The icy wind howled across the northern peaks, the wasteland stretching ahead like an endless white desert. Ye Chenyu wrapped his clothes tightly, each step heavy, as if treading upon brittle bones. Beside him, Liyue Ying stood silently, the wind tugging at her sleeves; the edges of her clothes brushed the snow with a faint rustle, like ghostly whispers. Xuan Ye moved ahead, guiding their path slowly, his gaze profound, carrying secrets far beyond Ye Chenyu's understanding.
"The Cold-Bone Altar lies ahead, deep within the Northern Peaks," Xuan Ye's voice was low and resolute, carrying an undeniable certainty. Ye Chenyu looked up and saw a cluster of broken stone statues in the valley ahead. The massive figures were weathered and cracked, seeming poised to collapse at any moment. They depicted Shen Tu and Yu Lei—ancient deities of the Northern Peaks, meant to ward off evil and misfortune. Now, they stood silently, their faces shattered, imbued with an eerie pressure, as if the northern desolation and the passage of time had gnawed at their divine essence.
Ye Chenyu stepped closer to the statues, examining the damaged faces of the deities. Every crack, every weathered groove seemed to whisper silently, as if ancient warnings were emanating from deep within the stone. An indescribable chill filled the air, as if the surrounding temperature no longer obeyed natural laws, piercing directly to the bone. As he reached out to touch the stone, a low murmur echoed deep in his mind, like a voice from the Rift: "The Rift… the Rift…" Each whisper seemed to strip away his will, making his mind tremble.
Xuan Ye stood a short distance away, his gaze as sharp as a blade sweeping over Ye Chenyu. He spoke softly, "Do not be deceived by illusions. Every stone, every gust of wind here, can erode your sanity." His words carried authority and urgency, yet Ye Chenyu sensed that the secrets Xuan Ye bore in these northern peaks ran far deeper than his calm demeanor suggested.
Liyue Ying remained silent, her eyes scanning the shadows of the statues before glancing at Ye Chenyu and Xuan Ye, revealing a complex expression. Ye Chenyu vaguely felt a past connection between her and Xuan Ye—simultaneously familiar and distant, hiding a tangled history yet unrevealed. Whenever they exchanged glances, Ye Chenyu sensed an invisible current beneath the surface, though he could not discern its full meaning.
As the three stepped into the center of the statue cluster, the chill in the air grew heavier. The snow around the statues seemed drawn by an invisible force, winding into strange patterns, like remnants of ancient sigils. Ye Chenyu bent down to examine the snow and noticed faint dark red veins beneath it, like blood flowing through the ground beneath the statues. His chest tightened. Instinctively, he gripped his ice staff, feeling as if each step carried the pulse of some ancient ritual.
Suddenly, a faint vibration came from beneath the statues, like the whisper of stone, or perhaps the breathing of the Rift itself. Vertigo hit Ye Chenyu, and illusions surged in his mind: he saw countless souls bound in ice and stone deep within the Northern Peaks, blood-like sigils flowing between the ground and the statues, silently narrating the secrets of Northern Peaks' rituals. Reality and illusion blurred, his body stiffened, breath coming in sharp gasps, his mind teetering on the edge of collapse.
Sensing Ye Chenyu's disturbance, Xuan Ye stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Steady yourself, Ye Chenyu. The secrets of the Cold-Bone Altar cannot be allowed to consume you." His touch brought a tangible presence, like a faint light cast across the frozen northern wasteland, grounding Ye Chenyu slightly.
Liyue Ying stepped forward calmly, her long blade pointing toward the ground. Each motion she made was precise, as if slicing away the intrusion of illusions. She said nothing, but her gaze signaled Ye Chenyu to focus, and the deep-seated fear in his heart ebbed slightly. Yet the low murmurs of the Rift still whispered, invisible chains binding his will.
Thus the three stood among the statues. The wind howled, snowflakes and fragments of shattered stone rolled through the air, and the surroundings seemed frozen in time. Only the Rift's whispers and the lingering shadows of the frozen lake interwove. Gradually, Ye Chenyu's mind quieted. He realized that the Northern Peaks were not merely desolation and frozen bones—they were a projection of divine power from the depths of the Spirit Domain. Xuan Ye and Liyue Ying's purpose appeared closely tied to this land.
Ye Chenyu inhaled the frigid air deeply, his gaze turning toward the distant heart of the Northern Peaks. Between the snow-covered peaks, a faint, ghostly light flickered, seemingly guiding them onward. The whispers of the Rift still echoed in his ears, yet no longer brought him to the brink of collapse. He understood that even deeper secrets awaited revelation in the Northern Peaks, and he would need to walk alongside these two mysterious companions to survive the frozen wastes.
The wind swept up snow, and the three slowly pressed forward, stepping into the unknown horrors of the northern interior. A deeper chill settled in Ye Chenyu's heart—but with it, a firmer resolve: he must uncover the truth of the Spirit Domain, no matter how many indescribable entities lay in wait ahead.