The valley behind them groaned like an old giant turning in its sleep.
Dust drifted from the cavern ceiling as Yanmei guided Lauri through the cracks of failing ward‑lines. The runes etched along the stone flickered weakly—blue, then white, then dim—like dying embers reluctant to admit their time had passed.
Every few steps, Yanmei paused to listen.
Each time, Lauri could see their jaw tighten a fraction.
Whatever was awakening beneath the valley… it was not something they wanted awake.
"Move quickly," Yanmei said without turning. "The stabilization is only temporary."
"And what happens when it ends?" Lauri asked.
Yanmei didn't answer.
Their silence was answer enough.
They reached a narrow ledge where sunlight spilled through a diagonal crack overhead. Beyond it lay the open valley—broken but intact, as if unsure whether it should collapse entirely or hold itself together for one last breath.
Yanmei sheathed their sword. "Climb."
Lauri stared upward. "Climb? Seriously? It's ten meters."
"The alternative is to stay here." They gestured behind them, toward the cavern with the glowing sigil. "Which will not exist in a matter of minutes."
"…Right."
He grabbed onto the rocks. Hands trembling. Muscles burning. Every motion sent tiny avalanches of dust raining onto his face. Yanmei climbed beside him, their movements fluid, efficient, almost relaxed.
"How are you not tired?" Lauri muttered through clenched teeth.
"Qi circulation," Yanmei replied.
"Sounds convenient."
"It is also earned. Not given."
Lauri grunted. "Figures."
They reached the top. Yanmei pulled him over the final rock, then turned to survey the valley. Once a calm stretch of wild beauty, it now resembled a cracked bowl—splintered earth, deep fissures glowing faintly from dormant qi, dust drifting in thin columns.
Lauri swallowed. "Did I do all that?"
Yanmei didn't look at him, but their voice softened a fraction.
"You are… involved."
"That's not comforting."
"It was not meant to be."
They continued eastward, climbing a sloping ridge that overlooked the valley. A crisp wind rolled through high grass, carrying scents of foreign flowers and distant waterfalls. Overhead, the three suns slowly regained their brightness.
The world felt vast.
Alive.
And faintly hostile.
Lauri kept pace as best he could. His legs ached. His lungs burned. Every few steps, a faint afterimage of Mei appeared in his mind—her silhouette in the tear of light, her voice calling across worlds.
Temper your soul.
What did that even mean?
Yanmei halted abruptly.
Lauri nearly walked into them. "What is it—"
Yanmei raised a finger to their lips.
Silence.
Then—
A soft clicking sound.
Rhythmic.
Unsettling.
Lauri frowned. "Is that… an insect?"
Yanmei's eyes narrowed. "Crimson Spine Stalkers. And no, they are not insects."
"Oh great. What do they look like?"
Yanmei replied instantly, "If we are lucky, we will not find out."
They hurried forward. The clicking grew louder. Closer. Lining the edges of the wind like hidden teeth. Yanmei walked faster now, breath steady but steps sharper.
They crested the ridge.
Lauri froze.
Below, stretched across a sheet of rocky earth, was a massive rift—like a lightning bolt carved into the world. Red mist seeped from its depths. Black tendrils of corrupted qi swirled like smoke caught in an invisible current.
Shapes moved inside.
Small at first.
Then larger.
Yanmei tensed. "We must go around. Quickly."
"What is that?" Lauri whispered.
"The result of an old war," Yanmei said. "A scar left when cultivators reached too far and the heavens tore the ground apart. The Riftlands. We do not go near."
They moved along the ridge at double pace. Lauri's heart pounded against his ribs. Every instinct—Finnish, human, primal—told him that nothing good lived in that red mist.
As they hiked, Lauri kept glancing at the horizon. Tall mountains rose like jagged spears. A distant river shone like polished steel under the three suns. Strange birds glided overhead, feathers trailing iridescent qi.
It should have been beautiful.
It was beautiful.
But every few minutes, the faint resonance in his chest trembled—like the world was trying to tune itself to him, and failing.
Yanmei noticed.
"You feel it again," they said.
He nodded. "Same feeling as in the sauna. And the tear. And the…. whatever that was we stabilized."
Yanmei hummed softly. "The thread is pulling you."
"Thread… meaning?"
Yanmei searched for the right word. "Connection. Fate, perhaps. Or interference."
"What am I connected to?" Lauri pressed.
Yanmei did not answer.
Not because they didn't want to.
But because the answer itself seemed uncertain.
They continued until the ridge dipped into a grove of tall, crystalline trees. Their trunks were translucent, with veins of pale blue light running through them like glowing sap. Leaves shimmered silver in the wind, casting dancing reflections across the ground.
"This is…" Lauri whispered, awe overtaking fear.
"Qi‑glass forest," Yanmei said. "Do not touch the trunks. They can disrupt untempered souls."
Lauri withdrew his hand immediately. "Good to know."
They crossed into the grove.
The world quieted.
Even the wind grew respectful here.
Yanmei slowed. Their posture shifted—less aggressive, more reverent.
Lauri whispered, "Is this… sacred ground?"
"Something like that."
They were halfway through the grove when the resonance inside Lauri's chest surged—sharp this time, almost painful. He gasped, clutching at his sternum.
Yanmei spun. "What now?"
"I—I don't know," Lauri said. "It's strong. Like someone is pulling on the thread."
Yanmei's expression shifted from concern to alarm.
"Stop moving."
Lauri froze.
The air thickened.
A low hum vibrated through the grove. The qi-glass trunks pulsed brighter, their blue veins flickering like frantic signals. Yanmei raised their sword, voice tense.
"This is not natural."
The hum deepened.
The leaves shook.
Lauri felt his vision blur—edges warping, colors twisting. The air bent around him as though heated. Yanmei stepped closer.
"Lauri! Anchor your breath. Do not let the thread pull you!"
"I'm trying—!"
His vision split.
Once.
Twice.
Colors fractured.
A ring of aurora light spun around him, strands whipping wildly. His ears filled with whispers—too faint to understand, too loud to ignore.
Yanmei lunged toward him.
A shockwave burst from Lauri, throwing Yanmei back into a crystal trunk—but they rolled and landed on their feet, sword raised defensively.
The aurora whirlpool tightened.
And then—
The forest dimmed.
Everything dimmed.
A single point of light appeared before Lauri—shimmering jade, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Mei.
Not her full form.
Just her eyes.
Her voice.
A whisper trembling on the verge of breaking.
"Lauri… listen…"
The world vanished around him.
Only her gaze existed.
Only her voice.
"The realms are twisting. The thread—your thread—is reacting to something buried here. Something ancient. You must not—"
Her voice fractured.
Static.
Light.
The image flickered.
Yanmei shouted from far away: "Lauri! Break the vision!"
He couldn't.
He didn't want to.
Mei reached toward him. "If the thread pulls you now, you'll—"
The world snapped back—
A burst of jade light exploded—
And the qi‑glass forest split open, a shockwave tearing through trunks, hurling Yanmei across the grove.
Lauri screamed—
The entire grove lit up—
And a column of aurora-green energy shot into the sky like an arrow piercing heaven.
Yanmei staggered to their feet.
"Lauri!!"
But he was already suspended in the air, limbs limp, eyes glowing with an unnatural light.
The aurora column tightened.
A voice—deep, ancient, cold—echoed through the grove.
"NORTHERN CANDIDATE— RESONANCE THRESHOLD REACHED."
Yanmei's eyes widened. "No… Not now—!"
The ground cracked.
Reality folded inward.
And in the final heartbeat of Chapter 5—
A second tear opened in the sky.
Wider.
Darker.
And something colossal began to emerge through it.