The night was deep by the time Tao and Jian stepped through the sect’s gates. The air was cooler here than in the Wilds, but the faint scent of damp stone and the distant flickering of Qi lanterns reminded them that they had returned to a world of rules and hierarchy.

  No crowds awaited them. No cheers or whispers followed their steps. Only the quiet hum of a few distant disciples finishing their nightly cultivation, their presence barely noticeable in the vast sect grounds.

  For Tao and Jian, this was preferable. They were exhausted, their robes still stiff with dried blood and dirt, their bodies aching from days of relentless survival.

  Tao did not head to his room immediately. He made his way to the communal well first, drawing water with slow, deliberate motions. The bucket creaked as it rose, the cool liquid sloshing inside. He let out a breath and splashed some onto his face, shivering as the cold chased away the haze of fatigue.

  Clean water. Something so simple, yet after the Wilds, it felt like a luxury.

  He took his time washing the grime from his arms, his movements slow and methodical. The bruises beneath his sleeves ached as he worked, a stark reminder that strength always came with a cost.

  Jian had already gone ahead to his quarters, muttering about collapsing into bed before his legs gave out. Tao had agreed at the time, but now that he was here, beneath the quiet night sky, he found himself lingering.

  The moon hung high above the Verdant Dawn Sect, its silver light soft against the tiled rooftops and stone paths. In the distance, he could hear the faint murmurs of disciples still awake, the occasional clang of a training weapon, the distant rustle of fabric as robes brushed against the night breeze. It was a world he had once taken for granted. Now, after the Wilds, it felt smaller somehow, more fragile.

  He slowly made his way to the identical wooden huts that held his small, cramped room.

  Tao pushed open the wooden door to his quarters, stepping inside with careful, deliberate movements. The room was pitch dark, the air stale from weeks of neglect. No trace of another’s presence, only dust and the faint scent of old parchment.

  He exhaled slowly, shutting the door behind him. The silence pressed in, thick and absolute. His cot sat untouched, the blanket still creased from the last time he had slept there, more than a month ago. His shelf remained cluttered with manuals and dried herbs, though a fine layer of dust had settled over everything, proof of how long he had been gone.

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  He removed his satchel and crouched down pushing it underneath his cot, his fingers brushing against the rough fabric.

  Stripping off his outer robe, he let it drop to the floor with a dull rustle. The blood and dirt clinging to the fabric felt out of place here, like remnants of another world. He rubbed at the stiffness in his arms, feeling the bruises beneath his sleeves protest at the motion.

  For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at the faint outlines of the room as his eyes adjusted to the dark. He had thought coming back would bring relief, but instead, the space felt... foreign. Smaller than he remembered.

  With a quiet sigh, he sat on the edge of his cot, hands clasped loosely between his knees. He should sleep. He needed to. But exhaustion didn’t always bring rest. Instead, he listened to the distant wind rattling against the wooden walls, to the faint, rhythmic breaths of disciples in the neighbouring huts, to the silence that settled deep into his bones.

  Tao lay back against the cot, feeling the stiffness of the mattress beneath him. He had spent so many nights in this room before, but after sleeping beneath open skies and against the hard earth, the walls around him felt suffocating. He shifted, the wooden frame creaking under his weight, but no position felt comfortable. His muscles ached, his skin felt too tight over bruised flesh, and no matter how he lay, the tension would not leave his body.

  His gaze drifted upward, though there was nothing to see but the darkness pressing in from all sides. He had grown used to seeing the stars at night, distant points of cold light stretching endlessly above him. Now, enclosed by wooden walls and a roof, it felt as if the sky had been taken from him.

  His hand reached absently for his sword should have been, but he had already stored it away. Even so, his fingers twitched, muscle memory telling him to keep his weapon close. The Wilds had left him with habits that did not belong in the relative safety of the sect.

  A hollow chuckle escaped him. Safe. He was supposed to be safe here. Yet somehow, lying in his own bed, surrounded by familiar walls, he had never felt more out of place.

  His eyes shut, but his mind remained restless. Images from the Wilds flickered behind his eyelids. The flash of a blade. The rustle of undergrowth before an ambush. The sharp scent of blood in the cold night air. He forced himself to take a slow breath, steadying his thoughts, but the tension in his limbs refused to fade.

  It would take time. That much he knew. He had survived the Wilds, but survival did not end when the danger passed. It lingered. It followed.

  Perhaps, he thought as he shifted onto his side, staring at the faint outline of his shelf in the dark, he had not truly returned at all.

  A quiet whisper of memory stirred in his mind, a lesson from someone long ago.

  "The world is vast, but the path of cultivation is narrow. Few can tread it to its end, for it is filled with sorrow and tribulation."

  Tao let out a slow breath. The Wilds had not broken him, but they had changed him. He did not know yet if that was for better or worse.

  Sleep would not come easily tonight. Perhaps not for many nights to come.