The hum from the pillar wasn't fading—it was growing louder. A deep, resonant vibration that passed through the stone and into their bones, like a second heartbeat syncing with their own.
Xiao Feng stood before the pulsing crystal, his hand hovering inches from its smooth surface. Ying Long remained on his shoulder, silent but watchful, his silver scales catching the faint light in mesmerizing patterns.
"Are you going to touch it?" Chen Hao asked, voice low and uncertain.
"I don't think I have a choice," Xiao Feng replied. His eyes didn't leave the pillar. "It feels like it's calling me."
"Or baiting you," Chen Hao muttered. "This place is ancient, cursed even. And now dragons are waking up? Spirits? Guardians? Feng, this is getting out of hand."
"I know." Xiao Feng exhaled. "But it was never in our hands to begin with."
And with that, his fingers brushed the surface.
The reaction was instant.
A bright pulse of light exploded from the pillar, not blinding but illuminating—like truth unveiled. The chamber changed. Walls that had seemed solid shimmered and faded, revealing a vast mural carved deep into the surrounding rock. The symbols danced in the light, coming alive: dragons in flight, warriors in golden armor, and a figure cloaked in both fire and shadow, standing at the center of it all.
Then came the voices.
Not one, but many—layered upon each other like echoes through time. Whispers in an ancient tongue that only Ying Long seemed to understand.
Xiao Feng's head spun.
Suddenly, he wasn't in the chamber anymore.
He stood in a memory—not his own, but older than any he could imagine.
The sky was black, torn with fire. Dragons filled the heavens, not small like Ying Long, but titanic—beasts of flame, ice, storm, and shadow. And below, men and women wielded strange weapons, fighting side by side with the creatures. Magic and steel met in a war that shook the earth.
And at the center stood a man. A warrior with eyes like Xiao Feng's own. His hand bore the same mark that now glowed on Xiao Feng's palm. But the man's expression… it was filled with sorrow. Resolve. And sacrifice.
"You will forget," a voice said beside him. Xiao Feng turned.
It was her.
A woman cloaked in silver, her skin aglow with the same energy as Ying Long. She was neither young nor old.
"The key must forget, or he will never survive the wait. The cycle must reset."
"Who are you?" Xiao Feng asked, his voice distant. "Why are you showing me this?"
"Because the seal is breaking. The slumber ends. And you, Xiao Feng, must choose who you will be this time. The guardian… or the destroyer."
The vision cracked like glass underfoot.
And then he was back.
He stumbled backward, gasping. Chen Hao caught him.
"Feng! Are you alright?"
"I… saw it," Xiao Feng whispered. "I saw the war. The dragons. The pillar—it's a memory bank. A prison. A warning."
Chen Hao's eyes narrowed. "What kind of war?"
"The last one." Xiao Feng wiped sweat from his brow. "The one that ended everything. The one that started this cycle."
Ying Long nudged his cheek gently, reminding him that he was not alone. His little dragon companion radiated warmth, a silent anchor.
"The mural," Chen Hao said, stepping closer. "It changed too."
They both turned to it. The carvings now depicted something new: Xiao Feng. Standing at the edge of a cliff, facing a beast made of shifting shadows and fire. But beside him stood Ying Long—now massive, wings spread, a crown of light above his head.
Chen Hao swallowed. "That's you. That's what's coming."
"Or what has already been," Xiao Feng muttered.
A soft click echoed through the chamber.
A small compartment at the base of the pillar slid open, revealing a scroll wrapped in black silk. Xiao Feng picked it up cautiously.
"What is it?" Chen Hao asked.
"A guide," Xiao Feng said.
Unraveling the scroll, he found writing in that same ancient language, but as his hands scanned the lines, they transformed—shifting into words he could understand.
"The key awakens the guardian,
The guardian awakens the gate.
Three trials, three seals,
One choice.
Light or ruin."
"Three trials," Xiao Feng said aloud. "This is just the beginning."
Chen Hao groaned. "Of course it is. So we're in some kind of ancient video game now? Great. Love that."
Ying Long snorted, a surprisingly human-like sound.
Suddenly, a rumble sounded from beneath the pillar. The ground cracked, stone shifting to reveal a new staircase descending deeper into the earth.
Xiao Feng looked down into it. The air was colder here. Older.
"Trial number one," he said grimly.
"Let me guess," Chen Hao said, drawing his sword. "We go in, almost die, learn something painful, barely make it out alive, and then repeat?"
Xiao Feng offered a dry smile. "Sounds about right."
The descent began again.
The steps spiraled downward like the coils of a dragon. As they moved deeper, Xiao Feng began to hear sounds—faint whispers. Like voices trapped in the walls. He tried to ignore them, but one voice made him stop.
"Xiao Feng."
He turned.
Nobody was there.
"Feng?" Chen Hao asked, noticing his hesitation.
"I… I heard my father's voice," Xiao Feng whispered.
They continued, and the whispers followed, becoming louder—clearer.
"Failure. Weakness. Abandonment."
The staircase ended in a circular room carved from black stone, its ceiling lost in shadows. In the center, a mirror stood—tall, silver-framed, its surface misty.
No writing. No door. Just the mirror.
"What now?" Chen Hao asked.
Xiao Feng approached it. Ying Long stirred, his wings twitching.
The mist on the mirror cleared—and Xiao Feng saw himself.
But not as he was.
This version of him was darker—dressed in black, eyes filled with rage. His dragon was monstrous, twisted, corrupted.
"This… is me?" he asked.
The reflection spoke.
"No. This is who you could be. If you let fear rule you. If you choose power over purpose."
Chen Hao looked uneasy. "It's like a test of character."
Xiao Feng stepped closer.
The mirror darkened—and suddenly, hands burst out of it, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him inside.
"FENG!" Chen Hao lunged forward, but the mirror shimmered again—and Xiao Feng was gone.
Inside the mirror, the world was grey. Lifeless.
Xiao Feng stood in a barren landscape, his reflection—his darker self—watching him.
"You deny what you are," the dark version said. "You hide behind dragons. But deep down… you want the power. You want control."
Xiao Feng clenched his fists. "I want to protect people. I want to stop the cycle."
"You think that makes you noble?" the reflection sneered. "You're scared. Weak."
"I'm not," Xiao Feng said.
"Prove it," the reflection challenged, and lunged.
What followed was not just a fight of strength but of will. Every blow felt like a strike against his own doubts, his guilt, his fears.
The dragon inside him stirred.
The mark on his palm flared, and Ying Long's voice whispered inside his mind:
"Accept yourself. All of it. Even the darkness."
And Xiao Feng did.
He stopped fighting.
He stepped forward—and embraced the reflection.
The shadow stilled.
Then shattered.
And the world around him dissolved.
Xiao Feng fell forward—back into the room. Chen Hao caught him again.
"Second time today," Chen Hao muttered. "You alright?"
Xiao Feng nodded, slowly. "I passed. I saw… what I could become. If I'm not careful."
The mirror cracked. Then disintegrated into dust.
A new path opened in the far wall—lit with blue light.
"Trial one… complete," Xiao Feng said. "Two more to go."
Ying Long settled again on his shoulder, purring softly.
But deep below, something stirred again. This time stronger. Restless.
The ancient force—whatever it was—felt his progress. It would not wait much longer.
And far, far away… in a forgotten temple, a second dragon opened its eyes.
Black-scaled. Serpentine. Its breath was fire and poison.
It remembered Xiao Feng.
And it was not pleased.