The wind howled through the mountains, carrying with it a biting cold that seemed to pierce even Zhen Hao's immortal skin. The path before him was narrow, barely visible beneath the dense fog that had settled over the rugged landscape. Each step he took seemed to echo in the silence, a constant reminder of the solitude he had known for centuries.
Elder Yun's words still rang in his ears: The journey you are about to undertake will not lead to the end you expect. Whether you find release or destruction, only time will tell.
Zhen Hao had learned long ago not to take the elder's words lightly. But he also knew that time was not on his side. Every day spent in this cursed eternity was another day he felt himself slipping further from the man he once was. The road ahead might lead to destruction, but it was a road he was willing to walk.
He had left the safety of his secluded mountain home, following the ancient maps that Elder Yun had given him—maps that spoke of the Forgotten Lands, a realm so old that even immortals dared not tread. Legends whispered of a place where time itself unraveled, where the very fabric of reality could be altered by those bold—or foolish—enough to seek the secrets hidden there.
As Zhen Hao moved deeper into the wilderness, the air grew thick with a strange energy. The landscape shifted unnaturally—trees twisted into grotesque shapes, and the sky above seemed to darken, even though no clouds gathered. The faintest traces of starlight shone through cracks in the sky, hinting at the unnaturalness of this place.
"What am I truly seeking?" Zhen Hao muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. He had spent years meditating on this question, trying to understand why he had been cursed with immortality in the first place. Was there truly a reason behind it? Or had fate merely dealt him a cruel hand?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of movement ahead. A rustle, like the shifting of leaves—but there were no leaves here. The trees, twisted and barren, were devoid of life. Yet, something was there.
A shadow moved across the path, shifting and darting as though it were aware of his presence. Zhen Hao's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, but he did not draw it. He had lived long enough to recognize the signs of danger—but also the signs of something far worse: an illusion.
The shadow paused, and then it stepped into the dim light. It was a figure—half-formed, its features constantly shifting, as though it could never decide on a true shape. One moment, it was a human, the next a beast, the next a swirling mass of smoke. Zhen Hao's eyes narrowed.
"You seek the Soul Rebirth?" the figure's voice was a mix of many tones, none of them human. It wasn't the voice of a man, nor the voice of a woman—it was a thousand voices, speaking in unison. "Do you truly understand what it means to seek death? To undo what the universe has set in motion?"
Zhen Hao did not respond immediately. He studied the figure, feeling the weight of its words. This was no mere illusion—this was something older, more ancient than anything he had encountered in his long existence.
"I understand what it means," he said finally, his voice steady. "I seek to break free from the curse that binds me. I seek the end."
The figure laughed, a sound that echoed like a thousand breaking glass shards. "The end? There is no true end. You think you can escape the threads of fate, but the more you struggle, the tighter they will bind you."
Zhen Hao's expression remained unchanged. "I will not be a prisoner of eternity."
"Prisoner?" The figure's form wavered and shifted again. "The curse you bear is not a prison, but a gift. A gift bestowed upon you by those who came before, by the gods themselves. You have been chosen, Zhen Hao. Chosen to uphold the balance of the world. The question is not whether you can break the curse—it is whether you can survive the truth that lies beyond it."
The figure's words sent a chill down Zhen Hao's spine. His mind raced, trying to grasp the meaning behind its cryptic statements. He had long suspected that his immortality was not some random curse, but something far more intentional. But the gods? Chosen?
"I did not ask for this," Zhen Hao said quietly, his hand tightening around the sword hilt. "And I will not accept it."
The figure seemed to consider this for a moment, before it spoke again, its voice now soft, almost sympathetic. "Very well. If you wish to proceed, you must prove your resolve. The path ahead is not one of simple trials, but one of transformation. If you seek to break the curse, you must first confront your own past, your own desires, and your own sins. Only then will you be worthy of the knowledge you seek."
Without another word, the figure dissipated into the air, vanishing like mist in the wind. The silence returned, but it was not the same. Something had shifted—something had been set in motion.
Zhen Hao stood alone once more, the path ahead stretching out into the unknown. The air had grown colder, and the strange energy of the Forgotten Lands seemed to pulse around him, as if the very ground he walked on was alive.
He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the figure's words pressing against him. "Confront my past... my desires... my sins..." he murmured, the challenge clear in his mind. To break the curse, he would have to face the truths he had long buried. He would have to confront the things he had long forgotten—and the things he had chosen to forget.
With a steadying breath, Zhen Hao continued forward, his resolve hardening like steel. He had come too far to turn back now.
But as he walked deeper into the Forgotten Lands, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was not alone. Somewhere in the distance, he could feel eyes watching him—waiting. And whatever lay ahead, Zhen Hao knew one thing for certain: the road to breaking his immortality would not be kind.
The true journey was just beginning.