He hadn't felt the crossing.
A step.
A heartbeat.
And Qin had changed.
No blinding light, no tremor. Just a heavier silence. A denser air. A strange continuity, as if the Trial had already begun without warning him. As if it had absorbed him into a world… already in motion.
He had opened his eyes on a mountain path, carved into the cliffside, framed by jagged stone and empty sky. And around him — a convoy.
A group of men and women. Two massive carts pulled by beasts with arched legs and hook-shaped muzzles. Armed figures in light armor, of all sizes, all styles.
Lihuen hadn't spoken.
He had simply slipped to the end of the procession, naturally.
And no one had stopped him.
As if the world — or the system — had simply placed him there.
He didn't feel like he was playing a role. Just… following an invisible thread.
A direction traced somewhere, without a compass.
The creature in his arms still slept against his chest.
Its calm breath, its reassuring warmth — like an external heart, beating in sync with his.
Since they had met, the bond hadn't wavered.
At times, he almost forgot she was there — she felt so much a part of him. Not as an extension. As a response.
And that night, as they made camp beneath a rocky overhang, beside the path, in the shadow of a collapsed arch, he had looked down at her.
And a name had surfaced, unshakable.
— Sen, he whispered.
She opened one eye. Looked at him.
Then closed it gently.
And something inside him settled.
Around the fire, the others were eating. Scattered. Few laughs. Short words, traded between meat-chewers and strap-fixers.
But the glances — they had started to shift.
No open threat.
But that kind of tension that always comes before trouble.
Lihuen felt it. He didn't know if it was him they were watching… or Sen.
But he understood the reason.
The next day, the path narrowed. A canyon, wide and deep, forced them to walk single file. Steep walls, rough, streaked with dark moss. The air cooler, but saturated with a slow, almost viscous current.
Sen stayed awake more often now. She watched. Not anxious, but aware.
As if something was drawing closer.
The day passed without incident — until one of the mercenaries finally broke the silence.
It was after the midday pause. The convoy had just resumed its march. The man — broad, old scars on his face — picked up his pace to reach the front of the group, and spoke loud, blunt:
— We need to talk.
The conversations stopped dead.
He pointed at Sen, curled in Lihuen's arms, who kept walking without slowing.
— That thing. It's been with us from the start. And no one's asked if it's a good idea.
Another, younger, replied — a bit nervous:
— He hasn't caused any trouble so far.
— He's not the trouble. That is. Do you even know what that is?
Silence.
— That's a Kal'ra. A living relic. A beacon for everything that stalks this damned world. Rifts, wandering entities… even the giants. You think they'll just let it walk by?
The word giants had an immediate effect.
The group slowed a little. Heads turned.
— We're already delivering something we don't understand. And now we're parading this in front of them? Who knows how they'll take it. Maybe they'll see it as a message. Or a provocation.
Another muttered:
— And if they think it's a trap, they crush us. End of mission.
The murmurs grew louder.
Lihuen kept walking. Straight. Silent. He wasn't fleeing. But he wasn't answering, either.
Then a voice rose. Deep. Calm. Sharp.
— That's enough.
The group fell silent at once.
A mercenary stepped forward. Tall. Broad. Black-and-white tunic. A wide blade strapped to his back — sheathed.
He hadn't spoken until now. But people looked at him differently.
He wasn't a leader.
But he was listened to.
— He's been with us three days. No wounds. No rifts. No attacks.
He nodded toward Lihuen.
— He walks well. Doesn't talk, but he doesn't bother anyone. And his Kal'ra — yeah, that's what it is — maybe saved us from two traps already. You all saw it. Ears perked before the ground groaned. I like that.
He crossed his arms.
— You want to talk strategy, go ahead. But me? I'm keeping him in my line. If he veers, I put him down. But as long as he stays like this — I walk with him.
Lihuen felt something ease within the group.
A respect. A balanced weight.
But it wasn't over.
The scarred mercenary — the one who started it all — looked ahead to the front of the convoy. Toward an older man, wrapped in a travel cloak, shoulders covered in embroidered cloth. A leader of sorts.
The kind that speaks little, but whose silence means something.
The man said nothing at first.
Then, as the group resumed its march, he simply said:
— We'll see at dawn.
A whisper followed.
— What does that mean?
— We're stopping at the Black Stones tonight. There, we'll rest, set torches… and I'll make a decision.
His gaze drifted to Lihuen.
— If that Kal'ra brings us danger, we'll have to choose.
No one replied.
The sun didn't set — but the canyon walls cast longer shadows as they descended.
By late afternoon, they reached a wider stretch.
A flat space in the center of the canyon.
Tall black stones, smooth, man-height, planted in a circle.
An old resting place. A camp used before. Scars of fires, rings for tethering beasts.
The convoy settled there.
Voices stayed low.
Lihuen knew he was being watched.
So did Sen. She no longer slept.
He could have stayed.
Waited.
But something called him.
A shiver. A tension under the skin.
A pull behind the eyes.
So, while the others unloaded the carts and strung canvas between rocks, he stood.
And left.
Not far.
But far enough to step beyond the circle.
He walked downhill, along a path cut into a paler vein of stone.
Sen followed in silence.
They walked ten minutes. Maybe twenty.
Then the wind changed.
And he saw it.
An entrance. Low. Wedged into the canyon wall. Not a building — a mouth.
Framed by two crumbled statues, only the feet remaining.
An arch, shattered.
And on the ground… glyphs. Ancient. Not glowing, but deeply carved.
Lihuen stopped.
Sen stepped forward, placed a paw on the first stone slab.
A faint pulse spread through the air.
Not a trap.
Not a threat.
An invitation.
He stepped closer.
Stared into the darkness ahead.
The air was colder there.
Older.
And without turning back, without warning the others, he stepped inside.