Chapter 5The Guardian Who Waits

Grandfather Moon stands before me, the mist swirling around his feet like ribbons in some slow, silent dance.

His eyes are steady. Kind. Ancient.

“Peach,” he says, “you have been called because you carry what this world has forgotten.”

I blink. “Amazing taste in snacks?”

He smiles faintly, like someone watching a puppy bark at the stars.

“You carry memory. Light. Hope, woven not from bloodline or title, but from resolve.”

The mist around us shifts, and for a moment, I see five strands of light arc outward into the endless sky. Each one pulses like a heartbeat waiting to be found.

“The Five Celestial Princesses have returned to Shen, reincarnated as mortal children unaware of their destiny,” he says, “but someone must find them so they can ascend the Tower, to regain their powers and memories of past lifetimes.”

I gulp. My palms are already getting sweaty. Maybe it’s cosmic humidity. Maybe it’s fear. Who could say?

“Peach, you are the only one who can find them,” Grandfather Moon continues. “Gather them. Head to the Gates at the Tower, and lead them to face the Gate Guardians’ Trials. Only by triumphing through power and virtue will the Tower open to welcome them home.”

“But what about my life back on Earth?” I yearn to complete this quest, but my heart aches at the racing thoughts of my worrying parents, Jun Hao’s tears and boogers, and that darn book report due date.

“Fear not, my child.” Grandfather Moon reassures me. He speaks with ancient wisdom as confident as plot armour. “You are welcome to wander in the Garden Between Moments. I can return you to any moment you desire.”

Feeling relieved, I glance sideways at the misty horizon.

“No pressure then,” I mutter. “Just wrangle five reincarnated princesses, outwit some immortal bouncers, and restore the cosmic balance of an entire world. Stroll in the park.”

“Your quest will not be easy. But I assure you, as the Primordial of all the moons, no danger shall ever harm you.”

He reaches into the air—like pulling light from silk—and places his hand lightly over the book tucked under my arm.

It thrums once against my side, almost like a second heartbeat.

“The pages are unwritten,” he says. “But your choices will fill them. Your courage will ink their lines.”

I look up at him, heart doing somersaults inside my chest.

“You won’t be alone,” he says. “Seek the shrine near the Tower. There, you will find Zobito, a powerful relic of the Celestial King. A guide. A companion. A reminder.”

“What is… a Zobito? Is it a talking cat? Please say talking cat,” I whisper.

“Zobito is many,” Grandfather Moon says, lips smiling. “And is far more helpful than catching mice.”

I nod solemnly, and nervously laugh, as I am unsure if he’s cracking a joke.

The mist begins to curl tighter around us. I can feel something pulling—not like gravity, but like a door opening just slightly behind my heart.

Grandfather Moon presses his palms together and gracefully nods my way.

“Go with the remembrance of the stars,” he says. “And the blessing of those who watch unseen.”

“Right,” I whisper, straightening my bag. “No cosmic pressure. Totally fine. Definitely not about to hyperventilate.”

His smile is the last thing I see before the world turns into a tunnel of light.

I take a breath— Step forward— Bask in a large orb of light— And fall gently, gloriously, toward Shen.

Falling isn’t the right word.

It feels more like sailing—but through air so soft and deep it cradles me as I drop lower and lower, glowing faintly like a lost ember in the wind.

Grandfather Moon fades above me, swallowed by cloud and mist, until he is just a memory held within my heart.

Below, the world of Shen unfolds.

And it is breathtaking.

A massive supercontinent, wide and sprawling, larger than every map I have ever seen, lies beneath a starry sky. Flat, not curved—like a sacred tapestry stretched across the firmament.

“So the world is flat after all…”

At its centre rises the Celestial Tower—a colossal spire of stone and starlight, piercing the clouds, and impossibly vast. It’s actually holding up the entire sky by itself.

Surrounding it is the Heartland Empire: rivers weaving silver ribbons through patchworks of green farmland, golden roofs sparkling in the sun, and the proud sweep of the capital city. Tiny dots of palaces, bridges, temples… a place full of order and glory.

Beyond the Heartlands, the land changes.

To the east, the forests thicken, stretching into mountain ranges so dense they seem knitted from green velvet. Storm clouds always hover over a certain jagged peak, flickering constantly with silent blue lightning.

To the south, the world smoulders—volcanic islands, lush jungles bursting with impossible colours, rivers that steam under the weight of the air itself. In the centre, there’s a massive cluster of grey smog, which doesn’t look like it was released from the volcanoes. Life there looks fierce and wild, daring everything to grow faster, brighter, louder.

To the west, golden mountains shimmer under veils of mist and rainbow, their peaks sharp and dreaming. Old rivers wind through the valleys like dragons asleep in fields of time. The mountains give off a strange, reverent glow, like they know secrets no map dared write.

And far to the north, the seas fracture into thousands of islands, like jade beads scattered across sapphire silk. Icebergs float along the edges, great and silent, while boats—tiny as seeds—brave the currents between them. The oceans feel deep and full of secrets, like the ‘you-know-what’ lurking beneath somewhere I dare not think.

It is so much. So impossibly much.

“Is this all waiting?” I think.
”Waiting for what?”

The closer I fall, the clearer everything becomes—the rivers glittering like threads of silver, the green veils of forest breathing with hidden life, the golden rooftops of cities flashing in the sun.

Shen is beautiful.

Too beautiful.

Everything gleams, everything thrives—but there is a stillness underneath it all.
Like a song sung perfectly but missing its soul.

Some instinct I don’t know I have whispers:

“This world is holding its breath.”

I know it isn’t broken. Not yet.

But the cracks are still there—beneath the rivers, beneath the mountains, beneath the smiling fields. Waiting.

I tuck my chin down, heart pounding harder.

“I’m supposed to be here,” I think.
”Not to fix what’s broken. But to catch it before it falls.”

The ground rushes closer.

The great Celestial Tower looms higher, its stones still glowing with ancient power, humming with the stars above. But scattered across its surface are dark cracks that serve as a gloomy reminder—the Tower holds strong, yes, but these wounds are like warning signs that everyone can see yet chooses to ignore. The sky itself could fall if someone doesn’t act soon.

And at its foot—nestled between jagged cliffs and fields of forgotten banners—I see them:

The giant gates.

The broken shrine nearby.

The first step of a journey I don’t even know how to start yet.

The mist catches me gently before I hit the earth, as soft as a mother’s hand.

My feet touch the stone with barely a sound.

I am here.

Shen is waiting.

The ground catches me like a sigh.

For a moment, all I can hear is my own breath, ragged like a tourist in the vast hush of the place.

Before me rise the Celestial Tower’s outer gates—and they are not gates so much as mountains pretending to be doors.

Each panel must be five stories tall, carved from deep black stone veined with shimmering silver, as if the stars have tried to escape the sky and got trapped inside.

And on the gates are the Guardians. Not painted. Not standing beside. Carved directly into the stone—each figure larger than life, fierce and ageless.

On the right door, a figure stands in sweeping armour: broad-shouldered, crowned with a helmet shaped like a phoenix flame. His hand grips a massive halberd, and the muscles on his arms jack up like rivers made of boulders. His face is not cruel, but fierce—the kind of fierceness that stands between a village and a stampede.

Gate Guardian of Power, frozen in a single, perfect battle pose.

On the left door, a figure flows in long robes that twist like ink in water. His hands are open, one raised to bless, one lowered to steady. His eyes are half-closed in serenity, and the smile on his lips is so slight I might miss it—but once I see it, it feels like the first warm day of spring.

Gate Guardian of Virtue, unshakable and noble.

The two Guardians don’t face each other. They face outward. Toward the world they once protected.

“Power and Virtue,” I think. “Two sides of the same gate.”

The silence is heavier here. Sacred. Lonely.

I crane my neck back until I nearly tip over. The top of the gates disappears into the mist.

“Cool,” I whisper. “First trial: develop neck muscles.”

Somewhere nearby, a crow caws once, sharp and lonely.

I take a cautious step forward, my sneakers crunching over old gravel and broken vines.

That’s when I see it again: the shrine, tucked off to the right of the gate.

The structure is crooked, half-eaten by ivy, its roof missing tiles. But something about it pulls at me harder than gravity.

I squint. “Shrine of Zobito the Celestial Guardian” is carved on the top of the shrine.

Is that… a figure inside?
Or just a statue?

Either way, something is waiting there.

As I walk closer to the shrine, I can see a figure that looks both humanoid and alien.

I reach closer and slowly touch the figure.

It jerks.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Oh good,” I mutter under my breath. “Nothing says ‘welcome to your heroic destiny’ like creepy abandoned architecture and a strange statue.”

As I finish speaking, the statue starts leaning. I hear a cracking noise. Something within the statue is breaking.

All of a sudden, the figure falls spinning, and with a loud thump, the statue falls, and with it the rubble leaning against the back wall suddenly collapses to the ground, revealing a secret doorway.

The doorway hangs half-broken, the entrance swollen with damp and time, with hints of unnatural charring. Moss creeps up the stones, swallowing old carvings I cannot read, but feels like they are whispering all the same.

Everything about this place says forgotten. Abandoned.

But something in me—some stubborn, reckless gravity—pulls me forward.

I step under the crumbling archway.

The inside smells of cold stone and the sharp bite of old metal. Dust floats in the air like restless ghosts. A broken altar sits against the far wall, its offering bowls dry and cracked. This seems like a sacred and welcoming sanctuary a long time ago, but abandoned for as long as a hundred years.

On the side wall, almost hidden under a veil of ivy, I see it: a faint spiral carved into the stone.

A symbol.

“Celestial,” I think. “Old magic.”

Without really meaning to, I reach out and brush it with my fingertips.

The shrine shudders around me.

The spiral glows faintly—and a piece of the stone wall beside it shifts, grinding open like a mouth that hasn’t spoken in a thousand years.

A cold draft of air spills out, smelling of deep earth and ancient promises.

Beyond the doorway, a tunnel slopes down into darkness lit only by the faintest blue glimmer, like the memory of stars.

“Oh,” I whisper. “This is definitely a reckless idea.”

For a moment, I hesitate at the threshold. My heart is pounding, and every sensible cell in my body is screaming, “Retreat! Go back! Find a nice, non-haunted noodle shop instead!”

I take a step back, ready to bail, when suddenly my backpack gives a violent shudder.

The book.

It’s vibrating like a rumbling gamepad. I fumble it out, and as I flip open the cover, ink begins to swirl across the page, forming new words right before my eyes:

“And so, the brave girl called Peach arrives in the world of Shen. The land welcomes her arrival. She beholds the Shrine of Zobito, and with courage in her heart, she steps forward to enter.”

I stare at the page, then at the tunnel, then back at the page.

“Wow,” I mutter, “thanks, passive-aggressive book. Just go ahead and write my destiny for me, why don’t you?”

I sigh, rolling my eyes. “Classic RPG trope. First dungeon level—can’t be that hard, right? There’s probably just a couple of slimes and skeletons waiting for me down there.”

Clutching the book a little tighter, I square my shoulders.

I tighten my bag’s strap, take one deep breath, and step inside.

The door whispers closed behind me, swallowing the last of the outside light.

And I step into the shrine.