The morning mist hung like a white veil over the tribe, drifting across thatched roofs, winding forest paths, and the distant mountain shadows, as if the whole world was suspended between dream and waking. When Ye Chenyu opened his eyes, the echoes of last night's whispers from the ancient well and the clash of battle within the tribe still lingered in his mind. Each breath seemed to draw in the damp chill and decaying scent of the mountains, tightening around his heart.
The people of the tribe had already begun their day. The faint clatter of crude tools rang unusually clear in the mist. He watched the way they communicated through gestures and glances—though he could not understand their language, the calm harmony between them hinted at an ancient order that eased his restless spirit. The elder stood quietly before his hut, eyes deep and steady, as though he could see straight into Ye Chenyu's hidden confusion and fear. He said nothing, but his gaze carried both blessing and warning—a silent reminder that beyond the sanctuary of the spirit domain, the forests ahead were no less perilous, no less unspeakable.
Ye Chenyu bowed his head in farewell and followed the winding mountain path onward. The fog grew heavier, and the ground beneath his feet was thick with moss, each step sinking into a damp softness that carried an ominous chill. Fallen leaves and brittle twigs cracked faintly underfoot, their sound echoing through the empty woods, as if disturbing some unseen presence lurking in the haze. His senses sharpened to the edge, every breath a struggle against the unknown.
Rounding a bend in the ridge, his gaze froze. Half-buried among stone and tangled weeds lay an enormous skeleton, looming faintly through the fog. Its ribcage arched like a ruined wall, its fractured surface etched with the weathering of millennia. A femur, thick as a tree trunk, lay jutting from the earth, far beyond the strength of men to lift. The bones gleamed pale and cold in the dim light, the drifting leaves scraping against them with a faint creak—like the hushed murmurs of something long departed.
Ye Chenyu knelt, fingers brushing the massive femur. The icy touch pierced his palm and reached deep into his chest. Questions surged in his mind: Were these the remnants of some ancient humanity? Or the bones of a forgotten, intelligent race of the spirit domain? Why did these colossal remains lie abandoned here? Had they witnessed some cataclysm, some upheaval lost to memory? A weight pressed down on him, as though the very ruins themselves were silently watching every intruder.
The mountain wind rose, stirring the fog, carrying with it the damp breath of decay. As it swept through the giant bones, it whispered in low, broken tones that brushed his ear—strange syllables, unfamiliar notes. Awe welled within him. These were not just bones of long-dead titans; they were fragments of the domain's slumbering history, a reminder that this world stretched far beyond the limits of sight and was filled with dangers beyond comprehension.
Slowly, Ye Chenyu stood, drawing in the heavy air of the forest, his gaze lifting toward the valley beyond. Through the mist, peaks jutted like blades, and shadows reached from the woods like black talons. He realized the spirit domain was no mere wasteland of peril—it was a world alive with hidden wisdom, slumbering histories, and unfathomable beings moving unseen.
Clenching his fists, he stepped forward, each stride steady though heavy, as if into the mouth of the abyss. Yet he knew: if he turned back now, he would never unveil the true secrets of the spirit domain. In the mist, the distant valley yawned wide like a waiting maw, calling him to venture deeper.