---
The cave felt colder when I woke.
Not from the air. The air was still, tucked beneath roots and rock, heavy with damp. The cold came from the stone beneath me… a kind of stillness that had settled overnight, like something watching without eyes.
I sat up slowly. My back cracked. I stretched, but the discomfort faded quickly.
The mark on my palm didn't glow. It didn't ache. But I could feel it, resting beneath the surface like a second pulse. As if it was listening too.
I stepped outside.
Dawn hadn't fully touched the forest yet. The trees were grey and still. The ground was wet with dew, soaking softly into the moss beneath my feet.
I breathed in slow.
Then I noticed it.
The quiet wasn't empty.
It was waiting.
---
Something had passed through here.
I couldn't see footprints... not with the ground still wet and soft... but the forest felt different. Like someone had moved through it who didn't belong.
I lowered myself into a crouch and moved through the trees.
The Fallen Grounds were not wide, but their edges twisted and wound through roots and shallow cliffs. If someone came from the outer road, they'd likely enter near the shrine.
I moved without sound.
The voice didn't speak. The contract didn't stir. But I could feel a thread tugging behind my ribs… a quiet signal, like heat pulling toward heat.
I followed it.
And that's when I heard them.
---
Two voices. Male. One sharp, one tired.
I crouched behind a half-collapsed wall of stone, vines creeping along its edge. Through the cracked archway of the shrine, I saw them clearly.
Sect robes. Not the Heaven's Path. Another branch sect. Their trim was silver. Their belts carried short blades and satchels.
Scouts.
They didn't look dangerous, but they moved like men who had learned to be.
"Tracks end here," the taller one said, tapping the stone with his boot. "Bare feet. Light. Young."
The other grunted. "You really think it's him?"
The taller man nodded. "Village boy. No root. Disappeared last month. Didn't report. Elders flagged it."
The shorter one sighed. "I still don't get why we're out here looking for a failed spirit test. No cultivation, no status, no problem. Let him die."
"He's not dead," the taller one said. "He's somewhere in this ruin. And if he's alive… and breathing… then we make sure he's clean. If not…"
His fingers brushed his blade.
"…we burn whatever's left."
---
My fingers curled around the edge of the stone wall.
They hadn't come to help.
They hadn't come to ask questions.
They came because they were told to erase a mistake.
I stepped back silently, moving through the brush behind them. Their bodies shifted casually. They didn't expect resistance. They didn't expect anyone watching.
They thought they were alone.
They thought they were in control.
They thought I was weak.
---
I waited until they moved toward the broken training ground... where the roof had fallen and wild moss grew across shattered tiles. I stepped into the open, just past the shrine wall.
My footsteps were quiet… but not hidden.
The taller one noticed me first.
He turned.
His hand dropped to the hilt of his blade out of habit.
Then his eyes met mine.
And froze.
"You there," he said, stepping forward. "State your name."
I didn't speak.
He frowned. "You're trespassing. This land is under sect watch. If you're a rogue cultivator, you're required to submit for identification."
The shorter one joined him, blade already half-drawn.
"Wait," he said, narrowing his eyes. "That's the boy. The one from the scroll. Jin."
Recognition bloomed behind their eyes.
And then came the shift.
From formality… to authority.
From curiosity… to control.
---
"You were reported missing," the taller scout said. "You never returned from your test. You abandoned your village."
He took another step forward.
"We're here to escort you back for questioning."
I stood still.
I raised my hand.
Not high. Just enough for the morning light to catch the mark etched across my palm.
The glow was soft.
Violet.
Faint.
But enough.
The shorter one hissed.
"Demonic mark," he said. "That's not natural."
His blade was fully drawn now. He stepped forward.
I didn't move.
He charged.
His swing came from the right... diagonal, shoulder to hip, a classic outer sect form. Fast. Heavy.
Too wide.
Too proud.
I stepped into it.
My left hand slid under the blade's arc. My right hand pressed flat against his chest.
The mark pulsed.
Once.
He stopped mid-strike.
His eyes widened. His muscles locked.
He collapsed.
Not dead. Not broken. Just down.
His breath hitched in short, rapid gasps as he rolled onto his side, hands clawing at the ground like something inside him had been shaken loose.
I stepped back.
The taller one froze.
He looked at his companion, then back to me.
"You've made a pact," he said slowly. "That mark… it's not human."
I didn't answer.
"Do you even understand what you've accepted?" he asked. "Do you know what the sect will do if they find out?"
"I'm not going back," I said.
"You'll be hunted."
"I already was."
His eyes searched my face.
He reached slowly into his sleeve, pulling out a folded talisman.
Not to use.
To surrender.
"I was never here," he said. "You never saw me."
Then he backed away.
Step by step.
He vanished into the trees.
---
I stood over the fallen scout for a few more minutes.
He groaned, rolled onto his side, and blinked slowly. Confused. Disoriented.
He would live.
But he would remember.
I turned and walked away.
---
At the edge of the stream, I washed my hands.
The water was clear and cold. It ran smooth over my fingers, peeling away dirt and sweat and something deeper I couldn't name.
My reflection stared back at me.
Same boy.
Same hair. Same eyes. Same face.
But no longer empty.
The mark glowed once, then faded.
---
That night, I lay on the stone just outside the cave.
The stars were faint, buried behind thick clouds. The trees groaned as the wind moved through them. I stared at the sky anyway.
Waiting.
Listening.
The voice came slower than usual.
Not weaker… just quieter.
As if it, too, had been watching.
> "They will tell others."
"I know."
> "They will fear what you have become."
"They already do."
> "You did not kill them."
"I didn't need to."
> "Then you are learning."
I didn't reply.
Because I wasn't sure if I was proud… or just tired.
---
This path wasn't clean.
It wasn't written.
But it was mine.
They thought I would be a mistake to clean up.
They thought I would break.
They thought I was weak.
Let them keep thinking it.
It would make what came next… easier.
---