They left before dawn.
Mist clung to the mountain paths like a living thing, curling around their ankles as if reluctant to let them go. The sect behind them was silent, its towering halls reduced to vague silhouettes swallowed by fog. No bells rang. No elders appeared to stop them.
It was as if the world itself had already decided they no longer belonged.
He leaned heavily on a rough wooden staff she had fashioned during the night, every step sending dull pain through his legs. His body was still weak, his breathing shallow, but it was no longer the suffocating helplessness of before. Movement, however painful, reminded him that he was alive.
She walked half a step ahead of him, alert, eyes constantly scanning the path.
"You don't have to keep checking," he said quietly. "No one's following."
"You don't know that," she replied. "And even if they aren't now, they will notice eventually."
"They won't care," he said. "To them, I'm already dead."
She stopped walking.
He nearly collided with her back and had to brace himself against the staff. She turned, studying him with an intensity that made him uncomfortable.
"You're not dead," she said firmly. "Don't talk like that."
He didn't argue. Not because she was right—but because he didn't yet know what being alive in this world truly meant.
They continued downward, leaving behind the broken stone paths and carefully carved stairways of the sect. The farther they went, the rougher the terrain became. Trees grew thicker. Roots broke through the soil like grasping fingers. Somewhere in the distance, a beast roared, low and territorial.
This was no longer protected land.
"This path leads to the outer regions," she said. "Beyond that, there are no rules. No elders. No trials."
"No protection," he added.
She nodded. "And no safety net."
He found himself smiling faintly.
"Sounds honest."
She glanced at him, surprised, then shook her head. "You're strange."
"I've been told worse."
They walked until the sun finally rose, pale light filtering through the canopy above. When they stopped to rest near a stream, he lowered himself carefully onto a flat stone, chest heaving.
She crouched nearby, unwrapping a small bundle of dried food. She handed him a piece without comment.
He accepted it, then paused. "Thank you."
"For the food?"
"For not leaving me behind."
Her fingers stilled. For a moment, she didn't look at him.
"I thought about it," she admitted. "Last night. I was afraid. Afraid I'd regret it. Afraid I'd die."
"And?"
She met his gaze. "I was more afraid of staying."
Something shifted in him at that. A quiet recognition. In his old life, he had stayed too long in places that hollowed him out—jobs, expectations, routines that promised stability and delivered emptiness.
Fear of change had cost him more than failure ever had.
After they ate, he closed his eyes and focused inward.
His mind felt clearer today, less fogged by pain. He followed the fragments of cultivation instinct still lingering in his borrowed memories, tracing the pathways where qi should flow.
They were there.
Damaged. Narrow. But not gone.
He frowned.
When he tried to draw in spiritual energy, nothing responded. But when he simply listened—when he stopped trying to force it—he felt something faint. Not qi as described in the memories. Something subtler. Like a pressure, distant and vast.
The same sensation he had felt when gazing at the Heavenly Veil.
His breath hitched.
He opened his eyes.
The sky above the trees was clear, but for an instant, he thought he saw a faint shimmer—so weak it might have been imagination.
"What is it?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said slowly. "But I think… my foundation isn't just broken."
She tilted her head. "That's not reassuring."
"It's… blocked. Like something's sealed it. Not destroyed."
That got her attention. "Are you sure?"
"No," he said honestly. "But it feels deliberate."
He didn't say the rest.
That it felt like the seal was watching him.
They resumed walking, and as the day wore on, his steps grew steadier. Pain remained, but it no longer dominated his thoughts. Each movement felt like an act of defiance.
By late afternoon, they reached a narrow valley flanked by jagged cliffs. The air here was colder, sharper. A small stone marker stood near the entrance, cracked and worn.
She stopped abruptly.
"This place…" she murmured. "I've heard of it."
"What kind of place?"
"A forgotten one."
They entered cautiously.
The valley was quiet—unnaturally so. No insects. No birds. Even the wind seemed hesitant. At its center stood a ruined structure half-buried in earth and vines. Once, it might have been a hall or shrine. Now it was little more than collapsed stone and broken pillars.
He felt it immediately.
A pull.
Not toward power—but toward understanding.
"This is dangerous," she said. "We should leave."
"Wait," he said. His voice was calm, but something inside him had locked into place. "Just for a moment."
Against her better judgment, she followed him inside.
The air within the ruins was heavy, tinged with an ancient stillness. Symbols were carved faintly into the walls—worn almost smooth by time. He didn't recognize them, yet they stirred something deep within him.
He approached the center of the chamber.
There, embedded in cracked stone, was a shallow handprint.
Human.
He hesitated, then placed his palm against it.
The world fell silent.
A pressure descended—not crushing, but absolute. Images flickered through his mind. A man standing beneath the same sky. A hand reaching upward. A voice, calm and weary.
Heaven is not crossed by force.
The pressure vanished.
He staggered back, gasping.
She caught him before he fell. "What happened?"
He stared at his hand, heart racing.
"For the first time," he said slowly, "something answered me."
The ruins remained silent. No light. No sudden surge of power.
But deep within his chest, something shifted—barely, but undeniably.
A path had opened.
Not upward.
Forward.
He looked at her, really looked, and for the first time since waking in this world, certainty replaced doubt.
"This is where I start," he said.
She studied his face, then sighed. "Then I guess this is where we stay alive."
Outside, unseen, the sky shimmered faintly.
And far above, beyond mortal sight, the Heavenly Veil stirred—ever so slightly.