They burst from the yard. Her " father, " Fan Yangwei, met them halfway, breathless, face pale.
"Go! The beast's too close—I'll hold it back!"
He snatched the bag from his wife's hands, then seized hers—Hu Yumei—dragging them toward the ancestral hall. The only place in the village with an underground shelter.
The world outside was chaos.
Villagers ran in every direction, some clutching infants, others wielding weapons or dragging carts of hastily packed belongings. Screams. Cries. A mother calling for her child. A bloodied hunter yelling orders.
A group of hunters, villagers, and low-level mages fought to hold off the safe zone line, facing down a 1-star core F-Class scaled fox with glowing tails and a 1-star core F-Class armored flame-eye wolf.
Near the temple, the village chief and his wife stood guard, helping people descend into the shelter.
Then the ground shook.
The air split with a roar so deep it shook her ribs.
From the northern path, a 3-star core D-Class Frostic Black Bear—twice the height of a man—barreled toward them. Icy horns spiraled from its head, mist coiling around its form.
Its eyes locked on them.
Hu Yumei's father froze, then grabbed her mother's shoulders.
"Take her! Go!"
"No!" Her mother sobbed, clutching Hu Yumei tighter. "Not without you!"
"NOW!" he roared.
He shoved them toward the ancestral hall, summoning his bonded beast—a 2-star core B-Class giant three-eyed arctic owl.
Hu Yumei's small arms reached out.
"I don't want to leave you!" she screamed, voice tiny, body trembling with a child's fear—but a soldier's will rising beneath it.
"Go!" Fan Yangwei shouted, hopping on his beast and taking off.
Tiny legs stumbling, chest burning, she forced herself to run. Hu Yumei—the soldier inside—refused to falter.
The world had fallen into chaos.
Firelight danced atop shattered rooftops. Smoke rose like serpents into the night sky. Waves of beast Qi rippled across the land.
Low-level Beast Masters, Hunters, and Elemental Callers battled fiercely—summoning bonded beasts, wielding blades, casting spells. Yet all their efforts were like droplets against a storm. It was not enough.
The 3-star core D-Class beast wasn't just strong. It was fast.
Maybe mid-tier. Maybe higher.
Still, she wasn't helpless. Not entirely. Her soldier's instincts ticked like a broken clock in her skull: exit paths, bottlenecks, terrain. Her core wasn't awakened, but strategy required no Qi.
"Left!" she shouted, pulling on her mother's shirt, toward a narrow alley lined with broken roofs and half-walls.
Her mother, dazed, obeyed.
Just as the 3-star core D-Class Frostic Black Bear lunged, the walls crumbled behind them in a blast of frost and stone.
Her father's voice rose behind the explosion, roaring spells in defiance. His magical beast struck at the monster's body with glowing, ice-sharp claws.
He fought like a man who had already accepted death.
Hu Yumei knew that stance. She had worn it too many times in her last life as a soldier.
The ancestral hall loomed ahead, old brick blackened by incense smoke, history, and grief.
The village chief waved them inside. "GO!"
Stone stairs led down beneath the altar, into a carved underground shelter packed with villagers: children sobbing, elders whispering low prayers, men gripping rusted blades.
Her mother shoved her toward the steps—then turned back. "I have to find him!"
"No!" Hu Yumei grabbed her mother's sleeve.
"He said go. That's an order."
The words came sharp, instinctive. Her mother froze, stunned by the sudden tone.
The girl in her arms was… not the same.
Something in her daughter's steel-glazed stare made her obey.
They headed down into the shelter.
Beneath the ancestral hall, within the earthen shelter carved by past generations, chaos stirred like a storm beneath still waters.
Non-awakened villagers poured into the old tunnels through the hidden trapdoor under the altar, whispering prayers even as fear clung to their heels.
Hu Yumei's mother held her close, arms trembling. Her strength, like the last embers of a dying fire, was fading.
Yumei bit down on her lip until she tasted iron.
Steady your mind. Hold your ground.
Though wrapped in a child's form, Hu Yumei's soul was that of a soldier, long tempered by war. Her instincts rose like a tide.
She called out to the other children, her voice clear and firm, directing them to the far wall—away from the cracks where cold air breathed through.
She found discarded planks and set them at the entrance—makeshift barriers to delay whatever might come.
Her stillness amidst chaos gave pause to those around her. Some followed her words without thought, drawn by the quiet command she carried.
Then, above, the earth moaned.
A man fell through the trapdoor, bloodied and bare-chested, eyes wide with terror.
He barely hit the ground before a great claw reached down and dragged him back into the dark. Blood painted the stones.
The trapdoor slammed shut.
⸻
When the doors opened hours later, it was breaking dawn.
The beast was gone. So was the fire. So were some villagers.
Hu Yumei stood at the edge of the ruins, the scent of smoke thick in her nose, watching it float into the sky.
Instead, she walked the trampled path back to their house, where the wooden floor was still intact but the roof destroyed.
She climbed onto the charred beam with casual, practiced grace, sat cross-legged, and began to breathe slow. Even. Centered. Meditating.
This body was small. Weak. Unawakened.
But her mind was older than this body.
She whispered beneath her breath, "I survived two wars. This isn't the end."
Her hands clenched at her knees.
"Not again. I'll get stronger. I'll make sure this never happens again."
Then her mother's footsteps—quick, urgent. Behind her, a stretcher. A groan.
Hu Yumei turned.
It was him.
Her father, Fan Yangwei—bloodied, wounds covering his body, his right leg missing below the knee. A bandage covered one eye.
But Fan Yangwei was alive.
His magical beast limped behind him, bloodied, right wing unrecognizable, but still following its master.
Her throat caught.
Her mother sobbed and fell to her knees.
"What are we going to do? How can we survive?" Ka' Sanni whimpered.
Hu Yumei only nodded once, firm, like a soldier receiving new orders.
"I will provide for us. And I'll protect him now," she said softly. "Let him rest."
That night, she slept with her back to the wall, her father's rune-carved blade tucked beneath her pillow.
She was seven. Her soul, twenty-seven.
And war—war had only just begun.