They followed Mira through a street the city had forgotten.
The buildings narrowed as they walked, brick and glass giving way to stone and rusted iron. Overhead, signs flickered in languages that had no vowels. Doorways wept with vines that bloomed silver under the moon. The air shimmered—not with heat, but with memory.
Elias kept one hand wrapped around the stone in his pocket. It was warm now, pulsing in time with something he couldn't name. Beside him, Jamie was unusually silent, sketchbook clutched to his chest as though it might shield him from whatever waited ahead.
"You said she brews tea," Jamie whispered.
"She brews reality," Mira replied. "Tea is just how she keeps her hands busy."
They turned a corner, and the city fell away.
Before them stood an arch of stone, so old the cracks ran like veins across its surface. Symbols pulsed faintly beneath moss. As they passed under it, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then they were no longer walking in the city.
They were walking beneath it.
---
The passage sloped downward in impossible ways.
Left became forward. Right blurred into behind. The walls were stone one moment, bone the next, then velvet stitched with stars. Lamps hung from nothing, flickering with blue flame. The air was thick, scented with spices Elias had never smelled but somehow remembered.
Jamie finally broke the silence. "I feel like we're inside a thought."
"You are," Mira said. "This place was dreamed into being by a cultivator who no longer exists. Kirin keeps it from fading."
Elias shivered. "How?"
"She never stopped believing in it."
---
At last, they emerged into a round chamber filled with mist and soft golden light.
A tea table sat at its center, low and carved from a single piece of wood that shimmered with life. Shelves curled up the walls like tree roots, filled with bottles that hummed quietly. Something unseen whispered just behind the ears.
Kirin Amari stood barefoot on the far side of the room, tending a kettle that never boiled.
She was older than Mira, but not by much. Her presence bent the air gently. Her eyes were tired galaxies. Her hair was bound with copper thread, and her robes shifted color like the sky before a storm.
"I was wondering how long you'd avoid me," she said, not looking up.
Mira exhaled. "I wasn't sure I had the right."
"You never did," Kirin replied. "But you always had the reason."
She turned at last—and her gaze met Elias.
He felt it like a weight, like truth dropped into a still pool. She looked through him and into him and before him. She saw his thread.
"I know your name," she said. "Though you haven't spoken it."
Elias swallowed. "Elias."
"Elias Tran," she said. "The one marked by rhythm. The one who listened when the world breathed sideways."
She stepped forward and offered him a small cup, steam curling from the liquid inside like a memory unspooling.
"Drink," she said.
He did.
The taste was warmth and wind and grief. The aftertaste was starlight.
He nearly fell.
Kirin caught him without touching him.
"This is your first real step," she said. "And the last one you can take lightly."
Jamie blinked. "Should I be worried that his soul might be boiling?"
Kirin gave him a glance. "Not yet."
Then her gaze lingered. She walked slowly to Jamie and reached out—not to touch, but to hover her palm above his chest.
"You're not a cultivator," she said. "But something rides in your shadow."
Jamie went still.
Mira frowned. "You see it?"
Kirin nodded once. "A sleeping echo. Ancient. Unformed."
Jamie tried to joke, but his voice cracked. "So... I'm cursed?"
Kirin shook her head. "No. You're a seed. If awakened... you might grow into something the Council doesn't have a name for."
That silenced all of them.
---
Kirin returned to her seat and motioned for them to do the same. She poured three cups. The tea changed color as it left the pot.
"I won't train you," she said plainly. "But I'll guide you—until you find the ones who will."
Elias leaned forward. "Why help us at all?"
Kirin's eyes dimmed. "Because someone once helped me, when I was more thread than person. And because I owe a debt that never closes."
She looked at Mira. "And because she never stopped believing you'd make a better mistake this time."
Mira didn't respond.
---
The room grew quiet.
Somewhere above, the city pulsed on in ignorance. Below, the trio sat in warmth, cradled by something old and watching.
Kirin tapped the table. "Now. Let's begin with breath. You think you know how to breathe?"
Elias nodded.
"Good," she said. "Now forget everything you know."