The Whisper of the Jade Tempest Linhua

Cosplay Costume Fiction cosplay, cosplayer, cosplayers, egirls, fiction, short story sandra January 20, 2025 0 Comments

A sharp crack split the heavy silence of the temple courtyard, and Linhua twisted mid-air, narrowly avoiding the serrated edge of a thrown bronze sickle. Her jade-green hair, tied back into a single dramatic knot that cascaded like a streak of emerald fire, shimmered under the amber rays of the dying sun. She landed lightly on the balls of her feet, bare against the cool stone pavement, her black silk tunic and matching fitted pants swaying in the motion, revealing faint embroidery of cranes and storm clouds etched meticulously along the fabric. She raised one hand, fingers flexing into sharp arcs. The world around her seemed to buckle—a gust of wind spiraling outward as her psychic energy rippled like an invisible tide.

“You dishonor this place,” she spat, eyes narrowing at the intruder standing before her. He was cloaked in red lacquered armor, a soldier of the Reaving Sun Dynasty, his wolfish grin showing chipped teeth. Behind her loomed the colossal temple gates, carved with depictions of ancient dragon battles and rising storms—an entrance no one had breached without challenge in centuries. Tonight, it stood as both a barrier and a witness to powers long forgotten by the world outside.

“Linhua of the Jade Tempest,” he mocked, his words low and oily, “the famed psychic monk turned fugitive. You could have been a general for the Reaving Sun, yet here you are, guarding relics for a dead order.” He let his words hang, leaning on his massive halberd as though resting on a post. Around them, a semicircle of soldiers watched, faces hidden behind helmets shaped like snarling tigers.

For a brief heartbeat, Linhua’s gaze flicked to the fountain at the center of the courtyard—a source of water as still as glass. Then, she was motionless, still as the storm that holds its breath before the first crack of thunder.

“You will leave,” Linhua said softly, the wind around her flickering. “Or I will remind you why the Jade Tempest was feared long before your empire laid its first stone.”

The red-armored soldier barked a laugh, nodding to his men. “Show her what we think of ancient myths.” The group charged, their steel boots pounding against the stones, weapons gleaming in the fading light.

The Buried Past

The surge of violence pulled her memory back, as though the temple itself whispered its secrets. A decade ago, Linhua had been an oracle-monk. She wore flowing robes then, her hair coiled in ceremonial spirals, serving in a sanctuary built on the nexus of psychic energy that shaped the weather across the Emerald Plains. The Reaving Sun forces had come without warning under a banner of unification—a euphemism for plunder. Linhua felt their malice in the air before they even breached the walls. Her fellow monks had fallen trying to protect sacred scripts and artifacts. But Linhua… Linhua had unleashed her power that day. She had driven the invading army back, but at a cost. Surrounded by ruined structures and her dying kin, she had sworn to exile herself from the plains, choosing penance over vengeance.

The Eye of the Storm

Now, her body moved as if guided by centuries of instinct. She ducked under the first soldier’s swing and pivoted, sending a pulse of psychic energy from her outstretched fingertips. A translucent wave struck him, lifting him like a ragdoll into the air before slamming him into another attacker. Sparks flew as two swords met above her, and with a graceful flick of her wrist, both weapons wrenched free from their wielders’ hands and clattered to the ground.

The air itself seemed to dance around Linhua, her jade hair snapping like a war banner. Each attack she made seemed effortless, the whispers of her energy guiding her strikes. As more soldiers fell, the man in red armor stepped forward, halberd gleaming with freshly etched runes. He charged, the earth seeming to tremble with each step, his weapon carving arcs of fire through the air as though it responded to his rage.

Linhua deftly sidestepped a swing that would have cleaved her in two, countering with a burst of wind so forceful it shattered the tiling beneath his feet. Yet he stood firm, his sheer strength a testament to why he led this battalion. The duel between them was like watching a storm battle a wildfire—wind against flame, relentless and consuming.

The Reckoning

It wasn’t until Linhua positioned him near the fountain that her grip on the fight tightened. Her fingers twisted in the air, and the fountain burst with water that moved unnaturally, breaking all bonds with gravity. The liquid curled into snake-like tendrils of shimmering silver, wrapping around the man, extinguishing the flames that had once leapt from his halberd.

“Return to your dynasty with a message,” Linhua said, her voice low but carrying the weight of steel. “Not all ancient powers slumber.”

With a flick of her wrist, the water hurled him across the courtyard, leaving him sprawled and gasping near the edge of the semicircle of fallen soldiers. Those still standing scrambled to retreat, dragging their commander along with frightened whispers.

As quiet descended once again upon the temple, Linhua turned toward the gates. The carvings shimmered faintly, as if the dragons themselves approved. The Jade Tempest had been forced back into the world she had tried so hard to leave, but in her heart, she knew—even storms have their purpose.