The journey from Elder Ming's office to the sect's dungeons was a grim, silent procession. For Chen, it was a funeral march for his own life. Locked alone in the back of the reinforced ironwood cart, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the stone path was a countdown to a decade of rotting in the dark.
His blustering and his threats had long since died in his throat. They were the hollow words of a boy who had built his entire world on a name that was no longer his to command.
Humiliation burned in his gut, hot and acidic. He thought of that anomaly, Alex. A worthless, outer disciple trash who had, in a few short months, undone a lifetime of his privilege. It was supposed to be easy. Alex was a mortal; he was nothing. He had beaten him down on the assessment platform, a public and brutal display of superiority. And yet, the very next day, Alex was walking around without a scratch, as if nothing had happened.
He had tried to isolate him, to show Elara the foolishness of associating with weaklings. But she had chosen Alex. She decided to pick that useless stepping stone, Jay, and that sharp-tongued shrew Lily over him. The thought was a poison, seeping into his soul.
Then came the alchemy trial. His plan had been perfect. The judges were bribed, the rules were bent, and the stage was set for Alex's ultimate public humiliation. He had him trapped. And then... it all came crumbling down. Alex hadn't just succeeded; he had performed a miracle, turning Chen's perfect scheme into a showcase for his impossible talent. And the fallout... it had all landed on Chen. He was the one being hauled away like a common criminal.
Every path he had taken, every advantage his status had given him, had been thwarted. Every time he had tried to put Alex in his place, he had failed, and the failure had only made Alex stronger, more respected. Now, the final pillar, his grandfather's name, had been shattered against Elder Ming's quiet, unshakable righteousness. He had nothing left. He had been outplayed, outmaneuvered, and utterly defeated by a nobody. Chen, the prodigy, was a joke.
It was in that moment of absolute despair that a voice spoke. It did not come from outside the cart. It slithered into his mind, cold and intimate, a serpent of sound that coiled around his thoughts.
Weak.
Chen's head snapped up, his eyes darting around the empty, dark space.
Pathetic.
The voice was not just a sound; it coiled around his very soul. It resonated with the bitterest parts of his own self-loathing, amplifying it, giving it form.
Worthless.
"Who's there?" Chen whispered, his voice a ragged croak.
The voice chuckled, a dry, rasping sound that echoed in the hollow spaces of his own skull.
I am the one who sees the truth. The sects preach about virtue and patience. They are lies to keep the strong in check. They left you to rot. Your friends, family, and even your grandfather… they have abandoned you.
Every word was a perfectly aimed dagger, twisting in the rawest wounds of his pride. Tears of shame and fury welled in his eyes.
But I see your ambition. That fire. They call it a flaw. I call it potential. Tell me, little one… do you seek power? Not the borrowed power of a name, but true power. The power to control your fate. The power to make them all kneel.
Chen was trembling violently now. It was the voice of a demon, a heretic. He should have been horrified. He should have resisted. But the offer... it was a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. It was everything he had ever wanted, offered to him at the moment he had nothing left to lose.
He had always known the sect's talk of virtue and righteousness was a lie. He had seen it as a game, and he thought his wealth and status were the keys to winning it. But he had been wrong. His money had been useless. His grandfather's name had been useless. He had been beaten at his own game by a nobody.
The problem wasn't the path. The problem was that he wasn't strong enough.
The righteous sect rules were a cage, and his mistake wasn't in believing in them, but in believing he was already powerful enough to be above them. What was the point of wealth and influence if they couldn't break the cage? He didn't need to play by their rules. He needed the power to shatter them.
"Yes," Chen breathed, the word a desperate, broken prayer. "I want it."
Good.
The floor of the cart beneath him seemed to dissolve. A black, viscous sludge, the same foul substance that had swallowed Lyra whole, began to bubble up from the solid ironwood. It was cold, and it smelled of damp earth and ancient rot. It swirled around his ankles, then his knees, not pulling him down, but rising to meet him. He didn't scream. He didn't struggle. He watched as the darkness reached up to claim him.
The sludge enveloped him, and the world vanished.
Chen awoke with a gasp, his lungs burning. He was lying on a cold, damp stone floor in a place that felt ancient and wrong. The only light was a sickly green, flickering from phosphorescent moss that clung to the cave walls, casting long, dancing shadows. The air was frigid and smelled of stale water and something else... something sickeningly sweet and corrupt.
He pushed himself up, his head spinning. His fine outer disciple robes were gone, replaced by simple, rough-spun black cloth. He looked down at his hands. They were pale, and a faint, thin black line, like a vein of ink, was already visible just beneath the skin of his forearm.
"So, you're the new guy."
The voice was cheerful, almost bubbly. Chen looked up to see a figure emerge from the gloom. It was Lyra. She was no longer in the pristine robes of a Core Disciple candidate, but in the same simple black as him. The serene, detached expression she had worn at the tournament was gone, replaced by a wide, enthusiastic, and utterly unnerving smile.
She skipped over to him, her eyes gleaming with a manic energy in the green light.
"Welcome to the fold!" she chirped, extending a hand to help him up. "I'm Lyra. It's so nice to finally have another friend down here. You're going to love it. The Master is going to teach us so many wonderful things."
Chen stared at her outstretched hand, then at her bright, cheerful, and completely insane smile. He was in a dark, terrifyingly strange place. And it had greeted him with a smile.
Hesitantly, he took her hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong, and her skin felt unnaturally cold.
"Come on, don't be shy!" she chirped, pulling him to his feet. "The Master is waiting to meet you."
She led him deeper into the cave, her skipping steps a bizarre counterpoint to the oppressive, frigid silence. The sickly green light grew stronger, illuminating a vast central chamber. At its heart, upon a throne that seemed carved from solidified shadow, sat a figure. Its form was indistinct, a ripple in the fabric of reality, but its presence was a physical weight, a cold, ancient power that seemed to leech the very will from Chen's bones.
Lyra immediately released his hand and prostrated herself on the stone floor. "Master, I have brought the new one."
Chen stood frozen, his throat tight with a fear he had never known.
A voice entered his mind, the same voice from the cart. It was calm, intimate, and ancient. "Approach, little one."
Chen's feet moved, though he didn't remember telling them to. He stopped a few paces from the throne, his gaze fixed on the shifting shadow. "Who... who are you?" he managed, the words barely a whisper.
The shadow seemed to chuckle, a soundless vibration that resonated deep in Chen's soul. "I am no one special. Merely a Shepherd, helping lost sheep find their way back to a grander purpose."
"Where is this place?" Chen asked, his voice trembling slightly. "Why did you bring me here?"
The Shepherd's mental voice lost its gentle, nurturing tone, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity that cut through Chen's confusion like a shard of ice.
"Why? Did you not just cry out begging for power? Did you not offer up your very soul in exchange for a chance to make them all kneel?" The voice paused, letting the weight of Chen's desperate wish settle upon him. "I did not bring you here, child. I simply answered your call."
The realization hit Chen with the force of a physical blow. This wasn't a kidnapping. It was a transaction. A deal he had made in the depths of his despair.
The Shepherd's form seemed to shift, its focus turning away from him as if he were a minor distraction. "I have much to prepare. The season turns, and the flock must be gathered before the harvest." The mental voice then turned its attention to the still-prostrated Lyra. "Lyra. Take our new lamb and show him his duties. See that he is… useful."
With a final, dismissive pulse of ancient power, the presence on the throne seemed to recede, leaving behind only a profound and chilling cold.
Lyra rose to her feet, her unnerving smile returning instantly. "You heard him!" she said, her voice filled with a giddy, zealous energy. "Come on, Chen. We have so much work to do. So many wonderful things to prepare for the harvest! I also have to introduce you to the others."
Chen wanted to know what she meant by 'others', but decided to just wait.
She grabbed his arm, her cold fingers digging into his flesh. Chen didn't resist. He was no longer a disciple. He was no longer even a person with his ambition. He was a lamb. He was a tool. And in the terrifying, hollow space where his pride used to be, a small part of him was relieved, thinking he would seize this opportunity for more power.