Act I — Awakening: Dust That Remembers
Li Muye woke the way someone wakes from a fever—too quickly, ribs jerking, breath scraping the back of his throat.For a few seconds he didn't know who he was, only that the darkness around him was breathing slower than he did.
And then the smell hit him.
Old damp stone.Iron—like someone had cracked open an old lock.A faint trace of ink, the kind that stains your nails after a night copying manuscripts.
"Not a dream," he muttered. His voice startled him with how small it sounded.
He pushed himself up. His hands slipped on a layer of dust so fine it moved like powder snow.Some floated into his nose, and he sneezed—messy, human, unheroic.The sound echoed down the corridor longer than it should have.
The echo came back wrong.Tilted.As if the room had listened and was trying to repeat him, but couldn't get the tone right.
He squinted. The tomb around him wasn't dead stone; it had a faint, uneven pulse.Not magical.Not divine.More like… tectonic. Like the mountain was nervous.
A soft click answered his heartbeat.Then a second click, delayed by half a breath.
Something lit up beside his hand.
A sigil—faint, worm-sized—dragged itself awake on the floor. It wiggled once like a lizard warming in sunlight, then froze. The glow flickered, dimmed, returned as if embarrassed to be seen.
Li Muye stared at it."Don't do that," he said automatically.
The sigil pulsed.Once.Twice.Then—
[ System… boot? ] [ Host??? ] [ …Li Mu—ye. Match: 87%. Good enough. ]
The text didn't appear cleanly.It sputtered like a wet flame, the letters smearing at the edges before holding their shape.
Li Muye let out a shaky breath."Systems aren't supposed to stutter," he whispered. "Even ancient ones."
He reached out to steady himself against a pillar.The stone under his palm warmed slightly, which was impossible—he had touched weathered tomb pillars before; they never warmed back.
The pillar hummed.A deep, bone-thick note that vibrated up his arm and made him clench his jaw.
He snatched his hand away.The humming stopped, but the memory of it clung to his bones like dust in hair.
"Okay," he exhaled. "Not dead. Not hallucinating. Possibly cursed. Not new."
He tried to stand.His knees popped loudly—another messy, human sound the tomb swallowed whole.
His eyes adjusted slowly.The walls weren't smooth stone; they looked like ribs.Pale arcs curving overhead, each marked with lines—script? veins? cracks?He couldn't tell.Some were too straight to be natural, too crooked to be clean script.
He turned in a slow circle.Dust lifted around him in thin spirals, rising and falling in uneven rhythm.
Almost like breathing.
Li Muye's skin prickled.He'd spent enough of his life digging in forgotten temples to know when something was asleep and when something was… aware.
This tomb was aware.
"Do you—" He hesitated. "Do you remember me?"
He didn't know why he asked.
Silence answered.Thick. Expectant.
Then:
[ Query? …heard. ] [ Memory: partial. Tomb → remembers. ]
The floor quivered under his feet—not shaking, just adjusting itself.Like a person shifting slightly to hear better.
A tremor crawled up the back of his neck.He pressed his palm to the closest wall again without meaning to.The stone warmed faster this time.
A rune near his hand brightened into a muted ember.The character for breath.
It pulsed.His heart stumbled, then matched it.
He jerked his hand back.But the pulse kept echoing in his ribs, like a child tapping from inside a locked room.
The system flickered again.
[ Calibration: syncing … hold still? ] [ Breath/stability ratio: messy. Try again. ]
"Messy?" Li Muye choked. "Excuse me?"
A faint crunch sounded overhead.A grain of light—tiny, like a floating seed—drifted down from a crack in the stone ceiling.
He lifted his hand without thinking.The mote landed lightly in his palm.Warm.Alive, in a quiet way.
He closed his fingers around it.
The light stayed.
And the tomb inhaled.
Act II — System: The Bone That Listens
He took one step.
The floor answered with a faint twang—not music, not magic—more like a loose string on an old instrument someone had plucked without meaning to.
Lines of gold crawled out from under his heel, spreading in uncertain patterns.Some met each other and fused; others recoiled as if shy.
He stared."Stop?"
The lines froze.
"…Move?"
They slithered forward like hesitant fish.
He rubbed his forehead."I swear, if you expect me to train a floor—"
The system cut him off mid-grumble.
[ Command level: minimal. Don't get excited. ] [ Temporary access: LISTEN grade. ]
"Listen grade?" Li Muye repeated. "Is that worse than beginner?"
[ …Yes. ]
He glared at the wall. It glowed a little brighter, which he decided to interpret as guilt.
A memory punched the inside of his skull—so sudden he gasped.
Not this life.Not this body.But his hands—brown with desert dust, callused from carving—pressing a reed stylus into wet clay.Marking a line.Then erasing it with his thumb, murmuring corrections.
Another flash—chiseling bone, humming to keep rhythm.Teaching the bone how to remember sound.
Memory?Or possession?Or something between?
Li Muye groaned and pressed both palms to the cold floor.
"That hurt."
[ Memory transfer: incomplete. Suck it up. ] [ Bone Imprint sync: 12% → 19% → 27% ] [ …Hold still, seriously. ]
A thin line of gold appeared beneath his skin on his right forearm.Not glowing.Not dramatic.Just a faint warmth, like a splinter of sun caught under flesh.
The chamber brightened—not by magic, but by comprehension.Corners sharpened. Distances shifted.The air tasted different, like the moment after someone whispers a secret.
Li Muye wiped sweat from his eyebrow."This is too much for one morning."
The room dimmed politely, as if apologizing.
"Hush," he said without thinking.
The world actually hushed.Not into silence—into attention.Even the dust seemed to stand straighter.
He stared."That… was not a command."
[ Observation: Host used hush-marker with one token. ] [ Caution: Tokens are limited. Please pretend to be responsible. ]
"Responsible?" Li Muye snorted. "I'm talking to architecture."
He stepped back—only to find himself facing a mural he was certain had not been there earlier.
An enormous ear, carved from overlapping layers of bone.Inside the curves, tiny figures whispered to larger ones.The larger ones addressed shapes with no faces.At the center was a glyph he had never seen before.
It pulsed once when his shadow touched it.
His throat dried."Is this… mine?"
[ Authorship: unknown. ] [ Custody: yours. ]
"Those are not the same thing," he muttered.
The mural warmed beneath his hand—not hot, just attentive.
A draft rose from the stairwell beyond, brushing his jaw like curious fingers.It tasted his breath and shivered in approval.
[ Transduction active. ] [ Convert wind ⇆ meaning. Slowly, please. ]
Li Muye swallowed, unable to stop a nervous laugh.
He was being taught.Not spellcraft.Not cultivation.Something stranger—to become the other half of a sentence the tomb had begun thousands of years ago.
Act III — Wind Birth: The First Word Outside
The crack in the ceiling widened by the width of a blade.Light seeped through, thin and patient.A sliver of wind followed—a wind that had learned to speak inside stone.
It brushed his cheek like a cat deciding whether to trust him.He flinched, then froze when he realized it hadn't recoiled.
"Hello," he tried.
The wind swallowed the word gently and returned it to his chest—rounder, older, as if aged by walls.
He exhaled a shaky laugh."That's… unsettling."
[ Observation: You are learning. Even if poorly. ]
He glared up at the empty air."I don't need commentary from ventilation."
The dust twitched, like it was trying not to laugh.
His forearm line warmed again.He felt something open inside his ribs—a window?a hinge?whatever it was, it had been waiting.
[ Bone Imprint: 41% → 49% ] [ Boundary: crossed. First whisper transmitted. ]
Li Muye steadied himself on the mural.His knees shook the way knees shake after carrying groceries up a mountain—nothing elegant about it.
"Will it hurt anyone?" he asked.
The room shifted the dust by a hair.Somehow, that was yes,and alsotrust us.
"Great," he muttered. "Reassuring."
The wind curled around his wrist gently, like a leash offered rather than forced.
He took a breath.Four in.Hold.Four out.Hold.
He didn't pray.He practiced listening.
Far above, on the mountain's slope,a leaf quivered once—not in alarm, but agreement.
[ System message: The Tomb Breathes Again. ] [ Instruction: Hold shape. More ears are turning. ]
Li Muye stepped toward the dark corridor ahead.The air at his back warmed, as if the tomb were watching him leave.
He didn't look back.He was afraid he'd see it blink.