The River of Remnants
"Memories are but ripples in time. Some fade into stillness, others crash into destiny. But the river never stops flowing."
---
The path was not of stone, nor of earth.
It was water.
A vast river, stretching into the unknown, its surface reflecting the endless night above.
Xian Ren stood at its edge.
There was no wind, yet the river whispered.
No current, yet it moved.
It was neither warm nor cold, yet he felt its presence seeping into his bones.
He knew.
This was no ordinary river.
This was a place where time did not obey the rules of men.
A place where the past bled into the present.
A place where the dead still spoke.
Xian Ren took a step forward—
And the river swallowed him whole.
---
Darkness.
Then—
A memory.
---
A courtyard, bathed in golden light.
A woman knelt beside a small boy, brushing his white hair aside.
Her hands were warm, her eyes soft.
"Ren'er, listen carefully."
The boy—Xian Ren as a child—tilted his head.
His mother smiled.
"One day, the world will ask you to choose. Between light and dark, between kindness and cruelty. But remember—"
Her fingers traced the mark on his forehead.
"You are more than the choices they give you."
The child did not understand.
But the warmth in her voice wrapped around him like a shield.
And then—
The memory shattered.
---
The river roared.
Xian Ren gasped, breaking through the surface.
Water dripped from his face, his chest rising and falling.
The whispers were louder now.
He turned.
The river was no longer empty.
Figures stood upon its surface, stretching far into the horizon.
Some were familiar.
Others were strangers.
But they all had one thing in common—
They were dead.
---
A young man in tattered robes.
A woman with a broken sword.
An old scholar clutching a half-burned scroll.
All of them gazed at him.
Not with hostility.
Not with anger.
But with expectation.
And then—
One stepped forward.
A man clad in black, his face obscured by a hood.
His voice was the wind through forgotten graves.
"Why do you walk this path, boy?"
Xian Ren met his gaze, unflinching.
"To reach the end."
The man chuckled.
It was a sound that held neither mirth nor mockery.
Only understanding.
"The end?"
His voice darkened.
"There is no end."
He raised a skeletal hand.
The river churned.
And then—
The dead began to move.
---
They attacked without hesitation.
No weapons.
No techniques.
Only hands that clawed, mouths that whispered.
Xian Ren drew his blade.
He cut through the first.
The second.
The third.
But each time his sword struck, the figure dissolved into mist—
Only to reform again.
Endless.
The whispers grew.
Not words, but echoes of memories.
Of pain.
Of regret.
Of lives cut short.
"I should have run."
"I should have fought."
"I should have lived."
The weight of their voices bore down on him.
His movements slowed.
His vision blurred.
No.
He gritted his teeth.
He would not fall here.
His mother's words rang in his mind.
"You are more than the choices they give you."
Xian Ren's red eyes burned.
Then—
He let go of his sword.
---
The blade vanished into the river.
The dead hesitated.
Xian Ren closed his eyes.
He did not need steel.
He did not need strength.
Only will.
"You were forgotten."
His voice was steady.
"But I remember."
The river trembled.
The whispers silenced.
The dead stopped.
Then, one by one—
They bowed.
And as they did, the path cleared.
Xian Ren stepped forward.
And the river carried him onward.
To the next trial.