"Shadows are witnesses. But not all witnesses want the truth…"
— Unknown fragment, found in the ruins of Wengshan
---
Morning came as it always did.
The sky unfurled in pale blue, thin clouds drifting lazily, and the training grounds of the Sect filled once more with the clamor of young disciples.
The strange hole in the heavens from last night had already become the talk of the day — some spoke with awe, others with unease. Yet, like all people clinging to normalcy, they drowned their fear with laughter.
"If it's an omen of the world's end, let the Elders worry about it," one disciple joked, earning loud chuckles.
Laughter too sharp, too forced… like a thin paper covering a wound.
Yan Zhi passed them without slowing his pace.
He did not speak of the sky. He had seen it with his own eyes.
But since the moment he woke, something else had been pressing on his mind — the shadow beneath his feet.
---
The bamboo corridor leading to the outer gates was always shaded, but today the air felt heavier.
He watched himself move.
Step. Swing of the arm. Breath.
And the shadow… lagged behind.
Only a fraction of a second.
Just enough to make his heartbeat miss a beat.
He stopped.
The shadow stopped.
But when he turned his body, the shadow's head turned slower — as if reluctant to follow, like water resisting the pull of the hand.
A cold thread slid down his spine.
"Perhaps it's a side effect of the Vein of the Devourer," he told himself.
Perhaps.
---
He decided to leave the Sect. The air inside felt… compressed.
Outside the gates, the world looked unchanged — but it was not.
Birds flew low, circling aimlessly.
Bamboo leaves leaned to one side, bending away from the dark blemish in the heavens.
Even the soil beneath his boots felt heavier, as though something beneath was pulling at him.
In the nearby village, whispers drifted between the stalls.
"Livestock dying overnight…"
"The well water turning black…"
"A smell like burnt iron…"
He caught only fragments, but together they formed a pattern far too familiar — the first signs of something… hungry.
---
At the market, he saw a little girl.
No more than ten, clad in plain clothes, buying herbs from an old vendor.
She did not look his way. She had no reason to know him.
And yet… her shadow drew his gaze.
It, too, moved out of sync.
When the girl handed over a coin, her shadow hesitated, lagging behind the motion.
Just like his own.
As she left, a piece of worn cloth slipped from her basket.
Yan Zhi picked it up.
Etched on its surface was a circle of layered rings — a sigil he had once seen swirling within the heart of the Devourer's vortex.
His pulse slowed. Too slow.
---
He meant to return it.
But before he could take a step, he felt it.
The pull.
His shadow stretched, snaking toward the girl, as though eager to consume her.
The whisper came again, sharper now, curling into his ears:
"You are not the only one who hungers."
Yan Zhi clenched his jaw.
With effort, he tore the shadow back, severing the pull.
Cold sweat traced his temple.
He did not know who the girl was — but something between them should not exist.
---
By late afternoon, he returned to the Sect.
Yet when he looked up, the hole in the heavens was no longer as it had been last night.
It was larger. Darker. More… alive.
In its reflection within his eyes, it resembled a lidless eye, slowly opening.
Last night, it merely watched.
Today… it began to call.
---