An Unordinary Extra

Mo's silver eyes narrowed as a faint sigh escaped his lips. The air around him shimmered with the raw power of astral energy, his sword radiating a brilliance that seemed to pierce the very fabric of the night. The energy, magnified further by the mastery of Sword Unity, rippled outward as he swung his blade in a sweeping arc. From its tip, ethereal plum blossoms unfurled, glowing with a spectral light as they cleaved through the battlefield, slicing space and his enemies alike into nothingness.

For Mo Zenith, this was routine—a grim dance of destruction he had perfected over countless battles. The vampires, bolstered by centuries of battle-hardened experience, were far more formidable than the warriors of the East at the same rank. And so, it fell to Mo, one of the Eastern Continent's greatest champions, to stem their advance and ensure the East held its ground.

Yet tonight, there was something different in the way his sword moved. Each strike carried a barely perceptible urgency, the kind of desperation that made even the mighty seem human. His normally precise, deliberate attacks had taken on a new rhythm—frantic, swift, as though the battlefield itself were an obstacle to be cleared rather than a foe to be conquered.

The moonlight cascaded over his silver hair, turning it into a glowing beacon as he cut through the throng of vampires and cultists. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, but Mo's mind was elsewhere, far removed from the carnage unfolding around him.

'I have to return in time for her birthday,' he thought, the words steady in his mind but charged with emotion.

For all his glacial composure, for all the cold, distant authority he exuded as one of the Kings of the East, Mo Zenith was now driven by a singular, deeply personal mission: to be there for his daughter's eighteenth birthday. 

The same Mo Zenith, who seemed carved from the heart of a glacier, his silver eyes as unyielding as frost, was racing against the tide of darkness not for glory, nor duty, but for something far more fragile—family.

The plum blossoms bloomed brighter with every strike, their radiant petals carving a path of destruction through the army before him. His movements were a storm, deliberate yet relentless, each swing of his blade an echo of the urgency in his heart. 

No one on the battlefield would have guessed the source of his uncharacteristic haste. But Mo Zenith, for all his stoicism, knew only one thing mattered tonight: he would finish this fight. And then, he would return to Seraphina.

"Well done, Sect Leader," one of the Masters of the Mount Hua Sect greeted Mo Zenith with a deep bow. The elder carried himself with the solemnity of a high Immortal-rank warrior, his tone laden with respect.

Mo gave a curt nod, his silver eyes glinting under the faint glow of the displays before him. No words escaped his lips, but the icy demeanor was nothing new. The frigid responses of Mo Zenith were as much a hallmark of his leadership as his unmatched swordsmanship.

"What's the situation now?" he asked, his voice cutting through the air like the edge of his blade as he took his seat at the head of the table.

"Archduke Astoria and his forces have carved deeply into enemy territory," a Master reported. "With his help, we can significantly reduce our presence here without risking the Eastern front."

"Good," Mo replied, his tone sharp and decisive. "I'll be returning then."

The gathered Masters exchanged glances, their surprise muted but palpable. One of them, bolder than the rest, dared to ask, "Returning?"

"Yes," Mo said, his gaze steady as it swept over the holographic displays showing the fluid movements of armies across the Eastern continent. "It's Seraphina's coming of age ceremony."

The room fell quiet at his words. This declaration from a man who embodied duty above all else felt like a rare fracture in his glacial persona.

"Is Sun returning as well?" Mo asked, breaking the silence.

"His Highness mentioned his intent to push forward," one of the Masters answered, "to carve a path through enemy lines until he reaches the Kagu family's stronghold."

Mo's lips pressed into a thin line, his expression softening just enough to betray a flicker of pride. "Tell him to be careful," he said. 

The thought of Sun Zenith, his adopted son, brought a brief warmth to his otherwise stoic demeanor. At only twenty-two years old, Sun had already reached low Immortal-rank, a feat that placed him among the brightest of his generation. Mo's pride was unspoken but evident in the slight lift of his chin and the faintest glint in his silver eyes.

"Prepare the transport," Mo ordered, his attention returning to the displays. His work here was far from over, but duty to family, for once, would take precedence over the battlefield.

If Mo Zenith was in a rush, he could have simply cut through space and made his way directly to Mount Hua Sect, alone and unimpeded. Yet he chose not to. Not because his heart trembled faintly at the thought of his daughter turning eighteen, of course not.

Seated in the back of a sleek, luxurious car, gliding through various warp gates that spanned the Eastern continent, Mo let out a long breath. The quiet hum of the engine was a faint counterpoint to the maelstrom of thoughts in his mind.

"She has grown up so much," Mo mused silently, a rare, fleeting smile softening the sharp edges of his expression. It felt like yesterday when Seraphina had entered his world, small and fragile yet somehow overwhelming. Back then, he was not the Sect Leader, not yet a King, not even a Radiant-rank. He was simply the heir of Mount Hua, bound to duty and engaged to the icy and distant princess of the Northern Sea Ice Palace.

Duty had been the foundation of his life then—an unyielding pillar. Love, as others described it, seemed abstract, unnecessary. So, when news of the pregnancy came, Mo's concerns were purely practical. Was the child healthy? Was the lineage secure?

And then Seraphina was born.

He remembered the moment vividly, as if etched into the fabric of his very being. The way he had stepped into the room, expecting to feel nothing but a sense of responsibility. Yet, the instant his eyes fell on her, something within him unraveled. The tiny infant, swaddled and impossibly delicate, stirred something far greater than duty. It was love—absolute, overwhelming, and irrevocable.

Seraphina had become his world.

Even though he never truly loved her mother, that absence had no bearing on the bond he forged with his daughter. Every moment with her had been a revelation, every milestone etched in the amber of his mind.

Mo reached into his coat pocket and retrieved his phone, navigating instinctively to the photo gallery. His fingers found the album titled "Seraphina," and there it was: a treasure trove of memories. Tens of thousands of pictures. Her first yawn, her first steps, the moment her tiny fingers had wrapped around his thumb. Her first sword swing, captured in a series of blurred shots because he had been too excited to hold the camera steady.

A faint chuckle escaped his lips as he scrolled through. There was the time she had climbed onto his desk during a council meeting, declaring that she would "protect Mount Hua better than Father ever could." She couldn't have been older than five.

The smile lingered as he paused on a more recent photo—Seraphina, standing proudly in her training garb, her crystalline blue eyes sharp with determination. That same fierce resolve had been there since she was a child, but now, it burned brighter than ever.

Closing the gallery, Mo leaned back in his seat. His hand rested briefly on the hilt of his sword, a subtle habit he had developed over decades. The journey to Mount Hua was not a long one, but for the first time in years, Mo found himself impatient.

This wasn't just any birthday. It was her coming-of-age ceremony, a pivotal moment that would mark her transition from the girl he had raised to the woman she was becoming. The thought filled him with pride, tinged with a bittersweet ache.

"Seraphina," he murmured, the name rolling off his tongue like a prayer. For her, he would cleave through any obstacle, cross any battlefield, and bear any burden. For her, the world could burn, and he would stand unshaken.

The car passed through the final warp gate, and the towering peaks of Mount Hua came into view. Mo's silver eyes gleamed with quiet determination. Whatever awaited him—whether the joy of her celebration or the trials of leadership—he was ready. After all, for Seraphina, he always would be.