The Crownless Do Not Reign

The ground cracked beneath their feet. The Liyang-Tala rose, wreathed in mist, its form emitting light like an eclipse in flesh. The crescent moon above trembled, and every drop of water within the ruin throbbed with a luminescence, as if awaiting a command.

The man narrowed his eyes, a touch of something akin to awe crossing his features. "So, this is the Liyang-Tala… a crested beast…" His voice trailed off, a blend of disbelief and dawning grasp.

"That's the Liyang-Tala?!" Eon's voice was a choked whisper. Ho-how can that be the core ingredient? It's monstrous!

The man flicked his wrist, and a ring of frost bloomed outward. But this time, the mist didn't flinch. It was absorbed, swirling around the icy barrier. The Liyang-Tala turned its burning twilight eye towards him, and for the first time, it blinked.

A throbbing resonated—not of sound or sight, but of pure, felt presence. The mist turned an inky black. Water twisted into impossible spirals, defying gravity, dancing around the beast in a mesmerizing ballet. The moonlight intensified, as if drawn to, invoked by, the creature's power.

The moon itself seemed to distort the battlefield, manipulating the water, bending gravity to the beast's will. A shimmering illusion shrouded its movements, each beat of its wings birthing fleeting, deceptive images. Even the air around the man thickened, time slowing in pulses, each breath labored, each step weighted.

The man moved, but not fast enough.

The serpent sang a song not of sound, but of raw power. And the sky fell. Not literally, but the sensation was overwhelming. A wave of silent, frigid pressure crushed down. Moonlight fractured into needles of silver and lavender, lancing towards the man in a ghostly, starburst attack.

Eon tried to scream—he couldn't even breathe. The world tilted and spun.

The man crossed his arms, and ice bloomed around him—a tighter, buzzing shield. Even he grunted this time, his boots shattering the stone as he slid back from the force of the blow. He coughed, a harsh, ragged sound.

The Liyang-Tala curved in the air, rising again, not in triumph, but in a silent declaration: I am not prey.

Then, it descended faster, the mist swirling like wings.

The man didn't hesitate. He grabbed Eon by the collar, muttering something barely audible. The frosty thread beneath their feet pulsed.

A blinding explosion of frost erupted, forming a dome, then imploding inward, swallowing them both.

In the next instant, they were gone, vanished from the entrance.

Silence descended upon the ruins. Only the Liyang-Tala remained, curling in moonlight, the mist humming like a cradlesong as it slowly descended to the broken stone and vanished—its body dispersing into the water and mist in the air.

They appeared in front of the dim light of the entrance, Eon collapsing to the damp earth, gasping for breath, a racking cough staining the soil crimson. The man stood over him, arms crossed, his breathing even, a stark contrast to Eon's agony. The man's glove was shredded, frost clinging to the exposed skin beneath.

Eon, half-conscious from shock, stared up at him. "What… what will happen to me?"

The man didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted to the moon, hanging like a silent judge in the inky sky, before returning to the boy.

"For someone without a Dalan Ti," he said finally, his voice low, "you've managed to evade the Church's ever-watchful eyes, surprisingly... And I'm short-handed. I need someone… like you."

Eon could only rasp a confused, "Huh?"

The man crouched, his face inches from Eon's. "You saw what you shouldn't have. You went where you shouldn't have. That leaves you with one choice… work for me, or become another warning story." He tapped Eon's shoulder lightly, a single, chilling touch.

Rising, he brushed frost from his coat, his silhouette stark against the gloom. "Refuse, and your corpse will serve as a warning to any other fool who dares to break a law."

He turned to leave, then paused, his voice a low growl, "I heard you laughing maniacally about selling something. Care to show me?" The pressure in his words was palpable.

Eon stammered, "I… I dropped it inside the ruins…"

"And what is it?"

"A formula… for Dalan Ti Leviathan…"

Silence hung heavy between them before the man relaxed, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I see. You need money, right? That makes this even simpler. The higher-ups will welcome you; we're desperately shorthanded. The pay is… handsome." And with that, he vanished into the night.

Eon remained on the ground, silent, trembling. The shock was far from gone.

The stars had long since faded when he finally managed to move. He sat beneath the skeletal branches of a dead tree, knees tightened to his chest, shivering. It wasn't the cold; it was the memory.

The serpent's song still echoed in his skull—a soundless pressure, a blinding light, an overwhelming presence. The Liyang-Tala hadn't just been powerful; it felt like it could directly influence his mind and his soul.

And the man… wielding frost as a weapon, carving ice into the air, bleeding magic effortlessly… and yet, he had lost.

Eon coughed, spitting blood onto the dirt. His fingers fumbled inside his coat. Concealed within the lining, near his ribs, was a strip of ancient bark, sealed in lacquer, etched with symbols. The formula. He was here for a reason.

He pulled it free. It was cold.

He stared at it for a long time, then whispered, "I was going to make this." A harsh, humorless laugh escaped him. "I was going to sell it, but…"

The words tasted like ash. He'd never seen a Waybound before, never witnessed a Dalan Ti in the flesh. The encounter had shattered his worldview. The mystic beasts and Waybounds he'd dismissed as the underground people's obsessions, as the delusions of myth-obsessed fanatics, were real. He'd seen them with his own eyes.

"I'll join," he murmured, a new resolve hardening his voice. "This opens a new path, a safer one, and the pay… the pay will be high."