The forest was quiet as they moved deeper under the tall trees. Only the crunch of boots and the steady hum of insects filled the night air. The moon shone faintly between the branches, laying silver light across the ground.
Lin Ziao kept his spear in hand, though he carried it loosely. Every step felt heavier than the last. He didn't know if it was the forest pressing down on him or the memory of the red glow from the orb.
Peng Cheng walked ahead, sharp-eyed, his body tense like a drawn bow. Beside him, Elder Shan moved slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. His faintly glowing eyes looked into the dark spaces between the trees, as if he could see things no one else could.
No one spoke for a long time. The silence itself began to feel thick, as though the forest was listening. At last, Elder Shan broke it.
"This forest was once different," he said, his voice quiet yet clear. "Long ago, there was peace here. Men and beasts lived in a pact. Hunters took what they needed, and beasts struck only when they must. There was respect on both sides. A balance."
Lin Ziao glanced at him. The old man's voice carried weight, like someone speaking from memory, not stories.
"But the pact was broken," Elder Shan went on. He laid one wrinkled hand against the bark of a great oak tree, pausing as if the tree itself could feel his touch. "Since then, the forest has not known peace. It remembers what was lost. It waits for something—or someone—to set things right."
His glowing eyes shifted to Lin Ziao. They lingered on him with a strange intensity.
"The orb glowed red because the forest reached for you. It wants to show you something."
Lin Ziao's breath caught. His fingers tightened around the shaft of his spear.
"What does that even mean?" he muttered.
But before Elder Shan could answer, the world around Lin Ziao tilted. A heavy dizziness rushed over him. His vision blurred, the trees bending and twisting like shadows in water. He staggered, trying to steady himself with his spear.
"Lin Ziao!" Peng Cheng's sharp voice cut through the haze.
His knees gave way. He fell hard against the moss, his body heavy as stone. The night around him slipped into black.
Then he was somewhere else.
Heat scorched his skin. The sky above burned red with flames and smoke. Shouts and cries echoed across a battlefield. Warriors clashed with beasts, steel striking against claw and fang. The ground trembled with each step, each roar, each fall.
Lin Ziao turned, but his body would not move. He could only watch.
A group of men charged forward, their spears raised. They struck a wolf-like beast twice their size, stabbing with desperate strength. The beast howled, knocking them back with a swipe of its massive paw. Two men fell and did not rise again.
Another roar shook the ground—louder, deeper. Lin Ziao's heart leapt into his throat as a tiger emerged from the smoke. It was huge, larger than any beast he had ever seen. Its stripes glowed like molten fire, its eyes blazing with fury.
The tiger leapt into the battle. Its roar split the air, rolling like thunder across the burning plain. Men scattered in fear, some striking with all their might, others falling beneath its claws.
Lin Ziao's chest tightened as he watched. The beast was not only powerful—it carried something else, something heavy, almost sorrowful.
Darkness closed around him once more.