The Path of Silent Footsteps
"A man who walks alone leaves no echoes—only silence."
---
Xian Ren emerged from the blinding white threshold, his breath slow, his mind sharp.
The world shifted.
Gone was the obsidian void, the warden's throne, the shattered reflections of his past.
Now—
He stood atop a mountain of black stone, where the wind carried neither warmth nor cold, only whispers.
Ahead, a narrow path stretched endlessly, carved into the jagged cliffs. The road was ancient, etched with symbols too worn to read.
Behind him—
Nothing.
The doorway had vanished.
The past was closed to him now.
Only the path forward remained.
And so he walked.
---
The silence was absolute.
No birds. No rustling leaves. No sound of his own footsteps.
Only the wind.
Only the whispers.
Xian Ren's fingers curled slightly.
A test.
The Path of Silent Footsteps.
He had heard of it before, buried in forgotten texts, spoken of only in cautionary tales.
A road walked by those who sought power.
A path only the worthy could tread.
Or the damned.
---
The first whisper came softly.
"Do you remember her voice?"
Xian Ren did not stop.
The whisper brushed against his ears, like cold fingers against his skin.
"You cannot even recall her face, can you?"
His heart did not waver.
His mind did not falter.
He had long abandoned such weaknesses.
The past was ashes.
Only fools tried to grasp fire long since burned out.
And yet—
The second whisper came, sharper.
"Liar."
---
Xian Ren exhaled through his nose, steady.
His pace did not change.
He had no patience for ghosts.
But the whispers were relentless.
They curled around him like vines, threading into his mind.
"You walk forward, but where does your path lead?"
"You seek strength, but for what purpose?"
"Do you believe in fate?"
Xian Ren remained silent.
Yet the last question—
It lingered.
Fate.
A thread woven by the heavens.
A chain unbroken.
A path predestined.
He had never believed in fate.
The gods were cruel, the heavens blind, the righteous hypocrites.
If fate existed, then it was his enemy.
A storm flickered in his red eyes.
And then—
The third whisper came, softer than all the rest.
"Then why do you fear it?"
His steps faltered.
Just for a moment.
Just for a breath.
But the path beneath him reacted.
The stone trembled.
The mountain cracked.
And the silence—
Broke.
---
The shadows surged.
Dark mist rose from the cracks in the path, twisting and curling, forming shapes that were neither alive nor dead.
Figures stepped forward.
Not men. Not beasts.
But something in between.
Their faces were empty.
Their bodies moved soundlessly.
Yet when they raised their hands, swords of blackened bone in their grasp—
Xian Ren knew what they were.
The remnants of those who had walked this path before him.
And failed.
His eyes narrowed.
His hand shifted to the hilt at his side.
A blade, unnamed.
A sword, without history.
And so he drew it—
And the battle began.