The earth split with a sound like mountains groaning in their sleep.
Lauri tumbled sideways, dust and shattered stone spraying across his vision. Yanmei moved in one fluid motion—grabbing his sleeve, dragging him away from the widening fissure as though he weighed nothing at all. The cliffside cracked open like a wound torn by invisible claws, splitting deeper, wider, until the valley floor quivered beneath their feet.
"Stay close," Yanmei commanded, voice taut.
Lauri scrambled to his feet, breath ragged. "Was that… me?"
Yanmei's jaw clenched but they didn't answer.
Which meant: yes.
The sky rumbled overhead. The three suns dimmed simultaneously, veiled by swirling clouds that churned unnaturally, almost angrily. Wind tore through the valley, carrying with it the scent of wet stone and something metallic—like the tang of ancient blood.
The tear in the sky—the one that had shown Mei—was gone.
But something remained.
A residue.
A pressure in the air, heavy and electric, as though reality itself was holding its breath.
Yanmei drew their sword with a clean, whispering sound. Frost spiraled along the blade, drifting around them like falling petals made of winter.
"Move," they said sharply. "This valley is collapsing."
They sprinted along the narrowing ledge, each step impossibly sure-footed. Lauri followed as best he could, stumbling but keeping pace. The fissure widened, swallowing grass, boulders, entire sections of cliff face. The sound was deafening—like glaciers calving, like worlds shifting.
"What is happening?" Lauri shouted over the roar.
"That tear," Yanmei replied. "That resonance. It was not natural. And the valley is reacting—to you, to the thread you carry, to something that should not exist here."
The ground lurched again.
Lauri slipped—and the cliff edge crumbled beneath his foot. His stomach dropped. He fell—
Yanmei's hand grabbed his forearm, fingers tight like iron clamps. With one swift pull, they hauled him back to solid ground, their breath sharp.
"You are far too heavy for someone with no qi," they muttered.
"Sorry," Lauri groaned.
"That was not a compliment."
They ran again.
The valley narrowed into a corridor of stone, glowing runes along the walls pulsing faintly. As they sprinted past, Lauri noticed something unsettling: the runes dimmed after Yanmei passed, then flickered violently as he passed, as though recoiling from him.
Yanmei noticed too.
Their gaze cut sideways. "Your presence is disrupting the ward-lines. If they collapse—"
The valley trembled again. Dust rained from above.
"—then the guardians sleeping beneath this place may awaken far sooner than intended."
"Guardians?" Lauri wheezed. "Like the wolf thing?"
Yanmei's look was sharp. "The wolf was a cub compared to what lies below."
"Oh. Great."
A deafening crack split the corridor.
Ahead of them, the path forked. The left passage was narrow, winding into shadows. The right opened into a wider alcove flooded with pale blue light.
Yanmei hesitated only a heartbeat.
"This way." They dragged Lauri to the right.
"But—" he tried.
"No time."
The alcove widened into a small cavern, its ceiling pierced by thin beams of light from cracks above. In the center lay a stone platform, etched with ancient circular patterns. The runes glowed faintly with the same aurora-green light that had pulled him across worlds.
Energy hummed in the air.
Familiar.
Cold.
Alive.
The moment Lauri stepped inside, the runes flared brighter—as if greeting him. Or warning him.
Yanmei froze mid-step.
"…Impossible," they whispered.
Lauri swallowed. "What?"
"That pattern—" Yanmei pointed at the central sigil, voice hushed and strained. "It is a resonance anchor. But it has been dormant for centuries. No one has been able to activate it, not even elders."
The central sigil glowed brighter, pulsing softly like a heartbeat.
Lauri's heartbeat.
He felt it—deep in his chest, an echo of the sauna's impossible moment. A thread tugging at him. A warmth spreading like dawn beneath the ribs.
Yanmei stepped slowly toward the sigil, eyes narrowed. "How are you… connected to this?"
"I don't know," Lauri said. "I don't understand any of this."
A tremor rolled beneath the cavern.
Yanmei's eyes snapped to the ceiling. Cracks widened, sending debris falling in small showers.
"No more questions. We must stabilize the anchor or this cavern will collapse."
They stepped onto the outer ring of the sigil, blade raised. "Do not move from the center."
Lauri blinked. "Why me?!"
"Because it is responding to you," Yanmei snapped. "If I step there, it will remain dormant. If you do, we may survive."
"That's not very reassuring!"
"It was not meant to be."
The cavern shook again—more violently this time. Lauri stumbled onto the center of the stone platform, the glowing sigil warming beneath his feet.
Immediately, energy surged upward, wrapping around him like invisible fire.
He gasped, knees buckling.
Yanmei began chanting softly, ancient words slipping through the air like frost-laden wind. Their sword carved slow, deliberate shapes around the sigil, lines of blue mist trailing behind the blade. The outer ring glowed in response.
But the cavern continued to buckle.
A deep rumble rolled beneath them—not like rock shifting.
Something else.
Something alive.
Yanmei's voice tightened. "Faster… faster…"
The aurora-green energy swirled around Lauri, lifting him slightly off the platform. His limbs felt weightless, his skin tingling with icy sparks. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The pressure inside him built until he felt he would shatter from within.
Then—
A whisper.
A voice that slipped through the roar of collapsing stone, touching him like a warm breath against his ear.
"Lauri…"
Mei's voice.
His eyes flew open.
She stood in the swirling light—her image faint, flickering like a reflection rippling across water. Her hair stirred in a wind he could not feel. Her eyes held the same softness he remembered in that Helsinki café.
"Mei?" His voice cracked. "Mei, is that—"
Her form wavered, shards of light peeling away.
"I found you," she whispered. "But the thread is unstable. Too unstable…"
The cavern shook violently. Rocks crashed down around Yanmei, who deflected them with swift, precise arcs of their blade.
"Do not lose focus!" Yanmei barked. "Anchor your breath! Anchor your mind!"
Lauri couldn't hear them.
Only Mei.
She reached toward him, hand trembling. "I can't hold it. Not yet. But listen—Lauri, you must—"
Her voice distorted, as though dragged through a storm.
"—temper—your—soul—"
Her arm dissolved into streamers of light.
"No!" Lauri reached out desperately.
Their hands almost touched.
Almost.
And then her image shattered, scattering into motes of jade-green light that spiraled upward like dying fireflies.
"Mei!"
The cavern roared.
Yanmei lunged toward him, grabbing his shoulder with a grip that cut through the chaos.
"Lauri Kallio, look at me!"
He gasped for breath.
Yanmei's eyes burned with urgency. "The anchor is destabilizing because of your emotional surge. Focus. Now."
"I saw her," he whispered. "She was right there—"
"It was an echo," Yanmei barked. "A fragment. If you chase it now, you'll tear your soul apart!"
The cavern lurched.
The ground split.
Yanmei pressed their palm to Lauri's chest.
Cold flooded him.
His heartbeat steadied—forced into a rhythm that matched the pulsing sigil beneath him.
The runes flared.
Then—
Silence.
The tremors ceased.
Dust settled.
For one breath, the world stood still.
Yanmei exhaled slowly. "The anchor is stabilized."
Lauri sagged, trembling. "What… what just happened?"
Yanmei removed their hand, sheathing their sword in one smooth motion. "Something is trying to reach you across realms. And whatever that thread is woven from—it is powerful. Dangerous. And ancient."
He swallowed. "You saw her too? A figure? Light?"
"No." Yanmei shook their head. "Only you did."
Lauri's heart clenched.
Yanmei studied him, voice quieter now—still stern, but tinged with something like curiosity.
"Tell me, Lauri Kallio… who is she?"
He didn't know how to answer.
Mei wasn't just a person anymore.
She was a promise.
A thread.
A reason.
"I… I don't know what she is to me," he whispered. "But she matters."
Yanmei looked at him for a long moment.
Then nodded once, as though filing that truth away.
"We need to leave this place before the valley collapses again," Yanmei said. "And before whatever stirred beneath awakens fully."
"But the anchor—?"
"Is only delayed," Yanmei said grimly. "Not stopped."
They turned toward the cavern entrance.
"Come. The Jade Frost Pavilion will decide what to do with you."
Lauri took a shaky step forward.
But before he followed, he looked once more at the glowing sigil beneath him.
And he felt it.
A thread.
A whisper.
A promise waiting in the space between worlds.
He followed Yanmei into the unknown—
Unaware that the sigil behind him pulsed one last time, sensing the thread within him.
The light dimmed.
The stone cracked.
Something ancient stirred.
And the chapter ended as a low, resonant heartbeat echoed through the collapsing valley.