When that voice appeared in his mind—a voice so soft yet carrying echoes of thousands of years—the entire air around Ruan changed. The mist that had previously drifted lazily now seemed to writhe, as though something had awakened from a long slumber. The world around him grew heavier, not upon his body but upon a feeling he could not describe, as if the valley suddenly realized the presence of a being that should not be alive within it.
Ruan lifted his face slowly. His eyes were half-open, his breath ragged, and cold sweat slid from his temple even though the valley's air was freezing. He tried to speak, but the sound barely escaped.
"What… who… was that…"
The question received no answer. Yet the echo of the earlier voice still lingered in his chest, like a faint heartbeat merging with the strange vibration he felt inside his body. That beat did not follow the rhythm of his heart. It even felt as if it stood alone, lived alone, and possessed its own will.
He held his chest with trembling hands, hoping to feel something beneath the skin. But there was no protrusion, no odd shape—only a faint warmth mixed with a cold that swirled slowly. The sensation made his body tremble not only out of fear, but because a part of him recognized something impossible to deny.
He turned slowly toward the corpse closest to him. That corpse looked more fragile than before, as though the dark motes that had risen from it had robbed it of its final strength. The corpse's forehead had sunken slightly; its empty eyes seemed more hollow. Ruan wiped his own brow to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.
But nothing changed.
That corpse truly had lost something.
"I took… something… from them…" he whispered weakly, his body swaying.
But before he could fully understand what he had absorbed, another sound echoed deep in the valley. A heavy dragging across the ground, followed by a low growl that made the stone beneath Ruan vibrate subtly. The creature sounded clearer than before, as if it were much closer, circling the place where he stood.
Ruan froze. His whole body tensed. He knew the creature had likely sensed a shift within the valley's energy.
And that shift came from him.
"Don't come closer… please…" he whispered, though he knew a human voice meant nothing to a valley beast.
Heavy footsteps sounded again, this time louder and closer. The noise echoed through the stone passageway, reflecting like something with a body far larger than a human was moving. The ground trembled slightly. Then the mist on his right shifted, splitting as something moved toward him—slow, deliberate, and undeniable.
Ruan pressed himself against the cliff wall, fingers clawing at the stone so he wouldn't collapse in fear. His breath halted, his chest tightened, and the world around him dimmed. His eyes blinked rapidly as a dark shadow appeared through the fog.
The massive creature did not fully reveal itself. Only a vague silhouette hinted at a tall, hulking form with thick legs that dragged across the ground. Ruan saw the outline of its back, jagged like exposed bone protruding through flesh. The creature's breathing was deep and heavy, like the earth exhaling after centuries of holding its breath.
The creature stopped, as though aware that something nearby did not belong.
Ruan held his breath, forcing his lungs not to move.
But something far more terrifying than the creature threatened him.
The black threads that had been flowing from the corpses into Ruan had not fully stopped. The dark streams trembled, like a river responding to the presence of a larger predator. Ruan knew those threads were visible—not to human eyes, but to creatures born of this valley.
The creature sniffed the air, inhaling the mist with a harsh, ear-piercing rasp. Ruan felt an unseen gaze from within the fog, as if it was trying to detect the sudden surge of dark energy.
"Don't come here…" Ruan begged silently, though he knew hope was thin.
But as if hearing that desperate plea, the black currents suddenly vanished.
Every thread froze at once.
No movement, no flicker of darkness—
everything went still, as though the energy chose to hide.
The creature growled, a rough noise rising and falling in its throat. After several seconds—seconds that felt like centuries to Ruan—the creature moved away. Its steps grew faint, softer, until disappearing completely into the fog.
Ruan's breath returned. He nearly collapsed from relief as the threat faded. His knees trembled violently and he leaned fully on the stone wall. Cold sweat dripped from his chin. His breaths were long and heavy, as if his lungs demanded the air that had been withheld.
"What… what was all of that…" he whispered.
But his body was not done with him.
Because after the creature left, the black currents returned.
This time not wild, not overwhelming—
but gentle, like a thin stream refilling a small river.
Ruan felt the cold seep into him again. But now he was more aware of it. He felt it at his fingertips, moving to his wrists, crawling up his arms, rising to his shoulders, then down his spine. The sensation was like a soft hand brushing against his skin, erasing part of the pain swelling inside his body.
He looked around, observing the faint trembling light from the valley walls. Nothing had changed, yet for him the world was different. In an instant, the valley no longer looked like a place of death, but a place that had given him something he didn't understand.
Something he wanted to reject—yet couldn't.
Something he wanted to accept—yet feared.
The valley's silence felt far deeper now.
A silence not empty, but filled with voiceless whispers.
The air carried a stronger scent than before. The smell of wet earth, crushed blood, and wild flowers growing behind the hidden stones.
When he looked at the bodies scattered around, he saw them differently. He had once seen them simply as corpses—lifeless remnants with no place in the world. But now he saw that each body still held a sliver of energy, the final fragment of the life they once had.
And somehow, those fragments chose him.
"This… is a curse…" Ruan whispered with his eyes closed.
But then the faint vibration in his chest—the mysterious beat—made his whisper shift softly:
"Or maybe… this is the only reason I'm still alive…"
When he opened his eyes, his gaze fell on his palm.
He slowly lifted his hand and saw the faint pulse along his veins.
And beneath the skin, he saw something faint.
Not light—
but a soft shadow moving with his blood, like the energy was trying to find the place where it belonged.
A cold aroma filled the air as the energy moved.
Ruan felt the presence of something older than the valley itself—something flowing in a world between life and death.
He didn't know if he would ever understand it.
He didn't know if his body would reject it or accept it.
But one thing he knew:
The energy wasn't here to kill him.
It was here to awaken him.
Ruan lowered his head slightly and whispered to himself, gripping the spot on his chest where the beat had emerged:
"Whatever happens… I can't stop here…"
He inhaled slowly, letting the valley's mist enter and leave his lungs. The air now felt different—not only cold, not only heavy—but as though it was watching, waiting for his next step.
With what strength he had left, he stood upright.
His knees still trembled—
but his body no longer collapsed.
Whether because of the dark energy or a returning will, Ruan could move without pain shutting down his body.
He observed the path formed by the fog—a path that seemed to call him to keep going.
There was no more sound from the creature.
No wild currents.
Only the beat within him and the silent world opening its way.
Ruan took his first step forward.
Then another.
Each step sent faint vibrations through his bones and skin, yet the dark energy moved like a companion steadying him.
On his third step, he paused and looked into the dark valley, whispering softly to himself—words born from a small flame inside him that refused to die:
"I… am still alive… and you… whoever you are… I will find the answer…"
And with that, Ruan moved forward, deeper into the valley.
Into the place where the voices of the dead world waited to speak to him—
and where the aura that had just been born within him would call something far darker, and far older, than any tale he had ever heard.