Not all ghosts haunt the dead — some follow those who dare to live. The Iron Ridge lies behind them, its jagged peaks vanishing beneath a rising haze. Ahead stretches a vast plain — endless, wind-swept, and unnervingly still. The grass shimmers silver under the afternoon sun, each blade whispering faintly, as though murmuring secrets too soft to catch. For the first time in days, the trio walks without the echo of thunder or flame at their backs. Yet the silence feels heavier than battle. Yan Shu shields her eyes from the glare. “If this is peace, I think I preferred the mountain trying to kill us.” Lu Chen’s hand rests lightly on his sword. “Keep your voice down. This plain… it listens.” Lin Dong glances around. The wind brushes against his skin like cold fingers. He can feel the faint hum of Qi in the air — but twisted, stretched thin, as if the land itself is tired. “Whispering Plains,” he murmurs, recalling a name from one of his grandfather’s old scrolls. “They say this pla

Mastery is forged in fire, tempered by patience… and tested by shadows. Dawn spills over the Iron Ridge, painting jagged cliffs in pale gold. The wind carries the faint scent of smoke and earth, remnants of the forge that had awakened Lin Dong’s flame. The mountains seem alive — echoing with memory, resonating with power long hidden from the world. Lin Dong stands at the edge of a cliff, staff in hand, eyes fixed on a distant peak known as the Mountain’s Eye. Its summit is shrouded in swirling mist, the jagged rock forming a natural crown around an enormous crater. Legend says the crater houses an ancient well of spiritual energy, capable of magnifying the strength of those who dare enter — but only after passing its trial. Yan Shu kneels nearby, tracing patterns in the dirt with her fingertips. Her fire aura burns faintly, a steady glow compared to Lin Dong’s internal flame, which flickers like a storm restrained within his chest. Lu Chen stretches silently, observing the terrain

Some threats wait patiently in shadow, biding their time until the untested are strong enough to fall. The descent from the Mountain’s Eye is steep, jagged cliffs cutting through swirling mist. Lin Dong moves cautiously, staff in hand, golden flame from the forge within him flickering faintly with every step. His muscles ache, but the fire inside keeps him steady — a heartbeat of molten energy guiding his balance. Yan Shu and Lu Chen follow closely behind, their gazes sharp, scanning the surrounding ridges. The Whispering Plains are far behind, yet Lin Dong senses a familiar tension in the air — one that speaks of eyes watching from hidden places. “Something’s not right,” Lu Chen murmurs. “We’ve been followed ever since you completed the trial.” Lin Dong nods. “I can feel it too. The Crimson Veil didn’t retreat. They were waiting — for me to grow stronger.” The ridge bends sharply, and suddenly, three figures drop from the mist above, landing silently behind the trio. Each is cla

The path of power is paved with secrets, and some truths burn hotter than any flame. The ridge narrows as Lin Dong, Yan Shu, and Lu Chen navigate the jagged cliffs, moving cautiously through the aftereffects of the Crimson Veil’s assault. Golden light from Lin Dong’s forge-born flame flickers faintly along the ridge, illuminating ancient carvings etched into the stone — symbols that resonate faintly with the talisman at his chest. “These markings…” Yan Shu murmurs, tracing a clawed fingertip over a glyph. “They’re old. Older than anything I’ve seen in the Wilderlands.” Lu Chen crouches beside her. “I recognize the style. It’s reminiscent of the Mountain’s Eye itself — a blend of spiritual arrays and martial inscriptions. Whoever left this here… was a master of both flame and combat.” Lin Dong steps forward, staff humming lightly. The talisman glows in response, as though guiding him. A faint pulse travels through the ridge beneath their feet, leading them toward a narrow fissure i

Some shadows never fade. They wait, biding their time, until the moment you’re strongest — and most vulnerable. The mountains breathe quietly under the waning sunlight, long shadows stretching across the jagged cliffs. Lin Dong stands atop a ridge, the hidden chamber behind him, talisman glowing faintly on his chest. His golden aura pulses with calm energy, a quiet confidence borne of the Mountain’s Eye trial and the Flame Awakening. Yan Shu kneels beside him, hands wreathed in fire, her gaze scanning the horizon. Lu Chen adjusts his grip on his blade, eyes narrowing at every shifting shadow in the mist below. “They’re coming,” Lin Dong murmurs, feeling the subtle vibrations of distant footsteps, the ripple of coordinated Qi. In the valleys below, a movement stirs. Figures emerge from the fog — dozens at first, then hundreds, elite warriors of the Crimson Veil, each one radiating calculated danger, their weapons gleaming with dark energy. The Veil’s banners flutter in the wind, cr