Falling felt endless. The cold air tore at me, the hiss of serpents fading into the distance as darkness swallowed me whole. I braced myself for the impact — but it never came.
Instead, I landed in water.
The shock of cold stole my breath. I plunged deep, the current dragging me down, and for a heartbeat, panic threatened to take hold. But I forced it down and kicked upward, breaking the surface with a gasp.
The chamber around me was vast and silent. Faint light filtered from above — the bridge I'd fallen from now nothing more than a distant scar in the ceiling. The serpents were gone. But the water carried a chill that seeped into my bones, and the air tasted of rot and blood.
I swam toward the nearest edge and hauled myself onto the stone, my muscles aching. My clothes were soaked, my sword still clutched in a death grip. I was alive — for now.
But I was alone.
"Yoon-Hee…" I whispered.
I forced myself to my feet. The chamber stretched endlessly in every direction, broken only by jagged rocks and twisted stone formations. Water dripped somewhere in the distance — but there were no signs of life. No sound but my own ragged breathing.
I didn't have time to waste. If the Fang Master had Yoon-Hee, I needed to get back up there. But there was no obvious way forward — or back. Only darkness and stone.
So I walked.
The air grew colder as I went. Shapes moved at the edges of my vision — flickers of pale light and twisted forms that disappeared when I turned my head. I tightened my grip on my sword, but none of them approached. Not yet.
And then I saw it.
A door.
It was massive, carved from black stone and covered in ancient symbols I didn't recognize. Power pulsed from it — a cold, oppressive presence that made my skin crawl. But there was no other path.
I pushed it open.
Beyond lay a hall of mirrors.
The walls reflected me over and over — but the reflections weren't the same. Some showed me as I was — bruised, bloodied, and determined. Others showed something far worse.
A version of me clad in black armor, his eyes cold and empty, his sword dripping with blood. A me who stood atop a mountain of corpses, his face twisted in rage. A me who knelt before a shadowy figure, chains wrapped around his wrists.
"Is this your future?" a voice whispered.
I didn't answer. I kept moving.
But the reflections followed. They whispered my fears back to me, my failures, my doubts. And the longer I walked, the louder they became.
"You'll never save them."
"You're too weak."
"They'll die because of you."
My steps faltered. The weight of their words pressed down on me, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe.
But then —
"Hwan! Don't you dare give up!"
Yoon-Hee's voice.
It cut through the whispers like lightning. I snapped my head up — and there she was, reflected in one of the mirrors. Bloodied but defiant, her eyes blazing.
"Get up," she said. "Fight."
I took a step forward. The whispers howled — but I kept going. Step by step, I forced them back until the reflections shattered around me.
The hall ended in a single, narrow doorway. I pushed through.
On the other side, a figure waited.
He wore the robes of a martial artist — but his face was hidden behind a mask of bone. And in his hand, he held a sword wreathed in dark flame.
"You've come far," he said. "But resolve alone will not save you."
He attacked.
Our blades met with a crash that echoed through the chamber. The force of it sent me sliding back, my arms burning from the impact. But I didn't back down.
I struck — and the fight began in earnest.
He was fast. Faster than anyone I'd ever faced. But I was faster too. Every strike, every step, pushed me closer to my limits — but I welcomed the fire.
Because I wasn't going to lose.
Not now. Not ever.
I would survive.