The sky above the chasm was gray, as if ash from countless burnings veiled the light. The wind carried the smell of iron and wet earth, biting deep into the bones. Yan Zhi stood at the edge, his gaze fixed on the darkness yawning below.
The shadows beneath pulsed slowly, like a beating heart, waiting for its prey.
"This place…" Yan Zhi muttered, his voice almost swallowed by the wind. "It was made to devour those who hesitate."
In silence, he remembered the whispers that once haunted his mind. The voice had not vanished—it was merely waiting, ready to seep back into him.
But this time was different. He felt a strange calmness, as if the shadows themselves were testing his resolve.
Step by step, he descended the cliff. Stones crumbled beneath his feet, falling into the abyss without a sound. The darkness below grew clearer, shifting shapes—sometimes a face, sometimes a reaching hand.
Yet Yan Zhi did not stop.
With each step, his inner voice grew sharper: "If I fear my own shadow, how could I ever defy the world?"
At the bottom, the darkness parted like mist revealing an empty space—silent, cold, trembling with unseen force.
In the center stood a vague figure, its face like a blurred mirror. It stared at Yan Zhi with hollow eyes.
"At last, you came," the voice echoed, though no lips moved. "I have been waiting."
Yan Zhi gripped his shadow blade tightly. "Who are you?"
The figure's thin smile spread. "I am the shadow you rejected. The part of you that never dies."
A weight pressed upon Yan Zhi's chest, but his eyes did not waver. He knew this encounter was his true trial.
The shadow stepped closer. "Will you accept me… or destroy me?"
Yan Zhi's gaze was steady, his tone cold yet firm. "I will not kneel. But I will not run from you anymore."
The space shook violently. The shadows screamed, as if celebrating the choice that would bind his fate forever.
In that abyss, Yan Zhi raised his blade—not to cut the shadow, but to kindle his own light.
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