The forest thinned as Kael moved east.
Not suddenly—not in a clean, obvious break—but gradually, as if the trees themselves were deciding how much of him they were willing to tolerate. The ancient trunks grew slimmer, the undergrowth less tangled. Sunlight filtered through more easily, touching the ground in pale, hesitant streaks.
Civilization was near.
Kael slowed.
He could feel it now—not through sight or sound, but through absence. The forest's constant, watchful presence receded. The air felt emptier. Less alive.
Danger changed shape near people.
He emerged onto a low ridge overlooking the village.
His village.
From here, it looked almost peaceful. Smoke rose from chimneys in thin, lazy threads. Tiny figures moved between huts, going about their small routines—fetching water, mending tools, arguing over nothing that mattered.
It could have been any village.
That was the problem.
Kael crouched among the brush, eyes scanning carefully.
He was not here for nostalgia.
He was here for confirmation.
The Eclipse Core pulsed faintly, responding to familiar terrain, familiar intent. It did not warn him away.
So he watched.
It didn't take long.
Two riders approached from the southern path just before noon.
They rode lean horses and wore simple gray robes marked with a black sigil at the chest—an angular symbol Kael didn't recognize, but instinctively distrusted.
Cultivators.
Low-level, perhaps. Outer disciples or enforcers.
But that was enough.
Villagers gathered quickly, nervous excitement rippling through them. Rusk rushed forward, bowing so deeply his spine seemed ready to snap.
Kael's gaze sharpened.
So Garron talked.
Or someone else had.
It didn't matter.
The riders dismounted.
One of them—a thin man with sharp eyes—surveyed the village with faint disgust. "We received reports of disturbances. Beast attacks. Unusual deaths."
Rusk nodded frantically. "Yes! Yes, honored sir. A cursed boy—he brought misfortune with him—"
Kael's lips thinned.
The cultivator raised a hand. "Describe him."
Rusk gestured wildly. "Thin. Dark hair. Cold eyes. Always wandering into the forest—"
Kael exhaled slowly.
Confirmation achieved.
The Eclipse Core pulsed again, heavier this time.
Not warning.
Timing.
He rose and slipped away without another glance.
There was nothing left here.
By dusk, Kael was miles away.
The land flattened into rough plains dotted with shrubs and broken stone. The forest was now a dark line at his back, silent and distant.
Wind swept across the open ground, tugging at his cloak.
Kael welcomed it.
Open terrain meant visibility.
It also meant exposure.
He chose a shallow depression between rocks and made camp quickly—efficiently. Fire low. Smoke controlled. Food rationed carefully.
As he ate, his mind worked.
The village was finished.
Not immediately. Not dramatically.
But finished all the same.
Cultivators did not investigate without reason. They would linger. Question. Probe.
And eventually, they would decide the cost-benefit ratio.
A poor village that attracted trouble was a liability.
If the beasts returned—
If more deaths occurred—
The solution would be simple.
Erase the problem.
Kael felt no guilt.
Not because he was cruel.
But because he understood the mechanism.
Blame flowed downhill.
Always.
He stared into the fire.
This is the first consequence, he thought. Not of killing—but of existing with power.
In his previous life, he had been invisible.
Here, invisibility was a luxury he no longer possessed.
That night, Kael cultivated carefully.
Not to grow.
To stabilize.
He guided Qi gently, compressing it into the ember without expanding channels further. The Eclipse Core assisted, its black-and-white presence reinforcing boundaries, preventing reckless overflow.
The process was slow.
Painful.
Necessary.
By the time he stopped, sweat soaked his clothes and his body trembled with fatigue—but his internal state felt… aligned.
Qi Condensation Stage One—solidified.
No longer a flickering accident.
A foundation.
Kael lay back and stared at the stars.
They were different here.
Sharper.
More numerous.
As if the sky itself had depth.
He wondered, briefly, how many people had looked up at those same stars and believed themselves important.
Then he slept.
He dreamed of walking away.
Not from the village.
From himself.
In the dream, he walked endlessly across empty plains, shedding pieces of himself with each step—memories, faces, names. They fell away like old skin, crumbling into dust behind him.
He felt lighter.
Freer.
But also… alone.
He woke with the dream clinging stubbornly to his thoughts.
Kael sat up slowly, rubbing his face.
"That's the cost too, isn't it?" he murmured.
Isolation.
Power did not gather people.
It repelled them.
He packed his camp and continued east.
By midday, he reached a crossroads.
Two dirt paths intersected here—one leading north toward hills and darker terrain, the other south toward what Kael suspected was a trade route.
He paused.
The Eclipse Core remained neutral.
This choice mattered.
North meant solitude. Danger. Likely ancient things.
South meant people. Cities. Sects. Systems.
Opportunity.
And surveillance.
Kael weighed the options carefully.
Running forever was pointless.
Hiding indefinitely was impossible.
Eventually, he would need structure—even if only to dismantle it later.
Kael turned south.
The road was busier than he expected.
By evening, he had already encountered three caravans and a group of armed escorts. No one bothered him—his appearance marked him as poor, but not immediately profitable prey.
Still, he kept his head down.
A small town came into view near sunset.
Stone walls. Wooden gates. Lanterns flickering to life.
Kael stopped at a distance.
Cities were dangerous.
Not because of strength—but because of rules.
He observed for a long time before approaching.
Guards checked entrants. Coin changed hands. Names were asked—but not verified carefully.
Manageable, he decided.
He joined the line.
When his turn came, a bored guard glanced at him. "Name?"
Kael didn't hesitate. "Kael."
"Origin?"
"Nowhere."
The guard snorted. "That's everyone."
He waved Kael through.
Just like that, Kael stepped into his first city.
The noise hit him immediately.
Voices. Laughter. Shouting. Bargaining. Pain. Joy.
The density of life was overwhelming.
Kael walked slowly, absorbing it all.
Stalls lined the streets, selling everything from dried meat to crude talismans. Cultivators walked openly here—some arrogant, some cautious, some barely distinguishable from mortals.
Power hierarchies layered over one another like sediment.
Kael felt small.
And alert.
He found a cheap inn near the edge of the city and paid for a corner room with one of the bandits' coins.
The innkeeper barely looked at him.
Perfect.
That night, Kael locked the door, sat on the narrow bed, and closed his eyes.
He turned inward.
The Eclipse Core rotated steadily, its presence now unmistakable—calm, vast, patient.
"I've left it behind," Kael whispered internally. "The village. That life."
The Core did not respond.
But something inside him shifted anyway.
Kael understood.
Leaving was not an event.
It was a process.
Each step forward required shedding something old—attachments, illusions, weakness.
The village was only the first thing he had outgrown.
He opened his eyes.
Through the small window, the city lights flickered like distant stars.
Kael lay back and stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, he would begin again.
New enemies.
New rules.
New opportunities.
But one thing would remain unchanged.
He would never go back.
Not to that village.
Not to that life.
Not to weakness.
As sleep claimed him, Kael allowed himself one final, quiet thought—unspoken, but firm as iron.
The world is not kind.
So I will not ask it to be.