Blood spilled across the stone floor, the crimson pooling beneath Yao Qin's trembling hands. The jagged surface of the cavern walls pressed against his back, cold and unyielding. His chest heaved with shallow, ragged breaths, and every movement sent pain lancing through his battered body. Yet, the agony paled in comparison to the searing bitterness of betrayal.
Po Luoyang stood over him, the flickering light of the ritual flames casting shadows across his sharp features. His robes, black and trimmed with silver, remained immaculate despite the carnage, and his expression was serene, almost pitying. Behind him, the faint, shifting contours of his Thousand Faces Spirit hovered like a veil of illusion, ever-changing.
"You fought well," Po said, crouching down to meet Yao Qin's gaze. His tone was smooth, unhurried, as if they were old friends discussing a game. "You always had potential, but potential only matters if you know where to place your trust. And you, Yao Qin, were always so... naive."
Yao Qin gritted his teeth, forcing his broken body to stay upright against the wall. His breath came out as a hiss through bloodied lips. "You… killed my parents," he rasped. "It was you."
Po's thin smile deepened, a flash of cruel amusement lighting his dark eyes. "You still cling to that, do you? Fine. Yes, I ensured their deaths, though I didn't hold the blade myself. That honor went to the Blood Demon Cult. Do you know the difference between them and us, Yao Qin?"
Yao Qin's vision swam, but he forced himself to focus. He said nothing, his silence a brittle defiance.
Po chuckled softly. "The Black Phantom Cult thrives in shadows, in patience and subtlety. We understand that chaos must be cultivated with precision. The Blood Demon Cult, however-they are beasts. Rabid dogs that tear at the world with reckless abandon. Your parents were foolish enough to stand in their way. My role was simply... administrative."
"Administrative?" Yao Qin spat, his voice raw. "You-"
"Handled the details," Po interrupted, his voice calm. "I ensured there was no retaliation, no loose ends. That is why the Shadow Council favors me." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Even my uncle approved of it. He was the one who gave the order."
Yao Qin's blood ran cold. The Shadow Council - the unseen hand that guided the Black Phantom Cult's every move. Po's uncle was a member, a player in a game of power and shadows that extended far beyond Yao Qin's comprehension.
"You betrayed me," Yao Qin said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You used me."
Po sighed, almost theatrically. "Don't take it personally, Yao Qin. Trust is a weakness, and weakness has no place in the Black Phantom Cult. Your thread ends here. Be grateful - I'll make it clean."
The dagger glinted in the firelight as Po stood, his movements smooth and deliberate. Yao Qin's mind raced, but his body refused to move. The Gravewalker, ever-present in the back of his mind, was silent. Its power, the strength that had saved him countless times, was absent now.
"I'll come back," Yao Qin hissed, his voice trembling with rage. "I swear, I'll come back."
Po chuckled, a soft, mirthless sound. "No, you won't."
The blade came down, swift and merciless. Yao Qin felt the cold steel pierce his chest, and the world dissolved into darkness.
---
There was no peace in the void. Yao Qin floated in an endless expanse of churning shadows, his body absent but his awareness painfully sharp. He had been here before, countless times, yet something was different. The silence was heavier, the shadows more oppressive.
Then it came: the voice, deep and resonant, carrying the weight of eternity.
"Once again, you fall. And once again, I lift you."
Yao Qin's awareness sharpened, his thoughts crystallizing. "You're late this time," he said, his voice steady despite the void's emptiness.
The shadows shifted, coalescing into a towering figure cloaked in undulating darkness. Its form was featureless, save for the faint glow of pale eyes-cold and eternal.
"You cling to life with a tenacity I find... rare," the Gravewalker said. Its tone was measured, devoid of emotion, yet there was a flicker of something else beneath the surface. "Your determination amuses me, boy. Few mortals rise so many times after falling."
Yao Qin forced a bitter laugh. "Maybe I've just gotten good at dying."
"Or perhaps you have learned nothing from it," the Gravewalker replied, its voice cutting like a blade. "Your end here was inevitable. Betrayal is a constant in shadows."
Yao Qin glared into the void. "Then why bother? Why keep pulling me back if it's pointless?"
The Gravewalker's gaze brightened faintly, the pale light of its eyes almost mocking. "Because your defiance is useful. Entertaining, even."
"Is that all I am to you? A game?" Yao Qin spat.
The shadows trembled, and the Gravewalker's presence grew colder. "A thread unbound is unpredictable. It shapes paths I cannot see. That alone is worth preserving-for now."
Before Yao Qin could reply, the void began to unravel. The shadows tore apart, revealing a rushing torrent of light.
"But no more," the Gravewalker said. "This time, you will walk again from the beginning. And until you find me, you will walk alone. My power is beyond your grasp now. Do not squander this thread, boy."
The light swallowed him, and the Gravewalker's final words echoed: "You amuse me, Yao Qin. Do so again."
Yao Qin woke with a sharp gasp, his chest heaving as if he had just surfaced from drowning. Pain rippled through his body - not the searing pain of death, but the dull ache of hunger and exhaustion. He blinked rapidly, his vision clearing to reveal the dim, crumbling interior of the Red Blossom Orphanage. The smell hit him next: damp wood, mildew, and unwashed bodies.
He sat up slowly, his limbs trembling. His hand went instinctively to his chest, where the dagger had pierced him. There was no wound. Instead, he felt the scrawny frame of a malnourished boy. His reflection in a shard of broken glass caught his eye.
The boy staring back was gaunt, his cheekbones sharp beneath pale skin. His hair, a striking crimson red, fell in disheveled waves over his forehead. But it was his eyes that stood out-dark and dangerous, the kind of eyes that held too much knowledge for someone so young.
A hollow laugh escaped his lips. "Thirteen," he whispered. "You sent me back four years to when I was thirteen..."
The weight of what had happened pressed down on him, but he forced himself to his feet. He had lost everything - his cultivation, his powers - but the memories remained, vivid and unyielding.
"This time," he muttered, his voice cold with determination. "This time, I'll burn it all down. Po Luoyang, the Tang family, the Shadow Council-every last one of you."
Hunger gnawed at his stomach, but Yao Qin pushed it aside. He had been here before. And this time, he would rise.