The mist trembled.
"I… entrust this to you…"
The voice echoed once more through the boundless fog—old, weary, yet impossibly heavy.
It resembled the voice of an elderly man, as though it had crossed countless years just to reach this place.
The sound lingered.
Then faded.
Within the endless mist, a boy stood.
His eyes were closed, his breathing slow but steady, each rise and fall of his chest confirming that he
was alive. His facial features bore a striking resemblance to Aya—yet this body was no longer that of
an infant. It was older and taller.
A child, but not a baby.
The silence pressed in.
Then—
His breathing changed.
A faint tremor passed through his eyelids.
Slowly—so slowly it felt deliberate—his eyes opened a fraction.
Light did not greet him.
Only mist.
His eyes opened fully.
"Where… am I?"
The voice was childish, still unpolished, yet filled with raw shock and confusion. It belonged unmistakably to Aya.
He turned his head left.
Mist.
Right.
Mist.
Ahead, behind—every direction was swallowed whole by pale, drifting fog, as though the world itself had been erased, leaving only this hollow space behind.
Aya frowned.
His small brows knitted together as unease crept into his chest.
He tilted his head upward.
There was no sky.
Only an abyss—endless, depthless, swallowing his gaze the longer he stared.
A chill ran through him.
Heart pounding, Aya lowered his gaze.
That was when he noticed something strange.
The ground beneath his feet rippled.
Just slightly.
He froze.
Slowly, hesitantly, Aya lifted one foot and placed it down again.
Ripples spread outward.
The surface beneath him was liquid.
It resembled water—yet it felt wrong. Too still. Too silent. As if it were not truly water, but something pretending to be.
Aya stood motionless.
The ripples gradually faded.
Then—
His reflection appeared.
Aya stared.
A small face gazed back at him from the liquid surface—wide eyes, unfamiliar yet familiar. His own face.
Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted a hand and touched his cheek.
"…Is this me?"
The words escaped him unconsciously.
His fingers trembled.
He leaned closer, curiosity overtaking fear, and reached toward the reflection.
But then—
The reflection smiled.
Aya did not.
The reflected lips curved upward on their own, eyes gleaming with something foreign.
Aya's pupils shrank.
His breath caught in his throat.
"Wha—"
Before he could finish—
The world flipped.
The mist surged violently, the ground vanished, and the abyss swallowed everything. Aya's body was hurled into emptiness as the space itself twisted and collapsed.
"Ahhhh—!"
His scream echoed—
And vanished.
"Welcome."
The voice was faint.
Yet unmistakably close.
Aya gasped.
His eyes flew open.
At first, everything was blurry—shapes and colours bleeding into one another. His vision swam, his head throbbed, and an overwhelming dizziness gripped him.
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Slowly, the world came into focus.
The first thing he saw—
A broken cocoon.
It hung torn and cracked among the branches of a massive tree, fragments of hardened bark and
green-tinted fibres scattered around like shed skin.
Aya lay on the forest ground.
Naked.
Cold air brushed against his skin, sending a shiver through his small body. He instinctively tried to sit up, his movements clumsy, unfamiliar.
"…What… is this place?"
His voice trembled.
He turned his head to the left.
Trees.
Countless trees.
Towering trunks stretched endlessly into darkness, their dense canopies blocking all traces of
sunlight. The forest felt ancient—oppressive—as though it had been watching him long before he
ever arrived.
Aya swallowed.
He turned his head to the right.
And froze.
A child stood there.
No—
Not quite.
The figure before him was roughly his height, shaped like a child, yet glowing faintly with a soft green
radiance. His presence distorted the air around him, and the qi emanating from his body was dense
enough to make Aya's skin prickle.
The child smiled.
"Welcome."
Aya's heart raced.
His mind screamed danger, yet his body refused to move.
"Who… are you?" Aya asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"…And who am I?"
The same question.
The glowing child regarded him calmly.
"I am Hale," he replied. "Your benefactor."
Aya blinked, eyes filled with confusion.
Hale continued, his tone casual, almost amused.
"As for you," he said, "you are someone I helped a month ago."
Aya's confusion deepened.
Apparently, in that small amount of time inside the glowing Cocoon. Aya's figure had took a drastic change.
His hands were small—but not that small.
His face structure was totally different, not resembling to that of a baby.
And he had hair on his head, pure pitch black.
This wasn't the body of an around one-year-old child.
The boy standing here—this body—was closer to six years of age.
His breath grew uneven.
" helped…?" Aya asked, panic seeping into his voice.
Hale watched him quietly.
A smirk curved his lips.
That cocoon was no ordinary creation, Hale thought.
A special entity was infused into it—an …Essence.
I carefully gathered that Essence from the dead cultivators. Though they were dead, what remained was pure Life Force, stripped of will and memory.
The cocoon absorbed it all.
That must be the reason for his drastic growth.
His gaze sharpened.
And the reason he can speak… reason beyond that of a mere infant…
The qi within those branches was mine.
Qi blessed by Him.
While he slept, his Sea of Consciousness must have absorbed it.
No wonder his awareness matured.
Hale turned back to Aya, whose confusion only deepened with every passing breath.
"Relax," Hale said calmly. "Your mind is in turmoil."
Aya paused.
"Kid," Hale continued, his voice lowering slightly, "I will tell you everything."
He took a step forward.
"But first—you need to wear something." He threw a robe at Aya, which he grabbed out of thin air.
Hale gestured toward the forest path.
"Come with me," he said. "As we walk, I will tell you everything I know… about you."
Aya hesitated.
His heart pounded.
Nothing made sense.
Yet—
Somewhere deep within him, an instinct whispered that refusing was not an option.
As Aya took his first step forward, Hale's gaze lingered on him.
The merging of Essence and Blessing… Hale thought.
It must have caused chaos within his Consciousness.
For him, it was but a moment.
For the outside world…
Weeks. Perhaps months.
The forest swallowed their figures as they walked deeper into the shadows.
Shen Rui and Chen Wei stood before the High Court.
It was vast—immeasurably so.
The structure towered like a divine blade thrust into the heavens, its walls forged from jade stones
that shimmered faintly under circulating sword qi. Every pillar was engraved with ancient sword
runes, each one humming softly, as though alive. The very air around the court was sharp, refined,
and oppressive—an unmistakable display of the Eternal Sword Sect's heavenly standards.
Chen Wei swallowed unconsciously.
Even standing outside, he could feel it.
The pressure.
Shen Rui's expression remained cold and composed, but his eyes narrowed slightly as he sensed the qi flowing within the High Court—silent, restrained, yet infinitely lethal.
"Do not speak," Shen Rui said quietly, his gaze sharp as a blade as it fell upon his disciple.
"Not a single unnecessary word inside."
Chen Wei nodded stiffly, his throat dry.
As they stepped forward—
The moment they crossed the threshold of the main hall—
A deadly aura descended.
It was not explosive.
It did not roar.
It pressed.
An immense, chilling qi poured out from the depths of the hall, silent yet suffocating, like a frozen
ocean bearing down upon fragile vessels. The space itself seemed to tighten, compressing every
breath, every heartbeat.
Chen Wei's vision blurred instantly.
His knees trembled.
His body froze, unable to advance even half a step further. Sweat poured from his temples as his
internal qi was completely suppressed. His lungs burned as though wrapped in invisible chains.
This… this is—
"W-We greet the Patriarch…"
Shen Rui's voice echoed clearly through the hall.
He had stepped forward.
Though the pressure weighed upon him like a mountain, he endured. His robes fluttered violently
under the invisible pressure as he bowed deeply, his spine straight despite the crushing force.
Chen Wei could no longer speak.
He could barely breathe.
In front of them—
A throne.
Elegant.
Ancient.
And terrifying.
It was carved from an unknown dark-metal jade, etched with countless sword inscriptions that radiated ruthless intent. Upon it sat a figure whose presence eclipsed the hall itself.
Bloodlust flowed from him.
Silent.
Cruel.
Absolute.
The man's hair was snow-white, cascading down his back like frost-covered steel. His moustache and
beard were equally pale, framing a face marked with faint wrinkles—yet those wrinkles carried no
trace of decay. Instead, his body radiated boundless vitality, as though age itself dared not touch him.
His eyes—
Qi flowed within them.
Endless.
Cold.
When his gaze fell upon Shen Rui, the Sword Supreme felt his blood chill.
His face paled slightly.
Then—
A voice echoed.
Deep.
Resonant.
Filled with qi.
"Why," the voice asked slowly, "are you empty-handed?"
The words struck like a hammer.
Shen Rui's heart tightened.
He lowered his head further.
"Patriarch," Shen Rui said solemnly, "I apologize for failing to accomplish the task."
The instant his sentence ended—
The pressure vanished.
As if it had never existed.
Chen Wei gasped violently, collapsing forward as air rushed back into his lungs. His legs gave out completely, and he dropped to one knee, panting like a man pulled back from the edge of death.
Cold sweat drenched his robes.
Only now did he realize—
That pressure earlier had not even been intentional.
It was merely the Patriarch's presence.
"Hm…"
The Patriarch's voice sounded again, calmer now.
"I summoned you in urgency," he said, "which must be why you left without the object."
Shen Rui remained bowed.
He did not dare raise his eyes.
"Patriarch," Shen Rui asked carefully, "why was the call… so urgent?"
A pause followed.
The hall grew unnaturally quiet.
Then—
"We have obtained information about Him."
The Patriarch's words fell like thunder.
"The last one," he continued slowly, "who dared to gaze upon immortals."
The entire hall trembled.
The sword inscriptions carved into the pillars flared faintly, reacting instinctively.
Shen Rui's eyes shrank violently.
Impossible.
His breath caught.
"P-Patriarch…" Shen Rui spoke, disbelief shaking his usually unyielding voice.
"Do you mean… we have located him?"
The Patriarch rose from the throne.
The moment he stood—
The space distorted.
Invisible pressure rolled outward in heavy waves, causing Chen Wei to lower his head instinctively, unable to endure even the residual force.
"No," the Patriarch replied.
His gaze pierced the void ahead.
"But now," he continued, his voice cold and absolute,
"we know whether he succeeded…"
A brief pause.
"…or whether he died."
That single sentence—
Made the entire High Court shudder.
Shen Rui stood frozen, his eyes filled with shock, disbelief, and a creeping dread that sank deep into his bones.
If even that existence had failed—
Then what had truly been set in motion beneath the heavens?
The Patriarch's gaze remained fixed forward, unfathomable.
And for the first time in countless years—
Even the Sword Supreme felt the weight of uncertainty pressing upon his heart-like blade.
_______________________________________
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