The sun hovered low in the sky, casting a golden hue across the courtyard of the Dawnyu Sect. Disciples walked in quiet clusters, exchanging hushed words and curious glances toward the figure sitting motionless beneath the temple's stone archway.
Zhen Hu.
He sat alone, eyes closed, as if in meditation. But his heart was a storm.
He could feel it again—the dull thrum of Nytherion humming in his bones. The whispers of his guide were faint today, like echoes lost in the wind. Yet the sensation that something was drawing closer refused to leave him. Something inevitable.
His breath hitched slightly at the sound of approaching footsteps, heavy and deliberate.
He knew who it was before the man even spoke.
"Zhen Hu."
That voice—firm, unwavering—had once brought him comfort in childhood. But now, it carried the weight of expectation. And suspicion.
Zhen Hu stood slowly, turning to face his father, the Patriarch of the Dawnyu Sect.
"Father," he greeted quietly, bowing in respect.
The older man studied him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. There was concern in them, yes—but buried beneath was a sharper edge. An unease that no amount of discipline could mask.
"You've been... different," his father began. "The elders speak in hushed tones. I see their eyes when you pass. Even Mei Xian looks worried."
Zhen Hu remained still, his face unreadable.
"You pushed through the Kyrekh Realm too quickly. Now the Aethonix Realm... and yet, you barely train with others. You've withdrawn." His father's voice was quieter now. "Is something wrong, Zhen Hu?"
There it was—raw, simple, direct. A question from a father, not just a sect leader.
For a moment, Zhen Hu's resolve cracked. His mind raced—he wanted to tell him everything. About the spirit guide, the Nytherion, the grave. The pain, the whispers, the curse...
But no. He couldn't.
Not yet.
He lowered his eyes. "I've just... been pushing myself too hard. I want to prove myself. To the sect. To you."
The lie was smooth, rehearsed in his heart a hundred times. But it left a bitter taste on his tongue.
His father's expression didn't change. Perhaps he believed it. Perhaps he didn't.
"Pushing yourself is one thing," the Patriarch said slowly. "But isolating yourself... That's another."
There was a pause. Wind rustled the red prayer flags overhead.
Zhen Hu shifted, grasping for something to shift the conversation.
"There's something I wanted to ask," he said. "I've heard talk among the senior disciples... about the Inner Disciple Examinations. Is it true they're being held soon?"
The Patriarch raised an eyebrow. "They are. In two moons' time."
Zhen Hu nodded. "Then I want to participate."
"You?" His father sounded more surprised than mocking. "You've barely trained with other outer disciples. You've had no master. No formal duels."
Zhen Hu straightened his spine. "That's why I need this. I need to prove I belong here—not just to them, but to myself."
The words rang truer than he expected. Maybe that was the only truth he could safely share right now.
The Patriarch studied his son in silence. His gaze, sharp as tempered steel, searched for cracks. For signs of deeper wounds.
Eventually, he nodded. "Very well. But it won't be easy. The examinations will test your technique, mind, and spirit. Some of the inner disciples now are already approaching the upper layers of the Kyrekh Realm."
"I understand," Zhen Hu replied.
The Patriarch took a step closer, lowering his voice. "Zhen Hu... if something is happening—if there's something you're hiding—I'd rather hear it from you than the elders. You are my son before anything else."
The words struck deep. Zhen Hu's chest tightened, but he forced the emotion down.
"I'll be ready," he said.
His father watched him a moment longer, then turned and walked away, his robes trailing behind him like drifting clouds.
Zhen Hu stood still long after he'd gone.
As the shadows lengthened, his guide whispered again—softer this time, almost as though testing his will.
You keep lying to them, Zhen Hu... but for how long?