Ren left the river junction before noon.
By the time the sun reached its highest point, the path ahead of him was quiet again—too quiet. No caravans. No wandering cultivators. Even the birds seemed hesitant to sing.
That was never a good sign.
He adjusted his pack and kept walking.
The echo inside him was calm, but alert—like something resting with one eye open. It didn't pull his attention forward anymore. Instead, it listened sideways, tasting the traces left behind by people who had already passed.
Fear.Curiosity.Interest.
And something else.
Expectation.
Ren frowned slightly.
He hadn't done anything worth remembering.
That meant someone else had.
Further down the road, he spotted a small roadside rest—little more than a wooden shelter, a fire pit, and a hand-painted sign advertising boiled roots and weak tea.
Three cultivators sat there.
They fell silent the moment Ren approached.
Not hostile.
Just… aware.
Ren nodded politely and took a seat on the far bench. He kept his posture relaxed, eyes unfocused, breathing steady.
He didn't speak.
Neither did they.
Until one of them cleared his throat.
"…You hear what happened at the river junction?" the man asked, not looking directly at Ren.
Another snorted.
"Everyone heard. Red Hollow embarrassed themselves."
Ren's fingers paused for half a breath.
Embarrassed?
"That kid made Elder Han release pressure early," the third cultivator said quietly."Didn't kneel. Didn't fight. Just stood."
"That's impossible," the first replied.
"So was the forest screaming," the third answered.
Silence followed.
Ren sipped the weak tea someone had poured without asking.
It tasted like dirt.
"You think he was hiding his realm?" the first asked.
"Maybe," the second said."Or maybe he's one of those… anomaly types."
Ren felt the echo stir faintly at that word.
Anomaly.
"Either way," the third added, lowering his voice,"you don't provoke people like that unless you want your sect noticed for the wrong reasons."
Ren stood.
"Thank you for the tea," he said calmly.
They flinched—just slightly.
He left without waiting for a response.
By sunset, he heard the rumor again.
This time, it had grown.
"…young cultivator refused a sect invitation…""…stood under pressure like a mountain…""…echo-related, maybe…""…Ascending Ladder might already be watching…"
Ren stopped walking for a moment.
That last one bothered him.
He closed his eyes and breathed.
The echo did not deny it.
Nor did it confirm it.
It simply… remembered.
By nightfall, Ren camped alone beneath a twisted pine tree. He didn't light a fire. He didn't need to.
The stars overhead were sharp and distant.
He lay back, hands folded on his chest.
"So this is how it starts," he murmured.
The echo pulsed once.
Agreement—or inevitability.
Ren didn't know which.
He thought of Lyra.Of Borin.Of Draven pacing the village and worrying himself sick.
And he understood something quietly terrifying:
Even if he walked carefully…
The world would still walk toward him.
Somewhere far away, a message talisman burned.
A sect elder opened his eyes.
And smiled.