The people in the scene stood frozen, as if the air itself had turned to stone.
For a minute or two, no one dared to move, their eyes locked on the stunning figure before them.
Then, slowly, the murmurs began—hesitant at first, then spreading like wildfire.
"Is that… who I think it is?" a man asked, his voice trembling.
He rubbed his eyes so hard it was as if he feared he was seeing a mirage.
"I think so," another man replied, his tone low and reverent, almost fearful.
"She's famous—super famous. The strongest True Immortal in this realm… the Sword Fairy… Goddess Anastasia Sage."
A few bystanders audibly sucked in sharp breaths, the name alone heavy enough to silence a tavern brawl.
"In the past," an older cultivator muttered, "it was written in history that she has slain five True Immortals with her own blade."
The words struck the crowd like a hammer. Men exchanged uneasy glances; women instinctively stepped back.
One should know—slaying a single True Immortal was already a feat so great that it would be sung of for endless years.
True Immortals were legends in flesh, wielders of countless techniques, armed with domains honed over countless millennia, each one an unassailable mountain in the cultivation world.
And yet… Anastasia had carved through five of them.
Some in the crowd lowered their heads, afraid to meet her eyes even from a distance.
Others, younger and more foolish, stared openly, torn between admiration and terror.
A faint, almost imperceptible killing intent lingered in the air around her—a sharp, invisible pressure that made even seasoned warriors sweat under their collars.
It was then that the realization truly sank in: they were standing in the presence of someone who had rewritten history with the edge of her sword.
Everyone in the crowd whispered feverishly, their voices a mix of awe, shock, and disbelief.
The name "Anastasia Sage" rippled through the air like a forbidden chant, and eager ears leaned in to catch every scrap of gossip.
Yet before the chatter could grow into a storm, Riley's calm but cutting voice sliced through the tension.
"You're so old already, and yet you're still a crybaby. It doesn't suit you at all," he said, his tone a peculiar blend of chiding and warmth.
"Hmmm…" Anastasia made a small, muffled sound, but she didn't release him.
Instead, her arms wrapped even tighter around him, as though she feared that if she let go, he might vanish again.
Her body trembled—not from weakness, but from the overwhelming tide of emotions crashing over her.
In that instant, she was no longer the legendary Sword Fairy, the woman who had struck down five True Immortals and whose very name made sect masters pale.
No… she was once again the ragged, starving girl she had been countless years ago.
The crowd watched, spellbound, as the goddess in white clung to the man in the scene like a lost child.
And inside Anastasia's mind, the years peeled away…
She saw herself again, barefoot on the cobblestone streets, her frail frame shivering in the bitter wind.
Her ribs jutted out beneath her skin, and her lips were cracked from thirst.
She remembered the taste of stale rainwater, the ache of hunger that never ended, and the way people passed her by as if she were invisible.
She was on the verge of collapsing, her vision blurring, when a shadow had fallen over her.
At first, she thought it was just another passerby about to ignore her—until she saw the eyes.
Calm, ancient, unreadable.
In his hands, a warm steamed bun, the scent so rich it almost made her weep.
She remembered reaching out, expecting him to pull it away like others had before.
Instead, he placed it gently in her hands.
"Eat," he had said. Just one word, but it carried the weight of an unshakable will.
From that moment, everything had changed.
The Ancient One had not only given her food but had given her purpose.
He had taken the dying beggar girl into his world, taught her how to hold a sword, how to stand tall, how to survive… and how to become someone no one could ever trample again.
Now, trillions of years later, standing before him again, that same hunger filled her—not for food, but for the warmth she had lost when he vanished from her life.
"Come," Riley said gently, as if sensing her spiraling thoughts.
"Let's talk somewhere private."
With a single nod, he turned and began walking. Anastasia followed without hesitation, her steps matching his, the rest of the group moving in silent deference.
Behind them, the crowd buzzed in disbelief.
"Did you see that? She looked… human."
"Human? She looked like a little girl with her father!"
"Shhh! Do you want to die? That's the Sword Fairy… and the man she called master."
But soon, their voices faded into the distance, swallowed by the path Riley had chosen—away from the eyes of the world, into the shadows where only truth remained.
Riley led them to a quiet, secluded part of the city, then suddenly vanished before their eyes.
The group stood in stunned silence, eyes searching for him, until they noticed a lone courtyard nestled quietly amid the sprawling expanse of Heaven's Gate City.
The courtyard was unlike any other place in the city—a serene oasis of stone paths lined with ancient trees whose leaves shimmered faintly with celestial light.
The air here was cooler, tinged with a faint hum of spiritual energy, yet it carried a peculiar stillness, as if time itself paused in reverence.
Anastasia's brow furrowed as she extended her divine sense, sweeping the area carefully.
Yet, no matter how deeply she probed, the place felt shrouded in an unnatural fog that dulled her perception.
It was as if some powerful veil masked the true nature of this sanctuary, keeping its secrets hidden even from one as powerful as herself.
"I didn't know this place existed within Heaven's Gate City, Master," Anastasia said quietly, a hint of awe in her voice.
Riley's lips curled into a gentle smile.
"Have you forgotten who built this city in the first place?" he asked softly, his eyes reflecting untold years of wisdom.
Without waiting for a reply, they stepped fully into the courtyard.
The others busied themselves nearby, setting up food and preparing for their rest, giving Riley and Anastasia a rare moment alone.
Anastasia turned to face him fully, her gaze steady and searching.
"You've changed, Master. Your face…" Her voice faltered, memories flooding back.
The ancient figure she once knew had been a frail old man, leaning heavily on a cane, his skin weathered by time and countless battles.
Riley's smile deepened, a shadow passing briefly through his eyes.
"As all things must be. To remain stagnant is to invite death. Growth is the only true path—even for one like me."
He chose his words carefully, masking the truth he carried deep within.
The original Ancient One—the figure Anastasia had once revered—was no longer alive.
He had long since passed into another state, replaced by someone new who carried his legacy forward.
There was no need to burden Anastasia with this knowledge now.
Instead, he simply reached out, offering a steadying hand.
"Come," he said softly. "There is much to discuss, and many paths yet to walk."
Anastasia hesitated for a moment, then took his hand, the weight of their shared past pressing between them like an unspoken vow.
The courtyard, bathed in the gentle glow of the evening, held them in quiet solitude—the perfect place for old wounds to begin healing and new futures to take root.
Anastasia and Riley sat together in the quiet courtyard, the soft glow of twilight casting long shadows across the ancient stones.
Their conversation flowed naturally, drifting mostly toward Anastasia—her past, her struggles, and the changes she had witnessed in the Immortal Realm over countless trillions of years.
Anastasia spoke with a mixture of wonder and melancholy, describing the vast transformations that had reshaped the world she once knew.
Civilizations had risen and fallen, powers had shifted, and new rules had emerged—some beautiful, others harsh and incomprehensible.
Riley listened with quiet patience, his gaze steady and attentive.
He said little, allowing her voice to carry the weight of her memories, a silent pillar of support through her reflections.
They had been talking for over an hour when Anastasia paused, her expression tightening with hesitation.
There was a question burning in her heart—one she could no longer hold back.
"Master," she finally spoke, her voice soft but earnest, "is having wives… one of the changes you mentioned?"
Her eyes searched his face for an answer.
In the past, she remembered her master as a solitary figure, a man who had turned away countless women simply because his focus was elsewhere.
Yet now, she had seen him surrounded by many women—wives—and this reality unsettled her deeply.
Riley's lips curved into a gentle, almost amused smile.
"Yes," he admitted quietly. "It's something new. I've only just begun this path… and, truth be told, I don't even have children yet."
Anastasia nodded slowly, though her gaze never wavered.
There was something heavy behind her eyes, a mixture of longing and vulnerability.
"If that is the case," she said, gathering her courage, "please accept me as one of your wives as well, Master."
Her voice was steady, filled with a sincerity that could not be mistaken.
"I have never been with any man since… because no man could ever replace you in my heart. No one is stronger, wiser, or more capable than you."
She took a breath, steadying herself before continuing.
"And most importantly, no one has ever helped me as deeply or as truly as you did in my past—the moments when I was nothing but a beggar, a shadow barely clinging to life."
The courtyard grew still as her words settled between them, heavy with meaning and unspoken promises.
Riley's eyes softened, a mixture of affection and respect shining in their depths.
He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.
"You've grown strong, Anastasia," he said gently. "Stronger than I ever imagined. But…"