The darkness was thick here—thicker than anything Yun Jian had known. It clung to the air, not like a veil, but like tar, dragging each breath through grief.
He and Mei Lin stood on the edge of a forgotten valley that spread before them like a wound on the world. There were no birds, no beasts, no signs of life—only the slow, rhythmic thrum of sorrow.
"Here," Mei Lin whispered, "begins the trial of the Fourth Key."
Yun Jian stepped forward cautiously. The valley dipped steeply into a canyon so deep, no light touched its bottom. At the lowest point flowed the River of Forgotten Souls, a place older than the kingdoms, older than the Shadow Arts themselves. It wasn't a river in the usual sense—not of water or earth—but of memory and agony. The dead flowed here, their regrets and longings condensed into a spectral current that shimmered with a sickly, silver-blue hue.
Yun Jian could feel its pull already. The river didn't just flow across the land; it flowed through time, through people—and now, through him.
"We must go to the Bridge of Ashes," Mei Lin said, her eyes distant. "It crosses the river. But to reach the Fourth Key, you must cross it alone."
He nodded. "I'm ready."
"No," she said, meeting his gaze. "You aren't. No one ever is."
The Bridge of Ashes lived up to its name. Once, it might have been a grand arc of white stone, but now it was cracked, partially collapsed, and covered in dust that shimmered like the residue of burned souls. Every step Yun Jian took upon it made the stone groan, as if the bridge resented the weight of the living.
At the midpoint, the world shifted.
He no longer heard the wind.
He no longer felt Mei Lin's presence behind him.
He was alone.
Then, the river rose.
From the depths, figures emerged—wisps of soulstuff and sorrow.
His father stepped forth, just as Yun Jian remembered him: tired eyes, calloused hands, a quiet strength that never wavered. He didn't speak. He just stared.
Behind him came his sister, laughing, holding the doll he carved for her the night before the beasts attacked.
And then… Li Fang.
His childhood friend. The one who died saving Yun Jian during the raid on their village.
Each one bore hollow eyes and tears that didn't fall.
"You left us," Li Fang said softly. "You became a Sovereign… but we died forgotten."
"No," Yun Jian whispered. "I remember you every day."
"Memory is not justice," his father said. "What right do you have to power, when you couldn't protect those who mattered most?"
The river below roared, as if cheering the accusations.
Yun Jian fell to his knees. "I was weak… But I swore I would never waste the life you gave me."
His sister stepped forward and placed a spectral hand on his cheek. "Then show us."
The figures vanished—like dandelions scattered by the wind.
In their place, the Watcher of the Fourth Gate stood. Not a warrior, not a beast—but a cloaked wraith of shadow and bone, eyes like dying stars.
"You have faced your regret," it intoned. "But will you face your truth?"
Yun Jian stood, steeling himself. "What truth?"
"That you are not becoming a god," the Watcher said. "You are becoming a vessel."
Before Yun Jian could react, the Watcher raised its skeletal arm. The river rose again, this time in the form of a blade—a black sword with a silver edge, whispering in a thousand voices.
It launched at Yun Jian.
The fight was unlike anything before. The blade struck not at his body, but at his soul. Every parry sent shocks through his memories. Every dodge scraped at moments he'd hidden. His failures. His fury. His ambition.
"You wish to protect the world," the Watcher hissed, "but you burn it to feel alive."
Yun Jian roared. "I seek justice!"
The Watcher countered, "You seek control."
The blade of shadows met his own. Sparks of memory and will burst into the air.
Then, in a moment of absolute clarity, Yun Jian stepped back and dropped his guard.
The blade pierced his chest—not flesh, but soul.
Pain lanced through every corner of his being. His eyes rolled back. And in the depth of that agony, he saw:
The boy he was.
The man he had become.
And the monster he might yet be.
From within that abyss, a hand reached toward him.
His own.
He grasped it.
Light burst from his core, shattering the illusion. The Watcher shrieked and vanished like smoke.
In its place floated a new weapon—a curved blade made of river glass and shadow, humming with quiet sadness.
The Fourth Key.
As Yun Jian took it, his mind expanded.
He saw through time.
He saw lives—lovers mourning, warriors falling, children laughing.
He saw every soul that had touched his path.
And he understood.
He returned to Mei Lin, the blade across his back.
She bowed her head slightly. "You carry it well."
"It carries me too," he said quietly.
"What did it show you?"
"That justice and vengeance… are not the same."
Mei Lin nodded. "You're ready for the next trial."
Yun Jian looked at the horizon. "Where?"
"The Sky Furnace," she whispered. "A realm of gods. There, you must forge your legacy—or be consumed by it."