AN: Heres another commissioned work to tide you guys over while I work on the update proper 
Happy new year.
An arc of silver flashed in the dark, and a monster howled.
Sima Jiao smirked as his perfectly executed spinning slash carried him around to face his enemy as the creature crashed to the ground, gurgling through the gash that had opened its throat. Tapping his foot to the sound of unheard music and humming a merry tune he leaned to one side, feeling the wind as jagged claws passed a hairs breadth from his cheek, only for a stinger the size of spearhead to ram through his chest.
His smirk grew as his form rippled like a pool of ink, the horrors sting not even managing to ruffle his austere silver and black robes. A flick of his sword severed the limb, and with casual disdain, he stepped forward and rammed his dagger into things wobbling jelly-like flesh. The pulse of qi that traveled through his left arm ensured that the strike was a mortal blow, anatomy or no.
Behind him, the last horror gurgled and chittered as a dozen blades of shadow impaled it's many limbed, twitching form. Sima Jiao merely grinned as he stepped over the dissolving corpse in front of him, and let his dagger dissolve, so that he could brush his luxurious black hair from his eyes. As if he would be stopped by a few night horrors, spirits so primitive that they did not even hold their own shape, and merely reflected a chaotic mish mash of mortal fears.
No, he thought, Lunatic Crag would have to do better than that to stymie him. With the landing clear, SIma Jiao took his first step down the Phantasmagoric Stair. He would not stop until he had reached the last of the 11, 644 steps and reached the root of the mountain, where the Realm of the Hidden Moon was said to lie.
He could not fail, Sima Jiao thought as his blade lashed out, impaling a creeping thing upon the ceiling before it could leap onto his face. His prince was relying upon him. Not like his worthless sycophant father, or his oh so orthodox brother. Feh, Sima clan indeed. Let the whole of it rot. He had a higher calling to see to. Mu An had plans, plans to tame the venomous, decadent pit that the Peaks had become and once more make it a place worthy of being called an imperial court.
But his prince was not yet crowned, and he would need all the help that he could get to navigate the treachery of his siblings, and begin the work of binding the failing empire back together. So he would brave one of the deadliest of the dragon-wrought Celestial Peaks, this place where it was whispered that the Dragon Gods of old had brought a piece of the moon to earth in their final days. He would come here on a moonless, starless night, and seek the secret to the power that he and the Prince would need in the future.
Each step was wide and tall, as if carved for a being far taller than he, and with each step taken, the qi in the air grew thicker and more potent. The scuttling horrors grew less frequent by the step, rulers of the outer mountain they might be, but here, on the Stair, others reigned supreme.
Sima Jiao passed by the gleaming and inviting passage that shown with the full moon's light, and the voices that chided him for his pride and warned of the dangers of hubris. Yet he walked not only with pride, but with need, and so their voices fell on deaf ears. He passed by the softly litten cavern where voices that echoed with long forgotten maternal love pleaded with him to reconsider his path, and seek reconciliation with family, to turn back from severing those most vital and primal of bonds. Yet he had seen the bonds of family for what they were, an excuse for petty local power mongering, and so their words fell on deaf ears.
Through a hall of mirrors he passed, where each surface showed a different path his life could have taken, and where shades of futures gone, and futures possible challenged his right of way. He passed them all, one by one, flicking glimmering reflective blood from his blade as he cut them down one by one. His path had been chosen, the time for contemplation was over.
The dream mists came next, the sound of piping music and the scent of succulent feasts. Here at last, Sima Jiao felt his resolve waver, not for material delights, but the joy of creation. The feeling when he had first completed an array of his own creation and watched the pages of his favorite book turn themselves as he read. The joy of research and creation sang to him from softly lit caverns where spirits danced and reveled, where artists and poets and inventors alike shared in the free exchange of knowledge for the sheer joy of it.
With his head, low, Sima Jiao stepped from the mist and left the caverns of Dream and Madness behind. That life was closed to him, closed by circumstance, closed by family and society alike. Mournful music echoed in his ears as he continued his descent, and the choking darkness grew ever deeper, until even his eyes could see no more. Soon, the fading music was drowned by howling wind, and the sharply cut stairs turned into crumbling edifices smoothed by endless wind.
Sima Jiao walked on, powering through the wind as it tugged playfully and insistently at his limbs, pleading with him to forget his troubles and responsibilities, to free himself of their weight. Here where the moons were at their most primal, the grinning spirits that played in the wind urged him to forget even his name and leave the chains of identity behind. To flee this stodgy broken empire and travel the world like a hero from a storybook.
It was almost a relief to emerge from the winds and stumbled upon the new stairs. Skulls crunched and sank beneath his feet, and the scent of blood hung heavy in the air. Here blunt and unforgiving spirits threw the truth of his dreams and plans in his face, not with judgement but the absolute finality of truth. Change came only from bloodshed, and the blood price of his Prince's dream would be weighty indeed. Those who held power would only ever give it up when fear of death or pain drowned all other concerns, or when it was at last pried from their lifeless fingers.
There was no dodging here, no avoidance of pain. Each step carved a wound into his flesh, and yet he pressed on. He had chosen this and he would not flinch away. For his Prince, for himself, for the Empire.
When at last his feet touched stone again, Sima Jiao sagged with exhaustion, resting his bloodied palm against the wall. It was quiet here, and so very dark. Even with the faint glow of his sword and the power of his arts he could barely see the step he stood on, and for a moment, his tired thoughts fumbled with the number of that step.
"Eleven thousand two hundred and twenty three," a cool woman's voice, devoid of emotion or feeling echoed in the dark.
Sima Jiao straightened up immediately, his grip on his sword tightening. His robes were more ragged now, marred by cuts, their hems heavy with blood, but he refused to be anything less than an ideal gentleman of the empire, and so he stood straight, despite the pain of his wounds. "My thanks," he said, bowing stiffly. He had been impeccably polite to every spirit thus far, and he had no intention of breaking that now. "Might I know who it is I am speaking too?"
"This one requires no name," the cool voice replied, and the darkness flickered. The spirit shimmered into view. It held the shape of a young woman with impeccable features and silver hair, bound tightly in a severe bun that added years to her appearance. She wore a black gown that seemed to merge with the shadows, free of any embellishment save for the faintest flicker of a silver lining. In the darkness, only her face and hands in her lap stood out. Red eyes stared at him dispassionately. "I am an eye of the Black Madam, mortal. What purpose brings you to this place on this sacred night."
His breath caught in his throat as she spoke that name. Meaning boiled beneath the surface, clawing at his thoughts and burning his eyes. Such an unassuming moniker for the eldest aspect of the Hidden Moon, the spirit which was said to ride beside death, marking the end of each life's tale in her book. She Who Knew, the archivist of all life. Yet, he had come here for this. The Imperial Court was a twisting monstrosity of intrigue, he would need the sharpest of eyes to navigate it for his Prince. There were no eyes sharper than hers, and only on a night such as this would she reside here, in the mortal world, surrounded by her daughters.
He sketched a courtly bow to the floating spirit. "I have braved the mountain and this stair for the opportunity to speak with one such as you, eldest and fairest of the moon's maidens."
Very slowly, her head tilted to the side as she examined him,and Sima Jiao shuddered as he felt the weight of something far greater than her stared out at him through those eyes. It was ten thousand eyes staring at him from all directions, it was a physicians knife sliding through his flesh, dissecting and cataloguing him piece by piece. It was a severe archivists eye and he a particularly uninteresting footnote. "You do not seek audience with my progenitor?" the spirit asked. There was a faint hint of curiosity there, but nothing more.
"I am not so arrogant as to interrupt the Honored Madam on this, her one night with her sisters," Jiao said smoothly. Technically true, even if a spirit so mighty hardly needed interrupt one meeting to have another. Even he did not wish to descend the path beneath the last stair. "Instead I have a proposal for you, or perhaps one of your sisters, if you yourself do not find it attractive."
"We are one, mortal. We are her eyes. Know that you are an open book, you are given leave to speak out of courtesy," the spirit said plainly.
Well that was somewhat problematic, he had studied the lore of moon spirits deeply indeed, but information on the Eyes of the Black Madam were scant, he had made his preparations based on the context of other moon spirits, it was how he had progressed this far. A true collective identity though….
"You know then of what I would ask, O daughter of the moon. The time for change is coming again. The empire's turmoil is growing, and it will need a firm and understanding hand at its helm to see it through. I would ask that you accompany me, and allow me to share your sight. I will accept any trial or supplication."
"The turmoil you speak of is not so great a thing as you imagine," the spirit replied, unmoved. "A hundred turmoils and more have happened and a thousand more will come if the empire stands. In this damaged world, turmoil is unavoidable. Why should this one grant herself to you to observe such a pedestrian event?"
Sima Jiao almost balled his free hand into a fist, and instead raised his head, his own burning gaze meeting her dispassionate crimson gaze. "It may not be unique, but it is an opportunity. We will set the empire on a different path." Even to his own ears, his words seemed to echo deeply, drinking in the darkness and growing with each echo. He shuddered as the last words passed his lips and left him feeling drained. It had been a very long time indeed since his blood had reacted so strongly, and his divination had slipped his control.
For the first time, the spirit before him blinked, and once again her head tilted, birdlike, to the side as she observed him. "...I see. Then walk the remaining steps with me Sima Jiao, and if you reach the bottom unbroken, we will consider your proposal. You have one final trial to overcome."
"Sima Jiao straightened up fully falling in behind her as they began to descend again. "And what trial is that?"
"You must Know yourself, and your own secrets, if you wish to pass our stair and stand before the undivided moon, and not break. Each of the others has tested a fraction of yourself. Know that what comes will be the true test. You will likely go mad and die," she said simply, not looking back at him. She drifted through the dark, not so much as breathing, like a porcelain doll swathed in liquid shadow.
"I have come too far to break now," he replied.
"So says every mortal," the spirit replied humorlessly.
"Ah, but they were not me," Sima Jiao chuckled, his poise slowly returning. He was so close to his goal, images of the knowledge pressed into his mind along the rest of the stair haunted his thoughts, but he could not allow it all to be for naught, he could not leave his Prince to be pushed aside by his worthless siblings, as he had been.
"...A true, if irrelevant statement," the spirit replied.
"We shall see," Sima Jiao said, letting his smirk return as he squared his shoulders. "If we are to travel the rest of the way together O Daughter of the moon. Might I have something to call you by?"
"If you must, simply refer to this one as Xin."
