posture rigid and formal under the weight of his scrutiny. "I have received intelligence that the Fairy Realm intends to attack Astara within a week," he announced, his cold voice steady. "We shall demonstrate our true power, crush their invasion, and wipe their realm from existence."

Zixin bowed low. "As you command, my lord... We've dispatched our best spies to gather information on Lord Muchen's activities. However, we still have not found clues about his tricks, my lord... We fear that you might—"

Deming drew his brows together into a prominent frown, his head tilting as his gaze pierced into Zixin like a serpent's glare, cold and unblinking. "That I what? Enlighten me, Zixin."

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Zixin faltered, his confidence crumbling under the force of Deming's stare. "Uh... I mean, I—"

"You dare to question my power?" Deming's voice cracked like a whip, his teeth bared as the vein on his forehead pulsed with fury.

Zixin's eyes widened, his mouth falling open before he dropped to his knees, his words hanging by a fragile thread. "F-Forgive my insolence. It's just that you're valuable to us, and we don't want you to become trapped—"

Deming rose from his throne, each step toward Zixin measured and alarming, his boots striking the floor like a countdown.

"My lord, please spare my brother! I shall make sure to punish him in your stead. I beg you," a man interrupted, hurrying forward. Clad in royal garb, his short beard on his chin framed a face etched with desperation.

'Oh no, he... he'll kill him!' Zixin dared a glance at the unfolding scene, his heart pounding as Deming loomed over his brother. The knot in his chest tightened, his mouth quivering as he pressed his trembling fingers against the cold floor, struggling to steady his breath.

Kneeling with his face almost touching the marble floor, the man flinched at the echoes of Deming's footsteps, each louder and closer until they stopped. He stared at the black boots now inches from his face.

"Rise, King of the East."

"Yes!" The Eastern King shot to his feet, locking eyes with the Astaran Supreme, as though a viper's bite had paralyzed him while sweat beaded on his brow.

"Be gone... Both of you," Deming's voice cut like ice, his stare even colder, sending a shiver down the Eastern King's spine.

The Eastern King blinked, his mouth opening as if to speak. "I..."

"GET LOST! Now, before I change my mind." Deming's eyes flared a burning red.

The Eastern King wasted no time, his boots clattering in the silence as he grabbed Zixin by the shoulders, hauling him upright and pulling him away. Zixin stumbled, casting a final, fearful glance at Deming before being dragged from the room.

Deming closed his eyes, a long, weary sigh escaping him. Visions of millennia of torment flooded his mind—Lord Muchen's sneering face, the relentless assaults, both physical and mental, the bitterness clinging to him like a shadow. 'Why does that weakling's shadow never leave my mind?'

~*~

Under the moonlit sky, Daxia materialized outside a palace. The shadows around her vanished with a soft, iridescent glow.

'Another night, another mission... off to the Fairy Realm again.' She turned to throw a final, lingering glance at the Flare Wing Palace. Its towering silhouette loomed against the night, golden light seeping through the darkened windows.

"You are dismissed."

After recalling Deming's words for a brief moment, her eyes hardened as she took in the majestic palace, and a black, shimmering vortex formed around her.

"You're impossible," she murmured, her lips curling like a predator savoring the scent of prey.

A shadow passed over her eyes, a slow burn of desire smoldering beneath the surface, like embers craving the touch of flames.

"Why are all the hot ones always so... wrong? But maybe that's the poison that draws me in."

A low, sultry chuckle escaped her, as if the very thought of Deming was a forbidden indulgence she longed to savor.

"No matter. It only makes the game more... delicious."

With a decisive breath, she stepped into the vortex. The swirling darkness surrounded her, and in a heartbeat, she was gone.

~*~

Feng Deming strode along the midnight shore, the crashing waves a mere backdrop to the storm within him. The salty sea breeze mixed with the subtle scent of wet sand. Each step pressed deep into the sand, as if the earth itself bowed and cowered beneath his might.

'What does it mean, never to die, yet to have dreams haunting me even in my wake?' His thoughts churned like a storm, filled with anger and disdain. 'I command legions, bend realms to my will; yet, in spite of all that, I am a prisoner in my mind... Why?'

His lips curled into a sneer, and his eyes narrowed as the cold wind tugged at his ebony robes. The moonlight on the waves mirrored his inner turmoil as he stared out into the dark horizon.

'What am I searching for on these shores?'

He clenched his fists, the rough sand pressing into his skin. The waves roared, but he remained unmoved, a dark figure against the night.

'Several millennia have passed since my birth, and still, I am left in the dark about the reason for my immortality... What is the purpose of eternity if it extends the torment of being forever entrapped? To live endlessly is cruel if it means facing imprisonment once more.'

His knuckles tightened at his sides with anger.

'No matter. I shall carve the answer from this wretched world, even if I have to tear the realms apart to do it... Starting with the Fairy Realm.'

Deming's imprisonment etched a relentless wound gnawing at his soul. Visions of phantom chains clinking in the dark haunted him like a shadow always lurking.

'They thought they could contain me, bend me to their will... Fools. Now, they dare to rise against me again?'

The wind howled, echoing his sigh, and his gaze hardened on the horizon. He could taste his frustration, like a bitter aftertaste.

'Let them come. I shall crush them underfoot. I have tasted the bitterness of their chains and refuse to be trapped again. They dared to imprison me and twist my fate into a nightmare. Now, I return the favor by luring them here and trapping them.'

With a final glance at the turbulent sea, he turned away, eyes burning with a cold, deadly fire. The darkness folded around him like a cloak as he continued his path to bend even eternity to his will.

'Once they cross into Astara, the borders behind them close and cut them off from their world, with no escape or tricks to breach the barriers... This time, I refuse to merely break their spirits. This time, I shall be the one to leave them in chains, much like the imprisonment they once imposed on me.'

A cruel smile touched his lips as he envisioned his scheme, his eyes flaring with a predatory light.

'Their precious realm burns as their screams echo across the ages. They are bound to remember the price of crossing me. Each step deepens their despair, and I shall watch their hope drain away as I make their world bleed. The Fairy Realm becomes a place of endless torment, with me as the master of their suffering.'

As dawn's first light crept across the horizon, a low chuckle rumbled from Deming's chest. He stepped into the vortex he had created, the swirling darkness swallowing him as the day began.

~*~

Ningshun wandered through a field of bluebells, their petals swaying in the breeze under the azure sky. Each step he took released a soft crunch, and the ground yielded like a plush carpet.

He reached out, fingers brushing the velvety blooms. As he lay among the bluebells, the faint taste of sweetness lingered on his lips, like a touch of honey that matched the floral scent around him. "This place..."

In an instant, the colors faded, and the bluebells dissolved into a swirling mist. He blinked, the dream giving way to his room. The caress of sunlight on his face filtered through the curtains, and he sighed.

"It was just a dream," he whispered.

~*~

The sun warmed Meilin's face as her eyelids fluttered open with a groan. "Morning already? No... one more hour... probably won't hurt..." Memories of the previous night crept back, and her cheeks flushed.

"And... did it help?" Meilin asked.

"Not really," Ningshun smiled, eyes roaming her face. "But seeing you here... that's definitely helping."

Meilin shot upright, her hand flying to her mouth as she squealed, "Oh, my God! Oh, my GOD! OH, MY GOD!" She took a deep breath, her eyes wide as she fanned her flushed face. "Does he like me? Why didn't I say anything last night? It's not like I've—" Her mind raced to a flashback:

"I like proper girls, and she's not... the kind of girl I'd want to introduce to my parents or even consider marrying."

"Yichen," she whispered, her hands trembling as her heart twisted and tightened like a vice. "Right..." her voice cracked.

She grounded herself in the present, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"I... I haven't felt this feeling in a while... Comfort... safety..."

Her lips curled into a tender smile. "But what if Ningshun is different? What if he does like me?" She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders.

She hurried through her morning routine, picking an outfit highlighting her features. Her black attire hugged her waist, matching the thick, black wing of her eyeliner and the mascara framing her dark eyes. She took extra care with her hair, ensuring every strand fell in a perfect way.

She stepped back from the mirror. 'Not bad, Meilin. Not bad at all.' With one last glance, she grabbed her phone and headed out the door, her heart a fluttering bird trapped in her chest.