Liang Wenyan collapsed to the cold stone floor, his breath ragged as the weight of the visions receded. His hand, still trembling from touching the stone, was now marked with the same intricate symbols he had seen on the walls. They glowed faintly, pulsing in rhythm with his racing heart.
The whispers had gone silent again, but the presence lingered, oppressive and unyielding, as though something vast and unknowable was watching him from beyond the veil of reality.
"What… what do you want from me?" Wenyan croaked, his voice echoing in the cavernous temple.
The air around him shimmered, and the markings on the walls began to shift. They twisted and coalesced into a form—a figure made of shadow and light, towering and formless, its edges constantly shifting like smoke in the wind.
"You seek answers," the figure said, its voice resonating inside Wenyan's skull rather than through his ears.
"Yes," Wenyan stammered. "What's happening? Why me? What are you?"
The figure's presence grew heavier, pressing down on Wenyan like an invisible weight.
"We are the forgotten. The unseen. The truth beneath the lies of existence," it said, its voice laced with something akin to contempt. "You are chosen, not by design but by chance. The markings found you because you were open, curious, fragile. You saw… and now you cannot unsee."
Wenyan's mind reeled. "The markings—are they alive? What did they do to Heng? Why is this happening in Heiancheng?"
The figure's form shifted, flickering in and out of focus. "The markings are a conduit, a bridge between your world and ours. Those who are touched by them are consumed… repurposed. They become gateways, vessels for us to observe and interact."
Wenyan's stomach churned. "You killed Heng. You're using people. For what? To invade?"
A low, reverberating sound filled the air, like a distant laugh. "Invade? Your kind always reduces the incomprehensible to war and conquest. No. We do not invade. We observe, we study, we… enlighten. But the process is not without cost."
"Enlighten?" Wenyan spat, his anger flaring despite his fear. "You're killing people! Driving them insane! That's not enlightenment!"
The figure's glow dimmed for a moment, as if annoyed by his outburst. "Enlightenment is not for all. Some minds are too weak to withstand the truth. Others, like yours, survive… for now."
Wenyan's hand throbbed painfully, drawing his attention to the glowing symbols etched into his skin. "What is this? What have you done to me?"
"You carry the Mark," the figure said simply. "It binds you to us. You are now part of the bridge. Through you, we see, we act."
"No," Wenyan whispered, shaking his head. "No, I don't want this. I didn't ask for this!"
"You were given no choice, because choice is an illusion," the figure replied, its voice cold and unfeeling. "But there is a way forward, if you wish to survive."
Wenyan looked up, desperation and anger warring in his eyes. "What do you mean?"
The figure leaned closer, its formless mass casting unnatural shadows across the room. "There are others like you. Others who carry the Mark but have yet to succumb. Find them. Together, you may discover the truth of what you are becoming."
"How do I find them?" Wenyan demanded.
The markings on the altar began to shift, forming a map etched in glowing lines. It depicted Heiancheng, with several locations marked in vivid red.
"Go to these places. Seek the others. But beware, for not all who bear the Mark will stand with you. Some have already been claimed."
The air grew colder, the presence of the figure retreating slightly.
"And if I refuse?" Wenyan asked, his voice trembling.
The figure's form flickered violently, and its voice dropped to a menacing growl. "Refuse, and you will join them—your body twisted, your mind shattered, your existence erased. You will become another fragment of the bridge, another tool for us to use."
Wenyan swallowed hard, the weight of the ultimatum pressing on him. "And if I do this? If I find the others?"
"Then perhaps," the figure said, "you may find a way to sever the bridge… or to wield it."
Before Wenyan could respond, the figure vanished, and the markings on the walls dimmed. The oppressive weight lifted slightly, though the air still felt heavy with unseen eyes.
He staggered to his feet, clutching his throbbing hand. The map on the altar remained, its glowing lines burned into his memory.
Wenyan took a deep, shuddering breath. He didn't trust the figure's promises, but what choice did he have? The whispers were growing louder, the city itself seemed to pulse with the markings, and he was running out of time.
Pocketing Heng's phone, he turned and left the temple, the rain greeting him like an old enemy.
---
As he walked back toward the city, Wenyan couldn't shake the feeling that he was being followed. The shadows seemed to move with him, their shapes shifting unnaturally under the streetlights.
He stopped at a café to catch his breath, the warm glow of the interior offering a fleeting sense of normalcy.
But as he sat down, he noticed something odd.
The barista's hand, as she handed him his coffee, bore faint markings.
Her eyes locked with his, and for a moment, he saw recognition—and fear.
"You're one of them," she whispered, barely audible over the hum of the café.
Wenyan's heart sank. He wasn't alone, but that didn't make him feel safer.