The old house was dim when Lí Zhì and his grandfather returned.
Only a single lantern flickered on the wooden table, casting long shadows across the walls. The warmth in Lí Zhì's chest pulsed steadily now, like a separate heartbeat struggling to match his own.
Lí Shān closed the door behind them and slid the latch into place.
"Sit," he said gently.
Lí Zhì obeyed, lowering himself onto the small cushion by the table. His grandfather remained standing for a long while, staring at the lantern flame as if deciding where to begin.
Finally, he spoke.
"The world is breaking for the first time," Lí Shān said. "But this time, there may be no one left strong enough to mend it."
Lí Zhì swallowed. "This… forgetting. It's connected to me somehow. Isn't it?"
"Not the forgetting itself," Lí Shān replied. "But the force behind it. And the power waking inside you… is the only thing that can stand against it."
He knelt carefully, his joints cracking audibly as he lowered himself. Then he opened a small lacquered box from beneath the table. Inside lay a scroll, wrapped in faded, worn silk.
"This," he said, "contains our family's true history. One I hoped you would never need."
He placed it in Lí Zhì's hands.
The silk felt strangely warm.
"Open it," Lí Shān urged.
Lí Zhì unwrapped the scroll. Ink, faded with age, revealed a story he had never seen in any village tale.
A story of a vanquished god—
A sealed darkness straining its bonds—
And a lineage chosen to guard the dying light.
"Hundreds of years ago," Lí Shān explained, "the Shadow Eater clawed its way into the Mortal Realm. It devoured spirits, swallowed entire libraries of memory, and nearly erased mountains from existence. The world survived only because the Dawn God sacrificed its final breath to bind the creature."
Lí Zhì's pulse quickened.
"And that god… gave its remaining essence to one family," Lí Shān continued. "To us."
Lí Zhì looked up sharply. "But I'm just… me. I'm not an immortal. I'm not a warrior."
"You are more than you realize," his grandfather said softly. "And the warmth you feel inside—that is the last ember of the Dawn God. A power that can rebuild what is lost. Or destroy what remains."
The words echoed in the small room.
Lí Zhì's throat tightened. "What if I can't control it? What if I make everything worse?"
"You won't," Lí Shān promised, reaching out and placing a steady hand over his. "Because you will not face it alone."
Before Lí Zhì could reply, a low rumble trembled through the floorboards.
Both of them froze.
The lantern flame flickered wildly.
A sound—soft, but unmistakable—whispered from outside the window.
Almost like someone breathing.
Lí Shān stood abruptly. "It's too early for this. The shadows should not be moving this far from the river."
He opened a drawer and pulled out a small wooden charm—engraved with spiraling symbols. It shimmered faintly as he handed it to Lí Zhì.
"Keep this with you. It will shield your memories from minor corruption."
"Grandfather—what's outside?"
Lí Shān's expression hardened into something Lí Zhì had never seen before.
"Not the Shadow Eater itself," he said. "But a caller. A fragment. Sent to find you."
The warmth in Lí Zhì's chest flared, sharp and alarming. It felt like a desperate shield slamming into place.
Something scraped gently against the outer wall—once, twice—like claws deciding where to enter.
Lí Zhì stood, his heart pounding. "What do we do?"
"Stay behind me," Lí Shān said. "And whatever happens, do not let fear guide your power. Fear will make it lash out."
The scraping stopped.
Silence thickened.
Then—
A whisper, cold and hungry, seeped into the room:
I smell the light.
Lí Zhì's breath caught. The sound felt like it had been spoken inside his own skull.
The charm in his hand glowed fiercely.
Lí Shān lifted his cane, its tip shining with a faint, golden light. "Zhì'er," he warned, "this is only the beginning."
Outside, something dark pressed against the door.
And the Veil trembled.