The world was silent.
Not the peaceful kind—
but the hollow silence left behind after screams had been torn from the air, leaving nothing but
absence in their wake.
Aya lay on the cold earth.
Leaves pressed against his cheek, damp with blood and crushed grass. Dirt clung to his tiny fingers as
he shifted weakly, a soft sound escaping his throat—half a whimper, half a breath. His body felt
heavy, unresponsive, as though the world itself had decided he was too small to matter.
His eyes fluttered open.
Above him, the forest blurred into shadows and fractured shapes. Twisted branches overlapped like broken ribs, blotting out the sky. The air smelled wrong—thick, metallic, suffocating.
Then—
A face.
Grandma Lu knelt before him.
Her body leaned slightly to one side, as if balance itself had abandoned her. Blood streamed freely
from a gash on her forehead, sliding down her face in slow, uneven lines. It soaked into the deep
creases carved by years of hardship, staining them dark crimson.
She was smiling.
Not wide.
Not bright.
Just enough.
Enough for him.
Aya stared at her, confusion clouding his infant gaze. His brows furrowed, lips parting as though he wanted to speak but didn't yet know how. He lifted his hand and reached for her face.
His palm touched her cheek.
Warm.
Wet.
The smile on Grandma Lu's lips quivered.
A drop of blood fell from her chin.
Plip.
It struck the ground beside Aya's head.
He blinked, staring at it.
Then, clumsily, he tried to wipe her face.
His fingers smeared the blood instead, spreading it across her skin and his own.
Grandma Lu's smile deepened—just a little.
Her breathing grew slower, uneven. Her eyes never left him.
Another drop fell.
Plip.
The forest remained motionless.
No wind.
No birds.
No insects.
Aya made a small restless sound, unaware of the truth pressing down on the world around him.
And as Grandma Lu knelt there, strength draining from her body, her thoughts slipped—
Back.
Earlier, when the tribe still believed escape was possible.
"It seems… there is a cultivator above us."
Elder Han's voice had been low, strained.
Grandma Lu tightened her grip around Aya instantly, her arms locking around him as though she
could shield him from the heavens themselves. Cultivators meant danger. Wherever they appeared,
mortals bled—sometimes without even being noticed.
Her gaze followed Elder Han's.
High above the canopy, a shadow flickered—vague, fleeting. For a single breath, it lingered.
Then vanished.
"We ignore him," Elder Han said. "We leave."
No one argued.
They moved immediately, skirting the forest's edge, avoiding its heart.
At first, hope survived.
Then the howls came.
Low.
Layered.
Countless.
They rolled through the forest like thunder buried beneath the earth.
The warriors stiffened.
These were not low-tier beasts.
Not grey wolves.
Not crimson snapers.
These were high-ranked beasts.
Their presence warped the air itself.
The reason became clear soon enough.
The Abyss Spine Beast's death.
Its blood—corrupted, ancient, saturated with twisted qi—had soaked into the soil. The cultivators' unleashed power had magnified it, spreading the scent far and wide like a beacon.
Blood and qi.
A call no beast could resist.
"Run!" a warrior shouted. "Opposite the howls—now!"
The elders reacted instantly.
Then—
Silence.
The howls vanished.
A sharp whoosh cut through the air, as if the heavens themselves had been split open.
Elder Tao snapped his head upward.
Nothing.
The sky was empty.
"He killed them…" Elder Han murmured, dread thick in his voice. "All of them. One sword slash."
Warrior Dian swallowed hard. "A knight?"
Grandma Lu shook her head slowly.
"No," she said. "This is bad."
Before anyone could question her—
A scream tore through the forest.
Not a roar.
Not a howl.
A scream that clawed directly at the soul.
Elder Han's face drained of colour.
"That is… the scream of a Soulgnawer."
Lio's voice shook. "A peak lucent core beast…"
Panic erupted.
"Run—!"
They took one step—
And froze.
Every single one of them.
Their bodies locked in place as though seized by invisible chains. Muscles refused to respond. Breath caught in their throats. Even blinking became difficult.
Then—
Shh.
Something appeared among them.
No movement.
No warning.
It was simply there.
The Soulgnawer.
Humanoid in shape, yet utterly wrong. Its body was thin and bent, gray skin stretched tight over
unnatural bones. Dark mist churned where its eyes should have been, devouring light. Its mouth
opened straight down its face, filled with clear, shifting fangs that never stopped moving.
Violet veins pulsed beneath its flesh.
Jagged soul-spines glowed faintly along its back, emitting a low hum that resonated inside their skulls.
The air grew heavy.
Thoughts blurred.
Memories twisted.
Fear became physical.
People felt something tugging at their minds—as though invisible teeth were gnawing at their very souls.
Children whimpered.
Warriors shook.
The Soulgnawer tilted its head.
Its voice scraped directly against their existence.
We can't die here.
Elder Han forced his thoughts into focus.
He began to murmur an incantation—one forbidden among mortals.
Each word burned his throat.
Each syllable tore years from his lifespan.
The pressure shattered.
Frozen bodies collapsed forward as sensation returned all at once. Warriors gasped for breath, muscles screaming in pain as life surged back into their limbs.
Elder Han staggered.
Blood poured violently from his mouth as he dropped to one knee.
The price had been paid.
"Warriors!" Grandma Lu screamed, her voice sharp with desperation, "Attack it! Everyone else—run!"
The warriors surged, weapons flashing as they threw themselves at the Soulgnawer
Steel met mist.
The Soulgnawer moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
It slipped between blades like smoke, claws tearing through flesh. A warrior screamed as his soul was ripped free before his body even fell.
Its body twisted unnaturally, slipping between blades as though it were part smoke, part nightmare.
A sword cut clean through its torso—yet no blood fell. Instead, the wound rippled and closed, as if
flesh itself feared being separated from it.
A spear pierced its shoulder.
The Soulgnawer shrieked, not in pain—but delight.
Its claws lashed out.
A warrior's scream was cut short as the creature passed through him, leaving his body standing for a heartbeat before it collapsed, hollow-eyed, his soul torn free.
"Hold the line!" someone shouted.
They did.
Barely.
Axes smashed down, shields shattered, arrows vanished into the creature's form. Every strike cost
blood. Every breath grew heavier. The warriors' movements slowed, fatigue weighing down their
limbs like chains.
The Soulgnawer, however, did not tire.
It only grew more violent.
Spears pierced it—only to pass through and shatter.
The creature laughed.
Then—
Elder Tao raised his staff—
The Soulgnawer vanished.
Reappeared.
Too fast.
The warriors' eyes widened—but their bodies couldn't follow.
"Srchhh—!"
Its arm plunged into Elder Tao's chest.
Its claw closed around his heart.
"Srchh!"
It ripped his heart free.
"GYAHHH!"
Blood rained down as the beast devoured the still-beating organ.
"Nooo!" Elder Han screamed. Grandma Lu froze, shock crashing over her like a wave.
The warriors snapped.
They attacked like beasts, abandoning fear, abandoning reason.
Amidst the chaos, Elder Han turned to Grandma Lu, his face darkened with grief.
"Run!" Elder Han roared at Grandma Lu. "Save Aya—RUN!"
She hesitated.
"What about the others?!" Grandma Lu cried back, tears streaming. "The children—the tribesmen?!"
"I will take them!" he shouted. "GO!"
Grandma Lu with an expression filled with grief " why … why did this happen "…
She hesitated only for a heartbeat.
Aya's life tipped the scales.
She ran.
Behind her—
As she fled, she looked back—
And saw the warriors still standing their ground, fighting with broken bodies and burning souls. Liu lay motionless. Dein had already fallen.
Tears blurred her vision.
Elder Han gathered the remaining children, thrusting them toward Grandma Yun, one of the two old women who had carried the tribe for decades.
"Run," he begged. "The tribe's future is in your hands."
The children wailed, their parents' lifeless bodies still visible behind them.
Grandma Yun trembled, sobbing.
"I… will," she whispered.
Then—
The Soulgnawer turned.
With terrifying speed, it lunged toward Grandma Lu.
She twisted, dodging desperately, every step fueled by sheer will. Claws sliced through the air—then caught her side.
Pain exploded.
Poison surged into her veins, burning like liquid fire.
She staggered.
At that moment, Elder Han screamed.
He burned everything he had left.
His remaining lifespan erupted into light.
Vitality—pure, primal qi that every human is born with—condensed into a massive sword in his hands, its blade blazing with life itself.
He glanced once—
At his grandson, Tsar, the head of the warriors, lying lifeless.
Beside him—Elder Mo.
His lifelong friend.
Tears streamed down his face.
"DIEEE!"
The sword fell.
It crossed the distance in an instant.
Even the Soulgnawer could not react.
The blade cleaved through its chest, cutting the monster clean in two.
Silence fell.
The Soulgnawer collapsed, its form dissolving into nothingness.
Elder Han stood there, blood dripping from his lips.
He smiled faintly.
"I did it…"
He fell.
Grandma Lu did not stop.
Even with her body screaming in agony, even as poison gnawed through her veins, she did not stop.
Blood spilled endlessly from her mouth as she ran, Aya clutched tightly against her chest. Each breath
burned like fire in her lungs, each step heavier than the last, yet she forced her legs to move.
She did not look back.
Behind her, the earth darkened.
Her blood dripped onto the forest floor, staining the soil, marking her path with crimson footprints
that trembled and smeared as her steps grew unsteady. Leaves crushed beneath her feet, branches
scraped against her skin—but she ran.
For Aya.
Her vision blurred.
The world spun.
Her knees buckled.
And finally—her strength gave out.
She collapsed.
Her body struck the ground with a dull thud, arms curling instinctively around Aya to shield him even as consciousness slipped away.
—
The present rushed back.
The flashback shattered, fragments of screams and blood dissolving into silence.
Grandma Lu let out a broken sound—something between a sob and a wail.
"Aya… I'm sorry…"
Her voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, yet it carried all the regret she had buried inside herself.
She looked down at him.
Aya lay quietly in her arms, his small chest rising and falling steadily. His eyes were open, clear and innocent, reflecting the world without understanding it.
He did not know.
He did not know what had been lost.
He did not know how many lives had burned away so that his own could continue.
A faint smile formed on Grandma Lu's bloodstained lips.
"Aya…" she murmured softly, lifting a trembling hand to brush his cheek. "May you never live like us… We couldn't even protect one child."
Her throat tightened.
"Being weak…" she whispered, her voice cracking, "is truly a sin."
Aya reached up with his tiny hands.
His fingers clumsily touched her face, pressing against her cheek, warm and soft. He made a small sound—curious, restless—unaware of the weight crushing the woman holding him.
His fingers smeared the blood across her skin.
Grandma Lu felt it.
And smiled.
Her face slowly drained of color.
The poison surged.
Her limbs grew numb, sensation fading as though her body were being claimed inch by inch. Her strength ebbed away, leaving behind only exhaustion and quiet despair.
She tilted her head back, staring up at the night sky.
Stars glittered above—distant, cold, eternal.
The same stars she had once watched with her tribe.
With laughter.
With hope.
"I couldn't protect a single child…" she whispered again, tears slipping down the sides of her face. "Not even one…"
Her legs were completely numb now.
She could no longer feel the ground beneath her.
Death loomed close.
Then—
A voice descended upon the night.
Noble.
Unimaginably vast.
Its qi cut through the darkness like a blade, sharp enough to make the air tremble.
"Do you need help?"
Grandma Lu's eyes snapped open.
Her heart jolted.
She forced herself to look around, searching desperately, but there was nothing—only shadows, only the forest, only the cold night swallowing everything whole.
Then the voice came again, calm and distant.
"You cannot see me. Do not exhaust yourself."
Her gaze returned to the sky.
Her voice shook as she spoke, each word carved out of desperation.
"Can you…" she swallowed hard, "…can you help this child?"
There was no hesitation in the reply.
"I can. But I require something in return."
Her expression hardened despite the pain.
"What do you want?" she asked, coughing violently, blood spilling onto the ground.
The voice echoed once more, steady and indifferent.
"Do not worry. I have already healed you slightly—that is the most I can do for you. I cannot interfere directly with fate afterall."
A pause.
"You will not die for now"
As Grandma Lu heard the voice, a fragile thread of relief tightened around her heart.
Not hope—
just the smallest delay before despair.
Her breath trembled as she whispered into the night, voice hoarse and breaking,
"What… what do you want in return?"
The voice answered calmly, without warmth or cruelty—only inevitability.
"Nothing from you," it said. "The price will be taken from the child instead. Do you agree?"
Her heart lurched.
She instinctively tightened her hold on Aya, her arms shaking.
"The child…?" she murmured, fear flashing through her eyes. "Just tell me—what is it that you want?"
The voice grew sharper.
"Do not waste time. It is running out."
As the words fell, Grandma Lu's body betrayed her.
She coughed violently, blood spilling from her mouth in thick spurts, splashing onto the ground and staining Aya's clothes. Her vision blurred, the world dimming at its edges.
From the shadows of the forest came sound.
Low groans.
Dragging steps.
Wet, hungry breathing.
Howls rose and fell, layered with guttural snarls—beasts circling, lurking just beyond sight. Their presence pressed in from all sides, suffocating.
The voice echoed again, colder now.
"If you delay, you will die—and the child will die with you. Many beasts are nearby. The scent of a dying mortal makes their mouths water."
Grandma Lu's hands clenched.
Her mind screamed.
If I refuse, he dies here.
If I agree… I don't know what he will become.
Her lips trembled.
She looked down at Aya.
He stared back at her with clear, unknowing eyes, utterly unaware of the fate closing in around him.
Her resolve shattered.
"Promise me," she said, her voice trembling with restrained desperation, "promise me that you will keep him safe."
The voice paused.
Then—
"That…" it murmured thoughtfully, "…I will. After all, he has a debt to repay."
Anger flared briefly in her chest.
But anger could not stop death.
She had no other choice.
Her arms shook as she lifted Aya closer, pressing her lips to his forehead in a lingering kiss. Tears slipped from her eyes, falling onto his face.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice breaking completely. "I'm so sorry…"
With trembling legs, she forced herself to stand—just barely—taking a few unsteady steps forward. Every movement felt like knives tearing through her body.
She extended her arms.
"I… give him to you."
The moment the words left her mouth—
The forest responded.
Branches burst forth from the darkness, glowing faintly with a profound, ancient qi. They shimmered
like living jade, radiating power so overwhelming that the air itself seemed to kneel.
The howls stopped.
The groans ceased.
Even the beasts lurking in the shadows fell silent, as if afraid to breathe.
Grandma Lu's knees nearly gave out as she gently placed Aya onto the luminous branches. The
instant he touched them, his body relaxed, his eyelids fluttering shut as he fell into a deep, unnatural
sleep.
The branches curled inward, wrapping around him protectively—cradling him like a cocoon.
Then—
They vanished.
The light disappeared.
The voice faded into nothingness.
The forest returned to darkness.
Grandma Lu stood there for a heartbeat longer.
Then she collapsed.
Her body fell backward onto the cold earth, her eyes still open, gazing up at the stars scattered across the night sky.
Her lips curved faintly—just a trace of peace.
And then—
They closed.
Forever.
Author's Note:
Thank you for reading.
If you enjoyed this chapter, consider leaving a comment or adding the novel to your library.
The journey has only begun.
◆ This work is an original story by Zümrüt . Unauthorized reposting is prohibited