Chapter Four: The Forgotten Ritual

Lin Ruo's mind frayed like torn cloth, sinking into darkness, whispers drowning her. Her wrist stabbed with pain, jolting her awake, gasping.

She lay in an alien place, the floor cold and slick. High walls loomed, scratched and stained with dried blood. Above, fog roiled, buzzing, pierced by faint, watching lights. She squinted; it pulsed like a heartbeat.

"Where…" Her voice echoed weakly. Her wrist burned; the symbol darkened, pulsing. Her torn bag lay beside her, the log's last page now reading: You're back.

Her pulse quickened. Back? The words hammered her mind, stirring unease. She shook it off, hearing slow, dragging footsteps.

She stood, back to the wall, clutching the log. A shadow emerged—tall, faceless, arms trailing. It stopped, pointing at her wrist. The symbol flared; her mind flashed—childhood, fog, a faceless figure with a book.

"Stop!" she cried. It froze, head tilted. A roar shook the mist; it vanished. A hand clawed from the ground; she dodged, gasping.

The walls quaked, bleeding black, tracing the symbol. It glowed, crawling onto her, burning. Her mind flashed—childhood, a pit, fog, a book handed to her: Speak it.

"Lin Ruo…"A figure approached—not a shadow, but a man, thin, in tattered clothes, clutching a crimson book. He looked up—Zhang Ran's face, pale, eyes hollow, grinning grotesquely.

"Zhang Ran?" she stammered. "You're alive?"He grinned wider, teeth red, voice gurgling: "You're back."Black liquid oozed from his feet, creeping toward her. "You're not Zhang Ran," she hissed. "What are you?"

He tilted his head, shambling closer, claws outstretched. She ran, but fog blocked her, knocking her down. He loomed, face melting, wax-like, lunging. She rolled aside; he grabbed the log, flipping to the bleeding words: You're back.

"Speak it," he rasped, raising the book—page thirteen, crawling red. Her mind sank—a pit, hands, a faceless figure. "No!" she choked.He laughed—childlike, ancient—face dissolving, charging. Fog engulfed her, tearing her apart, consciousness fading.

She awoke on a wet floor, fog thinner, walls rotting in a ruined room. Her wrist's symbol sprawled like a web. A child's sob echoed. She followed it—a figure huddled, turning. Her own childhood face stared back.

"Xiao Ruo…" it rasped. "You shouldn't have come back."It handed her a paper; the symbol bled: You are the key.