Zhen Hao's footsteps echoed through the cavernous silence as he continued deeper into the Forgotten Lands. The air grew denser, charged with an energy that felt almost alive, like it was watching him, waiting for him to make the wrong move. He had crossed many thresholds in his long existence, but this—this place—was different. The moment he set foot on its cursed soil, he knew there was no going back.
Ahead, the mist thickened, swirling like a living thing. It clung to his skin, turning the air cold with every breath he took. The Forgotten Lands were known for testing all who entered, bending reality itself to force travelers into their darkest fears and memories. But Zhen Hao had faced countless trials in his long, immortal life. He had been through battles, betrayals, and losses—he could handle whatever this place threw at him.
As he advanced, the fog parted slightly, revealing a stone archway. Beyond it lay a clearing, where shadows danced erratically under an unseen moon. In the center, a lone figure stood, its back to him. A faint, haunting melody floated through the air, emanating from the figure's movements.
Zhen Hao's senses sharpened. Something was wrong.
The figure turned slowly, revealing the face of a man—a face Zhen Hao knew all too well. It was his own.
"Zhen Hao…" the figure whispered, his voice a chilling echo. "Have you forgotten?"
The world around him blurred, and the figure's eyes seemed to pierce his very soul, bringing memories he had buried deep within himself rushing back.
Zhen Hao clenched his fists, his chest tightening. The face before him was not an illusion; it was a reflection of his past, of the man he had once been. His younger self, brimming with ambition and naïve dreams, stood before him.
"No," Zhen Hao muttered, stepping back. "This isn't real. I've let go of the past."
"You cannot escape," his younger self said, his smile both mocking and sad. "You are a prisoner of your own regrets, Zhen Hao. No matter how far you run, you will always carry them with you."
A surge of power rippled through the air. The shadowed figure raised his hand, and the surroundings shifted. The mist thickened, and the landscape transformed into a place Zhen Hao had hoped to forget—a battlefield, where his comrades had died in a war he had started, all because of his ambition.
Zhen Hao's breath quickened as the memories surged, flooding him with guilt. Faces of fallen comrades flashed before him—friends he had turned his back on, the weight of his choices sinking deep into his chest. The smell of blood, the screams, the hopelessness of it all—they were real. Too real.
His mind began to unravel. For the first time in centuries, doubt crept in.
"I—I didn't want this," Zhen Hao said, his voice shaking. "I wanted power… I thought it would bring meaning."
"You thought you could become a god," the figure taunted, "but gods don't die. And now, neither do you. You are bound by the weight of your own choices. Forever."
Zhen Hao staggered back, struggling to regain his composure. "I don't need to be reminded of my sins."
But the figure wasn't done yet. The shadows in the clearing began to twist, and the faces of the fallen emerged from the darkness. They were no longer just memories—they were now alive, speaking in voices of pain and betrayal.
"You never repented. You never paid the price for what you did," they whispered, their voices overlapping. "You think immortality is a blessing, but it's your punishment."
The weight of their words pressed down on him, suffocating him. The truth behind his curse became clearer than ever—he wasn't just cursed to live; he was cursed to remember. To bear the consequences of his actions forever.
Zhen Hao closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe steadily. The pressure on his chest felt like a mountain, but he couldn't afford to falter. He had to move forward. He had to prove that he could rise above his past.
With a final, defiant breath, he drew his sword, the steel gleaming in the shadowed light. "I've made my choices," he said, his voice firm. "And I will bear their weight. But I will not be defined by them."
With a swift motion, he slashed through the shadows, severing the twisted images of the past. The air cracked with energy as the landscape began to shift, the trial coming to an end.
The figure of his younger self faded, his mocking smile lingering for a moment before disappearing entirely. The mist receded, and Zhen Hao was left standing alone, panting heavily, surrounded by the eerie silence of the Forgotten Lands.