The ground shifted again.
Not a tremor.
A correction.
Alaric froze, one foot still half-lifted above fractured stone. His senses stretched outward, not searching for danger, but for intent. The land beneath him was no longer reacting blindly—it was responding selectively.
Something else had entered the equation.
Slowly, he lowered his foot.
The fractured lines beneath the chamber floor pulsed faintly, then dimmed, as if reassessing. Alaric exhaled through clenched teeth. Sweat slid down his spine, cold against skin already tight with pain.
His shoulder throbbed. His ribs protested each breath.
Still, he straightened.
The unfinished array at the far end of the chamber drew his attention again. The structure was delicate—too delicate to survive interference. Any careless circulation would collapse it entirely.
He took one careful step toward it.
The pressure spiked.
Not from the ground.
reassessing. Alaric exhaled through clenched teeth. Sweat slid down his spine, cold against skin already tight with pain.
His shoulder throbbed. His ribs protested each breath.
Still, he straightened.
The unfinished array at the far end of the chamber drew his attention again. The structure was delicate—too delicate to survive interference. Any careless circulation would collapse it entirely.
He took one careful step toward it.
The pressure spiked.
Not from the ground.
From above.
Alaric's gaze snapped upward.
A breath echoed through the chamber.
Soft.
Uneven.
Human.
He turned.
At the chamber's entrance, a figure stood half-hidden by broken stone.
A young woman.
Her clothes were torn and dust-stained, dark fabric clinging to her frame where dried blood had soaked in. One sleeve hung loose, cut nearly through. Her hair was tied back crudely, strands falling free to frame a face drawn tight with exhaustion.
She was injured.
Badly.
But she was standing.
Their eyes met.
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
Then the pressure surged again.
Alaric felt it immediately—the land reacting not to her presence, but to the instability she carried. Qi leaked from her in uneven waves, scraping against the fractured formations like grit against exposed nerves.
She was suppressing something.
Poorly.
"Don't move," she said hoarsely.
Her voice shook—not with fear, but effort.
She held a short blade angled low, stance imperfect but deliberate. The aura around her flickered—Foundation-level, but unstable. Similar to his.
Different.
"You shouldn't be here," Alaric replied calmly.
The words earned him a sharp laugh that ended in a cough. Blood spotted the stone at her feet.
"And yet," she said, "here we both are."
The ground shifted again.
This time, cracks spread visibly across the chamber floor.
Alaric swore under his breath.
The unfinished array was destabilizing.
"You're triggering the formations," he said. "If this collapses, neither of us leaves."
Her eyes flicked past him—to the glowing lines, the half-formed structure.
Understanding dawned.
"You're the reason this place woke up," she said.
Alaric didn't deny it.
"And you're making it worse," he added.
She tightened her grip on the blade. "You think I don't know?"
Another cough wracked her body. She dropped briefly to one knee, then forced herself upright again, teeth clenched hard enough to draw blood.
Alaric studied her quickly.
Her meridians were strained. One pathway near the heart was partially sealed—not cleanly, but forcibly. A crude method. Emergency suppression.
If it ruptured—
"You're leaking," he said. "If you circulate again, you'll collapse your foundation."
Her eyes widened just a fraction.
"You can see that?" she asked.
"Yes."
Silence stretched.
Then, reluctantly, she lowered the blade a few inches.
"Help me," she said quietly. "And I'll leave."
The ground pulsed violently, as if objecting to the conversation itself.
Alaric grimaced.
This was not part of the task.
This was not clean.
But ignoring her would not restore stability either.
"Sit," he said.
She hesitated—then obeyed, sinking down against a broken pillar with a sharp exhale. Sweat beaded on her brow, breath shallow and uneven.
Alaric approached slowly, keeping his movements measured. Every step sent a ripple through the fractured lines beneath the stone.
"Don't circulate," he warned. "Let it spill."
Her laugh was bitter. "You think I haven't tried?"
"I know you haven't succeeded," he replied.
He knelt in front of her and placed two fingers lightly against her wrist.
Her qi surged in protest.
The chamber screamed.
Alaric hissed as pain flared through his shoulder and ribs, his own foundation shuddering dangerously.
"Easy," he muttered—to her, or the land, he wasn't sure.
He adjusted—not forcing alignment, but loosening structure. Letting instability breathe rather than resist.
The pressure eased slightly.
Her breathing slowed.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
"Stopping you from tearing yourself apart," he said. "For now."
The unfinished array pulsed faintly in response, as if intrigued.
Alaric withdrew his hand.
"This won't fix you," he said. "It buys time."
She nodded weakly. "That's more than I had."
They sat in strained silence as the chamber gradually stabilized.
Finally, she spoke again.
"My name is Xue."
Alaric inclined his head. "Alaric."
Her eyes lingered on him, sharp despite exhaustion. "You're not from any sect."
"No."
"And you understand broken foundations."
"Yes."
A pause.
"Then you're in danger," she said. "More than you know."
Before he could respond, the pressure surged once more—stronger, broader.
Not from within the chamber.
From outside.
Multiple presences.
Alaric felt them approaching—disciplined, controlled, unmistakably human.
Sect cultivators.
Xue felt it too.
Her expression tightened. "They followed me."
Alaric stood.
The chamber trembled.
The unfinished array flared once—bright, unstable.
Three choices flashed through his mind.
Fight.
Hide.
Trigger something irreversible.
None were clean.
He looked at Xue.
Then at the half-formed structure behind him.
Then at the cracks spreading across the floor.
"Stay behind me," he said quietly.
She didn't argue.
Footsteps echoed at the chamber entrance.
And the land held its breath.