Shen Kuang did not speak right away.
That, too, said something.
He stood at the center of the pavilion, hands tucked together inside his sleeves, his gaze fixed on an eroded inscription on the floor. It was not reverence. It was caution. As if he feared that certain words, once spoken, could no longer be taken back.
"The custodian families," he said at last, "are not officially called that."
Lin Ye did not interrupt.
"That name is only used among those who know what is being guarded," Shen Kuang continued. "In public records they are simply old houses, with historical merit and respectable lineages. Nothing out of the ordinary."
Su Yanlin frowned.
"That tells us nothing."
"Exactly," Shen Kuang replied. "Because their real function is never written down."
He raised a hand and activated a discreet technique: Projected Memory Seal. It was not powerful, but it was precise. A series of incomplete symbols appeared in the air—marks that looked as though they had been deliberately erased.
"After the Missing Hour," he explained, "the Empire decided it could not destroy certain fragments. Nor could it allow them to circulate freely. So it distributed them."
"The Divine Eyes?" Lin Ye asked.
Shen Kuang nodded.
"Fragments," he corrected. "Each bound to an incomplete Law. To a dangerous interpretation of the world."
The echo in Lin Ye's chest trembled.
Not painfully.
Not urgently.
Like a string someone had just brushed.
"The custodian families exist for three things," Shen Kuang continued. "To hide, to observe… and to decide when to release."
"Release what?" Su Yanlin asked.
Shen Kuang looked at her.
"Wars," he said. "Changes of eras. Forced adjustments of the balance."
Silence settled again.
"And my father?" Lin Ye finally asked.
Shen Kuang closed his eyes for a moment.
"He was not a custodian," he said. "He was a verifier."
That made Yan Mo—who had remained silent until then—snap his head up.
"That's…" he murmured. "That's a dead role."
"It is," Shen Kuang agreed. "Because it was never meant to exist."
Something clicked into place inside Lin Ye, uncomfortably.
"What did a verifier do?" he asked.
"He ensured that the fragments did not develop a will of their own," Shen Kuang replied. "That their bearers did not become something… different."
"And he failed?" Su Yanlin asked.
"No," Shen Kuang said. "That's why he died."
The words hung in the air, without drama.
"When the Missing Hour happened," he continued, "something went wrong. Some fragments reacted. Others… fell silent. And one, in particular, should not have remained still."
The echo in Lin Ye's chest intensified.
Not like power.
Like pressure.
"My father detected an anomaly," Shen Kuang said. "Not in a fragment… but in the environment."
"In the world?" Lin Ye asked.
"In a transition," Shen Kuang replied. "Life–death. Presence–absence. Here–not here."
The Threshold responded.
It did not open.
But the air inside the pavilion tightened, as if something invisible had recognized its unspoken name.
Yan Mo took a step back.
"That explains why we could never trace the cause of his death," he said. "It wasn't murder. It was… exclusion."
Shen Kuang nodded.
"The system decided he should no longer be," he said. "And corrected it."
Lin Ye clenched his teeth.
He did not shout.
He did not demand.
"Then why am I still here?" he asked.
Shen Kuang looked at him with absolute seriousness.
"Because you are not a complete anomaly," he said. "You are an unintended result."
The echo in Lin Ye's chest pulsed.
For the first time, not as a warning—
but as an answer.
The fragment of black stone that Yan Mo had stored kilometers away vibrated violently inside its wrapping. A dry pulse ran through the refuge.
Su Yanlin pressed a hand to her chest.
"Did you feel that?" she whispered.
Yan Mo was already moving.
"The echo," he said. "It reacted to that information."
Lin Ye closed his eyes.
Inside his mind, no vision appeared.
A sensation did.
An enormous, incomplete silhouette, faceless, holding something long and heavy… a spear.
It was not attacking.
It was waiting.
"Not yet," Lin Ye murmured without opening his eyes.
Shen Kuang took an instinctive step back.
"What was that?"
Lin Ye opened his eyes.
"Nothing you can use," he said. "And nothing I can control yet."
The air slowly returned to normal.
Yan Mo exhaled.
"That echo should not react without full conditions," he said. "This means the process has already begun."
"What process?" Su Yanlin asked.
Yan Mo looked at Lin Ye.
"The process of becoming someone the world recognizes as a battlefield."
Before anyone could answer, an urgent transmission reached Shen Kuang. He read it—and his expression changed completely.
"There is movement in the north of the continent," he said. "Not troops. Not beasts."
"Then what?" Lin Ye asked.
Shen Kuang raised his gaze.
"A custodian family has activated advanced observation protocols," he said. "That only happens when a fragment… begins to resonate beyond its control."
The echo in Lin Ye's chest pulsed again.
"They're not coming for me yet," he said. "But now they know I exist."
Shen Kuang nodded gravely.
"And that," he said, "changes everything."
That was the most unsettling part.
Lin Ye felt it at dawn, just as the sky began to pale and the city had not yet fully decided to wake. It was not a stabbing pain nor a violent invasion, but an internal pressure that did not come from qi or the physical body.
It was as if something inside him had opened its eyes… and was now assessing the space it occupied.
Lin Ye jerked upright, breathing deeply.
"Not… not now," he murmured.
The Threshold reacted at once—not by opening, but by hardening, like a border tensing so it would not break. The movement was instinctive, defensive, and even so it drew a thin thread of blood from his nose.
"I told you not to force anything," Yan Mo said from the entrance.
Lin Ye looked up. Yan Mo did not seem surprised. That worried him more than any pain.
"The echo is pressing on me," Lin Ye said. "It doesn't want to come out… but it doesn't want to stay silent either."
Yan Mo nodded slowly.
"That's normal," he replied. "For something that doesn't yet have a complete form."
"Normal isn't a reassuring word," Lin Ye muttered.
"It isn't," Yan Mo admitted. "But it's preferable to the alternative."
Su Yanlin entered at that moment, her face serious.
"The local factions are already moving," she said. "Not openly. But there are private meetings, urgent consultations, observed routes."
"The north," Lin Ye said.
"Yes," she nodded. "Though no one says it out loud."
Lin Ye closed his eyes for a second. The echo stirred faintly, as if reacting to the unspoken name of the place.
"They don't want to intervene," he said. "They want to measure."
"Like everyone," Yan Mo replied. "But this time, you're the uncomfortable variable."
Before the conversation could deepen, a new presence approached the refuge.
Not hidden.
Not hostile.
Simply… out of sync.
Lin Ye felt it first.
"Someone's coming," he said. "He doesn't quite know how to fit here."
Yan Mo frowned.
"That's… specific."
"It is," Lin Ye replied. "And I don't say it lightly."
The figure appeared at the threshold of the refuge shortly after.
He was a young man of ordinary appearance, plainly dressed, with no visible emblems. His cultivation was low—just enough to move safely outside protected zones. But there was something strange about him: his presence did not anchor properly. It did not fade, but neither did it settle.
"Is this the place?" he asked cautiously. "They told me that here… strange things weren't grounds for immediate expulsion."
Su Yanlin raised an eyebrow.
"That depends," she said. "Who are you?"
"My name is He Lian," he said. "And I don't know why, but for the past few days… people have stopped remembering me properly."
Silence fell immediately.
Yan Mo stepped forward.
"How exactly?"
He Lian hesitated.
"Conversations," he said. "Minor agreements. Sometimes they look at me… and then act as if I've just appeared. Not always. Only… when it matters."
Lin Ye felt a shiver.
Not from the echo.
From the Threshold.
"That's not a Divine Eye," he murmured. "It's… friction."
Yan Mo studied him carefully.
"A law residue," he said. "Probably caused by indirect exposure to something he was never meant to brush against."
"And why come here?" Su Yanlin asked.
He Lian looked at Lin Ye.
"Because since that… event happened in the city," he said, "only here do I feel like the world isn't trying to… correct me."
Lin Ye exhaled slowly.
"Then stay," he said. "But don't expect protection."
He Lian nodded in relief.
"I'm not looking for it," he said. "Just… stability."
Meanwhile, in the Upper District, the conversations were growing more tense.
"The north has activated observation," said an elder. "That's no coincidence."
"They won't intervene yet," another replied. "They want to see if it destroys itself."
"And if it doesn't?"
Silence was answer enough.
Back in the refuge, Lin Ye sat cross-legged, trying to calm his inner state. The echo was still there, pressing—not with hunger, but with expectation.
It is not time yet, he thought. Not yet.
But the echo did not respond to thoughts.
It responded to conditions.
And one of them had just been fulfilled.
Lin Ye snapped his eyes open.
"Yan Mo," he said. "How many major decisions can someone make before the world demands a battlefield from him?"
Yan Mo looked at him gravely.
"That depends," he said. "On how many people are still within his reach when the moment comes."
Outside the refuge, a bell rang.
Not an alarm.
A summons.
And somewhere in the north, an ancient tablet recorded a new line, written in ink that took time to dry:
Variable active.
Observation elevated.
Prepare the stage.