The fire crackled low, casting thin shadows across the narrow walls of the alcove. It wasn't much—just a dent in the canyon wall half-covered by fallen stone—but it was quiet, for now.
Shen Yuan sat with his back to the wall, knees drawn to his chest. Across from him, the survivors huddled in silence. Twelve now, not counting Yun Xue. Some were too weak to stand. One had passed out from dehydration, though Yun Xue had managed to trickle a few drops of ashwater into her mouth.
He'd given away his portion. Again.
I've run the numbers. We are operating below the threshold for sustained output.
The System's voice, always cold and crisp.
"Meaning what?" Shen Yuan asked.
Meaning if you keep feeding the others before yourself, you will collapse. Then they'll die anyway. Efficient failure is still failure.
He closed his eyes, trying to block the voice out. He couldn't. The tether pulsed through his chest—cold, constant, alive.
"These people need someone to believe in," he said.
Then they should have believed in their own strength a long time ago. You're not their father, Shen Yuan. You're not their savior.
"No," he murmured. "But I'm here. And so are they."
The next morning, Shen Yuan limped out of the alcove to scout. His thigh still ached from where the arrow had grazed him two days ago. He wasn't healing fast enough. The suppression field slowed everything—even qi flow, even time.
He reached the top of the ridge and crouched low.
Below, a canyon floor stretched wide and open. Ash swirled in the wind. And something else—movement.
A group of Dregs. Fifteen or twenty, straggling through the basin with the weariness of people who had been running for too long.
He watched them carefully. They weren't branded. Yet.
Somewhere behind them, Shen Yuan knew, Bone Court enforcers would be coming.
Don't.
The System again. Always watching.
You're considering bringing them in. You can barely keep the twelve you have alive. If you bring in twenty more, we will burn through everything.
"They'll die out there."
And if you bring them here, you'll die too. Congratulations. A full circle of corpses.
Shen Yuan grit his teeth.
"You keep talking about survival like it's numbers in a formula. But what's the point of surviving alone?"
The point is that you're still breathing. The rest is optional.
By nightfall, they had welcomed nine more. Not all agreed to follow, but Yun Xue was good at talking to people. Gentle. Precise. A voice that didn't sound like desperation, even when it was.
Shen Yuan knelt beside a boy who couldn't have been older than sixteen, his robes torn and blood-stained. He placed a qi stone—half-spent, but still warm—into the boy's palm.
"You'll need to cycle carefully," Shen Yuan said. "Don't push too much through at once. Just enough to remind your meridians they still work."
The boy nodded without speaking.
That night, Shen Yuan lay under the stars with the cold rock at his back. He could feel the weight of every breath he took.
"You hate this," he said aloud.
Of course I hate it.
"No, I mean this," he said, gesturing at the camp. "People. Choices. Leading."
There was a pause.
I hate what it does to you.
That made him blink. He turned his head slightly. "What do you mean?"
You were a survivor when I found you. Focused. Calculating. Willing to die if you failed. Efficient. I understood that. But now?
Another pause.
Now you give away your food. You slow down to carry the weak. You waste resources protecting strangers. And you think it makes you strong.
"It does," Shen Yuan whispered. "Even if I die, it does."
Then you're an even bigger fool than I thought.
But the System's voice wavered—just slightly.
Two days later, Yun Xue returned from a scouting run with grim news.
"They found one of our old camps," she said. "Burned it. Executed everyone still nearby. Marked it with a Bone Court banner and… some kind of talisman."
Shen Yuan felt the chill run down his spine. "Suppression beacon?"
She nodded.
The System didn't need to be asked.
They're cutting off corridors again. New anchors are active. They're tightening the net.
Shen Yuan clenched his fists. "How long do we have?"
If patterns hold, two days. Maybe less.
"They're driving us somewhere," Yun Xue said.
Shen Yuan nodded slowly. "Like herding animals."
Yes, the System said. Into a slaughterhouse.
That night, Shen Yuan sat at the edge of camp watching the moon-fractured sky. The stars here didn't shine—they flickered like dying coals.
"I can feel them," he murmured. "Moving around us. Cutting us off."
It's Veylan. He's done this before. To me.
The System's voice had changed—barely—but it had changed.
"What was it like?" Shen Yuan asked.
There was a long silence.
Cold. Precise. He doesn't kill you because he hates you. He kills you because you're part of the pattern. And he always wins.
Shen Yuan looked back at the camp. Survivors slept in clumps. Someone coughed in the dark.
"I'm going to break that pattern," he said.
Then we'll die.
"Maybe," Shen Yuan said softly. "But not like the rest."