The ethereal voice lingered in the air, its resonance echoing through the obsidian peaks and molten rivers of shadow that defined the surreal landscape.
Its tone carried the weight of ages, a chilling blend of cold indifference and regal authority that seemed to seep into the surroundings of the realm.
"Little Child," the voice intoned, each syllable reverberating like a distant thunderclap, "will you embrace the trial of Lord Shadow and risk body, mind, and soul for the right to claim my legacy? Or will you retreat, forfeiting all hope of the inheritance?"
Xiao Ming's chest tightened, his breath catching in his throat. The oppressive aura of the Shadow Phoenix's domain bore down on him, suffocating in its intensity.
It was as if the air itself had turned to lead, pressing against his skin and threatening to crush his spirit.