Darkness breathed. The absolute black left by the cave-in was slowly pierced by thin, crawling filaments of cold blue-white light. They veined the walls like frozen lightning, pulsing with a slow, rhythmic thrum that was felt more than heard. The air grew sharp and metallic, chilling the sweat on Li Tian's skin. The ring on his finger warmed, a single, deliberate pulse.
He took a cautious step forward. The starlight lines near his foot brightened momentarily, and a deep, subterranean thump vibrated through the stone underfoot—a heartbeat out of sync with his own. This place was alive, and it was testing him.
A whisper, thin and functional, brushed his mind. It was not Ao Shun's voice, but a fragment of his will, etched into the ring. "Offer a thread; bleed in a spiral."
Ahead, three light-lines intersected at a slightly brighter nexus—a node. It felt like a lock. Gritting his teeth, Li Tian extended a single, hair-thin strand of his own carefully refined Qi toward it. The node flared, hungrily accepting the energy, but immediately kicked back a wave of sharp, static-filled feedback that stung his meridians like a swarm of icy ants. He didn't resist. He dropped into a crouch, pressing his palms flat against the cold stone and visualizing the hostile energy spiraling out from his core, down his arms, and dissipating harmlessly into the ground. The pain faded. With a soft grind, a section of the wall beside the node slid inward, revealing a narrow, descending ramp.
His action had a consequence. From the newly opened passage, a wisp of the cold starlight condensed, swirling into a humanoid outline—a mist-wraith with faint, shifting runes for eyes. It moved without sound, lashing out with a limb that was pure, concussive force.
The fight was claustrophobic. Li Tian ducked under a low rib of rock, and the wraith's blow shattered the stone behind him. He couldn't afford to trade hits. On its next strike, a sweeping arc meant to crush him against the wall, he opened a pinpoint devour vortex in his palm. He wasn't trying to steal power; he was trying to survive.
The energy that flooded him was nothing like beast Qi. It was cold, ancient, and utterly alien. The backlash was immediate and severe. A metallic taste filled his mouth, his ears rang as if struck by a bell, and the fingers of his left hand went numb. Gasping, he staggered back, but he'd shaved enough force from the blow to stay alive. He countered with a simple, direct punch to the core glyph glowing in the wraith's chest, channeling every bit of his own refined Qi into the strike. The runes flickered and died. The wraith dissolved into a dissipating cloud of cold mist.
He didn't pause. He immediately spiral-bled the remnant energy, the cold static leaving a phantom ache in his bones. The cave was a lesson in brutal economy.
From the direction of the sealed entrance, a muffled BOOM echoed, followed by the distinct sound of stone cracking. Dust sifted from the ceiling. A human voice, faint but clear, chanted a short, sharp phrase. The Alpha ape answered with a roar that vibrated through the rock. They were breaking through. Time was a burning fuse.
The tunnel beyond the ramp was a labyrinth of light. Some lines pulsed with a hungry intensity, while others lay dormant. He used the ring's subtle warmth and the new spiral technique as his guides, priming only the nodes that seemed to resonate with his own breath, offering the barest thread of Qi to open the way. Each time, the backlash was manageable if handled instantly. Devour small. Refine clean. Live. Spend only what returns. The credo was his lifeline.
A minor benefit emerged: each time the starlight energy flushed through him and was properly bled away, it seemed to scour his meridians of the residual grit from the valley's chaotic Qi. His breathing grew slightly steadier, his focus a fraction sharper. It was not a power increase, but a purification. A tuning. The star-metal shard in his pocket hummed faintly when he passed a particular glyph, and he used it to bypass one node entirely, holding it near the lines until a section of wall silently slid aside.
The path ended at a circular chamber. The floor was inset with a vast, seven-pointed star of solid light. At its center stood a waist-high altar—a Star Vein Node—cracked and ancient. A thumb-sized socket sat in its middle, and from hairline fractures seeped a light so cold it hurt to look at.
As he stepped into the chamber, a grinding roar came from the tunnel behind him. The sealed entrance was failing. A sliver of crimson mist and the lower section of a massive, fur-covered arm shoved through the widening crack. He could hear harsh, eager breathing. Human footsteps scuffled close behind.
He was out of time. The ring burned against his finger, a simultaneous warning and dare. The Node was a key. It was also a trap.
He made his choice. Placing the star-metal shard on the edge of the socket, he fed a single, measured thread of his Qi directly into the fractured altar. Agony, clean and sharp, lanced up his arm. He dropped to his knees, spiral-bleeding violently, the cold light flaring around him. The Node stuttered, then glowed with sustained intensity.
The floor directly in front of the altar split open with a sound of shearing rock, revealing not a chasm, but a descending spiral staircase carved from solid starlight.
But as he moved toward it, the cold light from the Node surged upward, and the guardian glyphs on the chamber walls began to detach, swirling into sharp, predatory shapes.
The starlight learned how to hunt.