Ruan's steps leaving the pile of corpses felt like pulling himself out of the stomach of a world that had swallowed him without mercy. The sound of dead bodies scraping against one another as he tried to stand still echoed in his memory. There were small cracks of bones breaking under the weight of other bodies, the soft tear of ripped cloth, and an even subtler sound—so faint yet piercing to the human heart.
The sound of death resigning.
The air of the valley was so thick that it was impossible to tell whether he was breathing air or a living fog. Every breath created a sensation of cold sliding from his mouth into his lungs, creeping into the gaps of his broken ribs. That pain reminded him he was still in the world of the living, even if this world did not greet him with the warm hands the outside world did.
The valley touched him with cold fingers that dragged and demanded life.
He walked with unsteady steps, letting his hand graze the rough stone wall standing like an ancient barrier. The wall's texture was hard and sharp, with small protrusions like the scales of a reptile that had long died and turned to stone. Ruan clung to the surface because his body could not remain standing without support. When he shifted his hand, small fragments of rock broke off and fell to the ground, the sound echoing as if the valley were warning him that he had just disturbed something that should not have been touched.
He lifted his face slowly, following a narrow path formed by two tall cliffs on either side. Massive roots hung from above, swaying gently like the bodies of old creatures bound by time. Each time a faint breeze brushed the roots, there came a whispering sound, like the murmurs of humans very far away.
Ruan paused to listen, but the sound quickly vanished—absorbed into the ever-moving mist.
His body began to tremble despite his effort to remain steady. He felt the dried blood stuck to his waist, making his robe feel heavier. He lowered his gaze and noticed the dark brown stains marking its edge. The faint metallic smell still lingered, though much of it had been swallowed by the overpowering stench of rotting flesh that dominated the valley.
He exhaled slowly and whispered to himself, a sound barely audible.
"I have to keep walking… otherwise… I'll never leave this place."
Ahead, the fog grew denser. Within that dense gray, he saw a small movement—something like a shadow passing through. Or perhaps just the shifting mist. But that tiny flicker made him stop and hold his breath. He felt his heart beating too fast for a body so weak—each beat pounding like it was trying to break free from his chest.
He leaned forward slightly to see more clearly, but saw nothing beyond the drifting gray fog.
No footsteps.
No breathing of a creature.
Only suffocating silence—silence that sounded like nature itself was waiting for something.
Ruan turned his face slightly and felt something stranger still. The air around his body changed.
No longer just cold—
but dense.
The air felt like a slow wave pressing against his body, making his chest feel tight.
The fog near his feet drifted backward, as though a breeze was pushing it from somewhere he could not see.
Something in this world was forming a pattern he could not understand.
His heartbeat quickened again, but this time something felt different.
It wasn't only fear.
There was another feeling—foreign and trembling.
As though the world was focusing something upon him, and his body sensed it far before his mind could comprehend it.
He blinked, and the hairs on his arms rose.
"What… is happening…"
When he took another step forward, something faint appeared in his vision. At first, he thought it was just fog moving.
But slowly, the shape became clearer.
A thin line—darker than the mist—like a shred of night caught in the air.
The line floated lazily from the nearest corpse.
That corpse lay on its side, its face toward the ground, with one arm stretched toward Ruan as if begging for help.
From its pale body, a thin thread of black smoke drifted upward, rising slowly, then bending—as if drawn by something.
Drawn toward Ruan.
His body froze.
His breath stopped, stabbing his chest.
"No… impossible…" he muttered.
The black thread came closer.
Slowly.
Gently.
But never stopping.
When it came within inches of him, Ruan could see tiny particles—black specks—moving within the thread.
They swirled like a current flowing in one direction.
And that current flowed into Ruan.
Ruan wanted to step back. His body instinctively tried to retreat, but the pain in his leg held him still. He couldn't move fast. Even lifting his heel made burning pain shoot through him like tiny flames under his skin. But the thread didn't care about his suffering. The current knew only one thing—and that was to approach Ruan.
When the black thread touched his chest—right above his broken left rib—he felt an unimaginably sharp cold, like ice slipping through his skin and piercing into his muscles.
He inhaled sharply and his body shuddered violently.
Ruan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to withstand the sensation, but it continued flowing.
The cold moved like a dark serpent slithering beneath his skin—across his chest, down his stomach, up his shoulders, and along his spine.
It stiffened his body, as though he had become a statue wrapped in a thin layer of mist.
"W-what… is this…" he whispered, voice cracking and trembling.
He opened his eyes again and saw another black thread emerging from a second corpse.
Then from a third.
Then from a fourth.
Slowly but ceaselessly, the gentle currents formed a visible flow from one point to another.
It was not chaotic.
Not wild.
But orderly, calm—like river water finding its path.
And all the currents were flowing into him.
Ruan felt his chest being pulled by a soft yet powerful force.
"Is all this energy… coming from them…"
But the thought stopped when a different sensation rippled through his body.
This time it wasn't cold.
Not warmth.
Not pain.
It felt like a faint beat—a slow rhythm emerging from behind his sternum.
He froze.
Something was beating inside him.
Not his heart.
His heart was racing.
But this beat was slow.
Deep.
He touched his chest with a trembling hand.
"There is… something… inside me…"
The black lines grew more numerous—stronger, clearer—like thin rivers of shadow in the air. The dead bodies became sources of energy that slowly flowed, offering their last remnants to one who was neither fully dead nor fully alive.
Ruan felt heat rise in his mind.
If this continued, would he become a creature of the valley?
Or had he already changed since the moment he fell from the cliff?
A whisper escaped him without awareness.
"Please… stop… don't come anymore…"
But the current did not listen.
Moments later, when all the flows converged into his chest, a faint voice emerged inside his mind.
It did not come from his ears.
It did not echo in the cave.
It did not originate from outside.
It came from somewhere deep—
from a dark depth he never knew existed inside him.
The voice was calm.
So deep, like that of an old man.
But it was not quite human.
Not a valley spirit.
Not his own.
Not yet finished…
Ruan staggered, and the world around him changed.
The fog before him curled slightly, as though welcoming something.
The dark currents paused.
The air tightened—
And Ruan's body absorbed everything.