The caravan of disciples began its journey before dawn, shrouded in mist and silence.
Rael stood at the edge of the group, his eyes scanning the jagged ridges of the eastern horizon. The road ahead was wild and treacherous—twisting through ghost valleys, spectral woods, and burial plains said to feed on souls.
Sixty had been chosen. Only ten were outer disciples.
He was the lowest ranked among them.
Not that it mattered.
Rank was a label. Survival was a fact.
Beside him, Yue Qingshi adjusted her travel robe. The silver lunar sigils on her sleeves pulsed faintly, responding to the early light. Her gaze never settled, flickering between the dense fog and the shifting silhouettes ahead.
"Do you always walk at the edge?" she asked.
Rael kept his focus forward. "Only when I don't trust what's at the center."
A faint smile curved her lips. "Then we make a good pair."
---
The first stretch of the journey led them through the Whispering Hollow, a forest where the wind spoke in fragmented voices. Some claimed it was the sound of the dead. Others believed it was the land's memory, echoing back broken truths.
Rael heard none of that.
What he heard were footsteps not matching the caravan's rhythm.
Too light.
Too slow.
He whispered, "We're being watched."
Yue's fingers brushed the hilt of her crescent-edged saber. "From the trees?"
Rael nodded subtly.
They didn't break formation.
The first ambush came on the third day.
---
It was not a beast.
It was sect-on-sect sabotage.
Three masked figures descended from the canopy as the group crossed a narrow bridge spanning two jagged cliffs. Their robes bore no emblems, but their movements were unmistakable—discipline only taught within Skyward Fist Sect.
One of the inner disciples from Wandering Vein died before drawing his blade.
Rael didn't wait.
His body moved, muscles coiled from weeks of marrow cultivation. His step cracked wood, and he ducked beneath the first attacker's strike, then slammed his elbow into the masked figure's jaw.
There was a crunch.
The man tumbled from the bridge, screaming until silence took him.
Yue's saber danced beside him, silver arcs cutting through shadow. She didn't just fight—she moved like she was painting with blood. Cold and beautiful.
By the time the guards reformed the lines, two enemies were dead.
The third disappeared into mist.
[Alert: Kill Confirmed – Sect Disciple (Unmarked)]
[Partial Trait Gained: "Assassin's Nerve" – (Incomplete Fragment)]
Enhanced threat detection under stress. Incomplete. Dissolves in 48 hours.
Rael barely glanced at the message.
His eyes were on the bridge—and the void beyond.
---
At camp that night, tensions cracked.
Disciples whispered about the ambush, the death, and the fact that neither Wandering Vein nor Skyward Fist had officially declared hostility.
"It's the Gate," one muttered near the fire. "They say it opens once in an era, and every time, blood paves the way."
Rael sharpened his weapon in silence.
Yue sat beside him, hands folded around a warm flask of spirit broth. Her eyes reflected the firelight.
"You're not surprised," she said.
"They wanted to test us. Before we reached the Gate."
She tilted her head. "And what did we show them?"
"That we don't die easily."
---
By the eighth day, the land changed.
Mountains curved downward, spiraling into a vast basin wrapped in layers of ancient fog. Stone pillars taller than trees jutted from the ground like broken fingers. Strange runes glowed faintly beneath the moss.
They had arrived.
The Gate Below Eyes.
It was a monolith of stone and black jade, set into the basin's deepest heart. No hinges. No lock. Just a circular seal, shaped like a weeping eye, with veins of silver that pulsed once every minute.
No door.
No sound.
No way in.
Yet.
---
The sects set up camps at a distance.
Skyward Fist claimed the north ridge.
Stone Rebirth camped by the obsidian river.
Wandering Vein positioned itself closest to the Gate. Elder Huo took command.
Rael observed the setup carefully.
Sentries were rotated every two hours. Cooks prepared rations under formation barriers. Even the ground had been marked—each sect surrounding the Gate like predators in a standoff.
Yue stood beside him. "You see it too?"
"Something's wrong," Rael murmured. "There's too much movement. But no one's looking for a way in."
"Because they're waiting for someone else to open it."
"Or for someone to die."
---
That night, it began.
A low hum.
It started beneath the earth.
A thrum like heartbeat against stone.
The Gate pulsed.
Then split.
Not open—cracked.
A single fissure ran through the weeping eye sigil, and cold air surged upward, scented with old bones and black spirit ash.
A voice whispered in the air.
Not a language.
A feeling.
Descent has been noted.
Rael's hand twitched.
[System Alert: Hidden Pathway Detected – Core Pressure Threshold Exceeded.]
A rare opportunity has emerged. Entry possible only for cultivators below Core Formation.
Only outer and inner disciples could enter.
Rael looked at Yue.
She nodded.
Neither said a word.
They stepped forward.
As the Gate opened—not with sound, but with silence—Rael crossed the threshold, shadows swallowing him whole.
He did not look back.
Only forward.
Into whatever the Gate had kept sealed for centuries.