THE REAL PROTEGE

The walls were lacquered obsidian overlaid with protective calligraphy — ancient talismans and ancestral scripts sealed by blood oaths. At the center lay a circular mat of pure golden weave, its intricate pattern woven from sacred threads passed down through generations of celestial bloodlines.

Before the mat stood a polished pedestal bearing the three sacred tools:

A golden dagger, its curved edge imbued with star-metal filigree, resting on crimson silk.

A gilded cup, carved with twelve eyes, each belonging to a different divine constellation.

A thick scroll, locked shut and trembling faintly beneath an unseen wind, unopened since her last invocation.

Hanging from a silver hook was her celestial robe, threaded with rune-stitched gold that shimmered like flowing sunwater.

Ling Li disrobed with quiet grace and donned the robe with ceremonial precision. She breathed in deeply, centering herself, then stepped barefoot onto the mat.

With practiced fluidity, she lifted the dagger. Her hand did not shake.

She slit her left palm — a clean, precise cut — and watched the crimson stream trickle into the golden cup. Her blood hissed as it touched the vessel, reacting to the age-old enchantment etched within.

And then—

She chanted.

Her voice — low, ancient, shaped by syllables no longer spoken in this age — filled the chamber. Ling Li's eyes glowed faintly with inner light. The robe lifted slightly around her as wind spiraled upward from the stone beneath.

Then, without warning—

A massive eye opened midair, unblinking, iridescent, ancient.

It blinked once, and the heavens unraveled.

Galaxies, memories, divergent timelines — they poured into her sight, as if reality itself had been peeled back. She saw herself. Her unborn children.

Ling Li's breath caught as a vision flickered—

Four Eyes, kneeling at the gate. Still. Resolute, his hands scarred, his soul wide open in anguish.

======================

Meanwhile, outside the estate...

The sun was high behind the western cliffs, casting elongated clouds across the estate's outer wall.

El Padre and El Capitan approached from opposite flanks — each sensing that the estate's atmosphere was wrong. Too quiet. Too weighted.

They rounded the entrance curve and halted mid-stride.

There, at the gates — kneeling in the moonlight — was Four Eyes.

His hands rested on his thighs, blood speckled on his knuckles from bracing the hard stone. His suit coat was draped over his shoulders, but the night air had begun to bite, reddening his fingertips.

El Capitan's nostrils flared. "So it's true. Shi Min did bring him back."

"If he hadn't, I would have by now," El Padre said flatly, crossing his arms. "Though I had plans to leave this guy with a few fractured ribs first."

El Capitan grunted. "How long's he been out here?"

"Not too long." El Padre's voice carried a faint measure of reluctant respect.

Still kneeling, Four Eyes slowly opened his eyes and looked at them, not flinching, not apologizing, but neither pleading.

"Welcome back," he rasped, voice hoarse. "I deserve everything. But I'm not moving... not until she speaks to me herself."

El Capitan raised a brow. "She might not. Ever."

"I'll still be here," Chu Yan whispered.

El Padre exhaled, then exchanged a look with his brother-in-arms.

"This man's either a fool..." he muttered.

"Or finally a fighter," El Capitan said.

They didn't interfere.

Not this time.

===========

Back inside the mansion, the gilded sconces in the Ling estate's grand hall cast flickering shadows across the high ceiling as Shi Min paced like a storm bottled into human form. His polished boots clicked sharply on the marble floor, each stride laced with tension, lips pressed into a hard, unyielding line.

The living room doors opened.

El Padre stepped in first, his long coat still dusted from the road, followed closely by El Capitan, whose eyes scanned the space out of habit even as they entered friendly ground.

They saw Shi Min before he saw them. He was muttering to himself — half-measured phrases, fragments of contingency plans, the kind of restless strategizing done only by someone who feared stillness.

"Where's your mother?" El Padre asked, straight to the point.

Shi Min turned to face him, his expression taut. "She's in the chamber. Consulting the heavens."

El Capitan's brows lifted faintly, settling into one of the plush armchairs with the quiet heaviness of a man who'd seen too much and stayed sharp anyway.

"Did the guests get back safely?" Shi Min asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

"No need to worry about that," El Capitan replied with a dismissive wave, already tugging at his gloves. "We handled it. Shuttled every last guest to their accommodations. Nobody dared make a fuss with us there."

"And the press?" Shi Min asked.

El Padre gave him a tight nod. "Silenced. The cathedral footage never made it past internal feeds. Anyone who saw something has already forgotten it. We bought you time."

Shi Min exhaled sharply, shoulders dropping for the first time since the chaos unraveled.

But the room didn't feel any lighter.

"She's been in there longer than expected," he murmured.

"She's not searching for an answer," El Padre said, arms crossed. "She's searching for whether she wants one."

El Capitan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze steady. "We saw the groom. Still kneeling."

Shi Min didn't respond right away.

"He won't leave," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "He said he'd wait until Mom forgave him, or his knees gave out — whichever came first."

El Capitan gave a low hum. "That man's wearing penance like armor. You sure he's still worth the fight?"

Shi Min didn't blink. "Yes. I saw his eyes when he spoke to me. He's not broken… just bleeding. But he's still standing."

The tension between the three men hovered in the quiet, each one wrestling with their own measure of loyalty — to Ling Li, to her legacy, and to the man who had once let go at the worst possible time.

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And above them, deeper in the estate, the wind whispered across the locked chamber doors — where a woman clad in starlight and pain had just glimpsed her future and was now deciding whether to accept it… or rewrite it entirely.

Inside the invocation chamber, the golden eye blinked once more — and closed.

Silence swept through the space, profound and absolute.

Ling Li exhaled, her breath trembling slightly as the connection severed. The last trace of starlight faded from her irises.