The air was suffocating, a sharp tang of ash and despair clinging to every breath. Somewhere in the distance, the toll of a bell echoed, solemn and indifferent.
Shi Yan trudged forward, his shadow stretched thin against the cracked stones of the path. His name had once been a beacon—"Shi" meaning stone, enduring and unyielding, and "Yan," a flame that could illuminate the darkest nights. But now, his name carried a different weight: it was the name of an outcast, a mark of failure.
They had called him a thief. A traitor. A killer. And for what? The truth didn't matter. It never had.
The figure moved like a ghost, his tattered cloak trailing behind him, the remnants of a life he no longer recognized. He wasn't even sure what he was running from anymore—the accusations or the whispers in his own mind.
---
The settlement lay behind him now, a distant memory fading beneath the rising fog of the plains. His banishment had been swift and cruel, the elders of the clan sparing no pity.
His clan, the Shi Xing—the "Stone Stars"—were revered for their steadfast Paths. They were the guardians of the northern reaches, their bloodlines tied to the constellations themselves. Shi Yan had once been one of their most promising scions, a prodigy who wielded a fragment of the Celestial Flame. But that was before the fire consumed more than it should have.
"Keep walking," Shi Yan muttered to himself. "Don't stop."
The plains were unkind to those who lingered. Whispers swirled in the cold wind, promising illusions of respite—a warm fire, the laughter of friends—but he knew better. He'd seen what lay beneath the illusions.
Ahead, the horizon bled into darkness, and the ground grew soft beneath his boots. A sharp sound—a crack like splintering ice—broke the silence. He froze, his hand darting to the hilt of a dagger concealed beneath his cloak.
The world shifted.
One moment, the desolate plains stretched endlessly around him. The next, he stood in a void of infinite black.
---
A voice boomed, ancient and dissonant, reverberating through the emptiness.
"You have been chosen."
Shi Yan staggered, disoriented. "Chosen for what?"
"To walk the Path. To face the Trials. To earn your destiny—or fall into oblivion."
The void rippled, and his surroundings shifted. Towering spires of obsidian jutted out from the ground, their edges sharp enough to carve the stars. The air pulsed with energy, alive and watching.
A figure materialized before him, cloaked in shadows that seemed to breathe. It spoke, its voice a quiet rasp that carried weight beyond its volume.
"The Trials will test you, Shi Yan. They will strip you bare and reveal what lies beneath. Your Path awaits, but know this: not all Paths lead to glory. Some lead to despair. Others to ruin."
He opened his mouth to respond, but the figure raised a hand.
"Prove yourself, or be forgotten."
---
Without warning, the ground beneath him shifted, and he plummeted into the abyss.
---
He landed hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. The void was gone, replaced by a labyrinth of shifting walls and impossible angles. A faint light flickered in the distance, illuminating a strange sigil carved into the floor.
Cautiously, he approached. The sigil pulsed, and a surge of pain shot through his body. He dropped to his knees, his vision blurring as the mark burned itself into his skin.
In that moment, he felt it—a fragment of something vast and unknowable brushing against his soul.
A voice—his own, yet not—whispered in his mind:
"What do you seek, outcast? Power? Redemption? Or simply the will to survive?"
Through the haze of pain, Shi Yan clenched his fists. "I seek… to rise."
The sigil flared, and for a fleeting moment, he glimpsed a vision—a towering figure cloaked in flames, its eyes blazing with unrelenting determination.
When the light faded, he was alone once more, but something had changed. He could feel it—a faint ember burning within. A Path, incomplete but his.
He rose to his feet, the whispers in the air shifting. The labyrinth awaited, and he knew the Trials had only just begun.