Han Yu's breath caught. 'Enter the tomb?'
The elder's eyes gleamed faintly red under the eerie light of the beacon, reflecting the glow like pools of blood.
"Those who pass," the elder said slowly, drawing the words out, "shall receive the ancestor's favor. They may inherit his techniques, his skills, and the fortune he once left behind."
A dark smile touched his lips.
"And those found unworthy… will perish."
Han Yu's fingers tightened around the shaft of his halberd.
His body felt cold despite the burning light of the beacon nearby. He remembered the tomb. He remembered the illusion of that grotesque palace of the bleeding moon and the endless wailing that had bled into the air around it.
Even standing far away, his soul had quivered. To step into that place willingly was madness.
