The night began to bleed into dawn.
Jiyul hadn't slept. He hadn't closed his eyes since entering the Death Spring Mountains. Sleep was a luxury for those with time, and he had none.
His steps were steady and silent across the black soil. Every crunch of his boots was buried under the hush of the wind and the distant echo of beasts. The ember in his chest pulsed—dark, quiet, and persistent. It guided him north.
Its faint red glow dimmed as the sun tried to rise, but he didn't stop. Even as light brushed the jagged skyline and birds dared to sing in the lower valleys, he walked on. Unblinking. Unmoved.
Then came a scent.
Clean. Cold. Water.
Jiyul raised his head slightly. Tiny droplets touched his skin, falling from a mist he couldn't yet see. His boots stepped onto wet stone.
A curtain of pale mist danced before him, catching the sunrise like a bleeding veil. He walked through it.
And there, standing like a ghost untouched by time, was a waterfall.
It was massive. Endless. Its crash roared across the cliffs, drowning out the world. The pool below shimmered under the morning light, but it was empty. No fish. No frogs. No life.
Just the fall. And the whisper of gods long gone.
"...This is it," Jiyul murmured.
He stared into the cascading water. With a sudden motion, he tore his shirt from his body and tossed it aside. Scars, ash, and dried blood stained his skin. But the rage in his chest burned hotter than any fire.
He stepped into the water.
The cold was blinding. It gripped him like claws, biting through his flesh and trying to choke the ember inside him. But Jiyul didn't flinch. His breath remained steady. His gaze locked onto the wall of water.
Slowly, the ash washed away. The blood ran off his skin like black ink. The filth of war vanished, revealing not a clean man, but a vessel reborn in hate.
His black qi stirred in the water. The waterfall seemed to hiss in response, as if it recognized him. As if it feared him.
Jiyul walked deeper until the water reached his chest. Steam rose around him—red steam from his burning body clashing with the mountain's cold.
He stood there for a long time. Silent. Letting the water wash his past away to prepare his path.
Then, his eyes fixed on the wall behind the waterfall.
Something felt wrong. Not just old. Artificial.
Behind that curtain of water was not just stone. It was carved.
He narrowed his gaze. A wall, crushed between the roaring waters and the weight of time, covered in slippery moss and deep cracks. But nature hadn't built this.
He stepped forward. The water fought him. It pushed, slammed, and screamed against his chest. But Jiyul climbed.
His fingers dug into the wet stone. His arms pulled with raw might. His body, soaked and heavy, rose inch by inch. He gritted his teeth as the water pounded his head and shoulders like a beast's hammer.
But he didn't fall. He wouldn't. Not now. Not ever again.
His hand reached the ridge. With a final, heaving pull, he rose over the waterfall lip. His face was cut, his knuckles bleeding, but he was standing.
Before him lay a dark entrance. A cave.
The one the ember had shown him. A place once sacred, now forgotten by the sun.
He stood before it, his breathing slow and controlled.
"This is where the light came from," he muttered.
The air inside was dry. Still. Dead.
He took a step. Then another. He held no torch. He drew no weapon. Only the ember in his chest glowed, casting long, dancing shadows.
As he moved deeper, the cave responded.
Flick.
A torch on the wall lit by itself. Then another. And another. A line of fire awakened to guide him deeper.
The walls were old and cracked, covered in carvings of weapons, gods, rituals, and blood. As he walked, the air grew warmer. Heavier. The ember in his chest burned in recognition.
And then, a voice.
Low. Cold. Ageless.
"Who are you?"
Jiyul stopped.
The cave had widened into a vast, hollow chamber. A giant stone altar stood at the center, dust dancing in the torchlight. But there was no one there.
Yet the voice rang again, echoing from everywhere and nowhere.
"Who dares step into this place?"
Jiyul stepped closer, his hand hovering near his sword hilt. He looked around the empty room.
"You're the one calling me, aren't you?"
Silence.
Then, a black shadow curled down from the ceiling like smoke. It was formless at first, then it knit itself into bones, then muscle, then a face.
A figure appeared. Half human. Half something else.
Its eyes glowed white. Its skin was cracked with lines of ancient energy. It was a being long dead, yet still here. Watching.
"Your soul... it's not clean," the being whispered, drifting closer. "It reeks of blood. War. Fire."
Jiyul smirked.
"You sound disappointed."
The being studied him, circling slowly. "Why are you here, cursed one?"
Jiyul stepped closer to the altar.
"...To take everything."
The being went still.
"Even what isn't yours?"
Jiyul nodded. "No one ever gave me anything. I take what I need."
Silence stretched between them.
"Then... why do you seek me?"
Jiyul's voice dropped to a whisper.
"To become something this world has never seen."
The being raised its head, its white eyes narrowing.
"You're not here to pray."
"No."
"You're not here for answers."
"No."
"...Then what?"
Jiyul's eyes narrowed, cold and hungry.
The being's lip twisted into a terrifying smile.
"You truly are mad."
Jiyul's voice turned to ice.
"No. I'm just awake."