The stairway spiraled downward, cut directly into the stone as if clawed out rather than carved.
Lin Chen descended slowly.
Each step echoed too loudly, the sound swallowed and returned warped, as if the darkness itself were listening. The walls were marked with shallow grooves—handprints, scratches, symbols worn down by time.
Or desperation.
The cold grew heavier the deeper he went. It pressed against his skin, then beneath it, resonating with the dense energy inside his body.
"They were like me," Lin Chen murmured. "The ones who came here before."
"Some were," the voice replied."Most were not ready."
The stairs ended abruptly.
Lin Chen stepped into a vast underground chamber.
Pillars rose toward a ceiling lost in shadow. The floor was etched with overlapping formations—circles within circles, broken and incomplete. At the center lay a massive stone coffin, chained shut by thick black links covered in ancient seals.
The air around it pulsed.
Slow.
Steady.
Like breathing.
Lin Chen felt his heart sync unconsciously.
"This thing is alive," he said quietly.
"Not alive," the voice corrected."Preserved."
Lin Chen approached cautiously. With every step, pressure mounted, forcing the cold energy in his body to compress tighter, denser. Pain bloomed—but it was controlled, directional.
Purposeful.
He stopped three steps away from the coffin.
The chains rattled.
A sound echoed inside Lin Chen's head—not words, but intent.
Hunger.Endurance.Defiance.
His vision blurred.
For a moment, he was no longer in the chamber.
He saw men and women kneeling here, bodies twisted, meridians shattered by choice rather than punishment. He felt their resolve—and their failure.
One by one, they collapsed.
Not because they lacked will.
Because their bodies gave out.
Lin Chen staggered back, gasping.
"So this place…" he whispered.
"Was a proving ground," the voice said."And a grave."
The coffin cracked.
A thin fracture ran across its surface, light leaking through like frost spreading over glass.
Lin Chen felt it then—the pull.
Not temptation.
Recognition.
The thing inside did not call to his strength.
It called to his emptiness.
"If I open it," Lin Chen said slowly, "I won't be the same."
The voice was silent.
That was answer enough.
Lin Chen stepped forward and placed his hand on the coffin.
The chains burned cold against his skin.
Pain tore through him—deeper than anything before. His body screamed in protest, the dense energy surging wildly as if trying to escape.
Lin Chen did not pull away.
He leaned in.
"I didn't come here to stay whole," he said through clenched teeth.
The coffin shattered.
Darkness poured out—not like smoke, but like shadow given weight. It wrapped around Lin Chen, seeping into his flesh, his bones, his blood.
His scream echoed through the chamber.
Above, the ruins trembled.
And something ancientfinally opened its eyes.