The Gate of Names
"To name a thing is to claim its existence. To step beyond it is to defy fate itself."
---
The door stood before him—tall, ancient, unmoving.
Black as night. Gold as the first dawn.
It was not a mere gateway.
It was a test.
A seal woven from the echoes of those who had come before.
Those who had climbed the golden staircase, seeking what lay beyond.
None had passed.
Their names remained here—etched into the obsidian like gravestones.
A monument of failure.
And now, it was his turn.
---
Xian Ren lifted a hand, placing his palm against the surface.
Cold.
Lifeless.
Yet the moment he touched it—
The world fractured.
---
A voice, neither man nor god.
"What is your name?"
Xian Ren exhaled.
The answer should have been simple.
Yet for a moment, he did not speak.
Not because he did not know—
But because he understood the weight of the question.
A name was not just a word.
It was a declaration.
A chain, binding past to present.
If he spoke, he would be judged.
Not by laws.
Not by gods.
But by the truth of his own existence.
He closed his eyes.
And answered.
"Xian Ren."
Silence.
Then—
The world shattered.
---
A battlefield.
Not of steel and blood—
But of voices.
Thousands.
Echoing from the walls of the void, each speaking their own name.
Men and women.
Heroes and tyrants.
Each one had stood where he stood now.
Each one had claimed their name.
And each one had been denied.
The golden gate had judged them all unworthy.
Would he be any different?
Would his name mean anything more than theirs?
The voices swelled.
Louder.
A storm of rejection.
A thousand names spoken—
A thousand names erased.
But Xian Ren did not flinch.
He took a step forward.
The voices pressed down.
Trying to unmake him.
To strip his name from existence.
To leave him as nothing.
Yet still, he walked.
His name—his will—
Unyielding.
For his was a name not given.
Not inherited.
Not stolen.
But carved into fate with his own two hands.
And so, the storm could not touch him.
---
He reached the door once more.
The obsidian surface had changed.
The names that once covered it—
Gone.
Erased.
All but one.
His.
Xian Ren pressed his hand against the door.
This time—
It opened.