The pain did not come immediately.
That was what unsettled Yan Mo the most.
Lin Ye remained kneeling at the center of the node, breathing with difficulty, but without screaming, without convulsing, without showing clear signs of physical collapse. The problem was not in the muscles nor in the visible meridians. It was deeper—at the point where the Threshold and the echo had overlapped for the first time without mediation.
"Don't touch him yet," Yan Mo said in a low but firm voice, stopping Su Yanlin. "This is not a normal injury."
The ground beneath Lin Ye was still glowing. The ancient symbols were not fading; on the contrary, they were slowly reorganizing, as if the node were learning to coexist with his presence.
Lin Ye opened his eyes.
For an instant, he did not see the place.
He saw limits.
Not walls or physical barriers, but suspended transitions: the exact point where one thing ceased to be another. Life before death. Movement before impact. Decision before consequence. All those borders floated superimposed, like poorly aligned layers.
"…This is new," he murmured.
His voice came out rough, but clear.
"What do you see?" Yan Mo asked.
Lin Ye blinked and the vision partially dissipated.
"I don't know how to explain it," he said. "The node isn't attacking me. It's… consulting me."
He Lian, seated against a broken column, raised his head with effort.
"That's a bad sign," he said. "Ancient things only ask when they don't know what to do with you."
Yan Mo nodded.
"The nodes were not simple transit points," he explained. "They were war filters."
"Filters?" Su Yanlin frowned.
"They decided what kind of conflict could propagate," Yan Mo continued. "Not who would win—but what was allowed to exist afterward."
Lin Ye placed a hand on the ground and forced himself to stand slowly. The world protested, but it did not reject him.
"Then this place doesn't connect regions," he said. "It connects… outcomes."
"Exactly," Yan Mo replied. "That's why the Empire dismantled or abandoned them. They were impossible to control."
A pulse ran through the node.
Not violent.
Confirmatory.
The symbols on the ground aligned, forming an incomplete pattern around Lin Ye. It was not a Domain. It was not an offensive formation. It was something more dangerous: a temporary assignment of authority.
He Lian shuddered.
"I can feel it," he said. "This place isn't pushing me away anymore… but it doesn't fully recognize me either."
Lin Ye looked at him.
"It's tolerating you," he said. "Just like it did with me, at first."
He Lian smiled bitterly.
"Then we're in trouble."
Before anyone could respond, the air tore open.
Not like the previous rift.
This was cleaner.
More… correct.
A figure appeared a few meters from the group, as if he had always had permission to be there. There was no explosion of qi nor crushing pressure, but his mere presence forced everyone to tense.
He was an older man, dark-haired streaked with gray, dressed in simple travel clothes. His cultivation was deep, contained—so perfectly controlled that it was difficult to measure. In his hand he held a tablet without visible seals.
Yan Mo immediately stepped forward.
"That's impossible," he said. "This node doesn't appear in any active registry."
"No," the newcomer replied calmly. "But it does appear in the verification archives."
Lin Ye's gaze hardened.
"Then you didn't come by accident."
"No," the man admitted. "I came because something that should not have activated… did."
He looked at the symbols on the ground, then at Lin Ye.
"Lin Ye," he said. "So you are the surviving outcome."
Su Yanlin tensed.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
The man raised the tablet.
"My name no longer matters," he said. "But many years ago… I worked with your father."
The world seemed to tilt slightly.
Lin Ye did not speak.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because he knew that answer would close something immense.
The man continued:
"Ancient nodes do not respond to power," he said. "They respond to coherence. And you have just demonstrated something dangerous."
"What?" Lin Ye finally asked.
The man looked at him directly.
"That the world accepts you as someone capable of deciding which conflicts deserve to continue," he replied. "Even when it doesn't understand why."
A heavy silence fell.
"That's not a compliment," Yan Mo said.
"It never is," the man replied. "It's an inherited burden."
He Lian let out a low laugh.
"Great," he muttered. "I got attached to someone with conceptual inheritance."
Lin Ye closed his eyes for a second.
The echo in his chest did not stir.
It remained firm.
"Then tell me," he said. "If you know so much…"
He opened his eyes.
"How much time do I have before the world decides to use me?"
The man took a while to answer.
"That depends," he finally said. "On how many more decisions you make without permission."
The node emitted one last soft pulse, as if sealing the conversation.
Far away, in the north, someone tightened their fingers around a cracked tablet.
"He's no longer just a variable," they murmured. "He's a scenario."