The Shadows Warning

The night was quiet again, but Zhao Feng knew better.

His heartbeat had steadied, his breathing even, yet his mind remained razor-sharp, replaying every detail of the battle. His opponent had been skilled—too skilled for a mere wandering assassin. Their precision, their confidence, and especially the glowing runes etched into their skin… it all pointed to something deeper. A hidden sect? An ancient bloodline?

And then there was the crystal.

He shifted his grip slightly, feeling the faint warmth of the object nestled beneath his robes. Had it always pulsed like this? The more he focused, the clearer the sensation became—a subtle, rhythmic energy, like a heart beating in his palm. The thought sent a chill down his spine. He had taken it on instinct, a prize from the beast he had slain. But it was clear now—this wasn't just some relic. It was something wanted. Something watched.

Zhao Feng exhaled slowly, his senses stretching outward as he resumed his path.

The mountains had changed.

It wasn't something visible at first glance, but he could feel it. The air had thickened, the wind carried a strange weight, and the very ground seemed to hum beneath his feet. Every step forward felt like pushing against an unseen force, as if the land itself was resisting his presence.

His brows furrowed. He wasn't just being watched. He had disturbed something.

As he climbed higher, the oppressive energy only deepened. The jagged cliffs loomed like ancient sentinels, their surfaces marked with deep scars. The land was old—far older than he had first assumed. And then, just as he stepped between two towering rock formations, the world around him shifted.

For a brief moment, everything blurred. The air twisted, space folded in on itself, and an eerie silence fell over the mountains. Then—

The illusion shattered.

The barren, rocky pass he had been walking through was gone. In its place stretched the remnants of an ancient battlefield.

Broken weapons lay scattered across the cracked earth, their edges dulled but still sharp enough to kill. The skeletal remains of warriors, some still clad in rusted armor, stood half-buried in the dirt, frozen in the last moments of their final struggle. The ground was blackened and scorched, as if it had once burned with a fire that had never truly died out.

And the air—thick, suffocating, alive with something unnatural.

Zhao Feng's breath came slow and steady. This was no mere remnant of history. The very intent of the warriors who had died here still lingered, their final emotions pressing down like an unseen weight. Fear. Rage. Desperation.

He stepped carefully, his eyes scanning the desolate expanse. Was this real? A memory? A residual imprint left behind by whatever great conflict had once raged here?

His gaze landed on a monolith standing in the heart of the ruins. A towering stone slab, untouched by time, its surface engraved with markings that pulsed faintly beneath layers of dust. Zhao Feng moved toward it, drawn by an inexplicable pull.

As his fingers brushed the cold stone, the inscriptions became clearer. The letters were ancient, unfamiliar… yet somehow, he understood.

"The reckoning comes. Those who wield the fragments shall be hunted. The cycle must be broken."

His stomach clenched.

This wasn't just a warning. It was a prophecy.

And if the assassin from before had come for the crystal… then these words were speaking of him.

A sudden shift in the wind.

Zhao Feng's body reacted before his mind caught up. His feet slid back, his muscles coiled, and his Qi surged through his limbs.

Something was here.

At the edge of his vision, the air twisted. A shadow peeled itself from the darkness, stepping forward with slow, deliberate grace.

Zhao Feng's grip tightened. Unlike his previous opponent, this presence was suffocating. It bent the very air around it, warping reality with each step.

Then, the figure spoke—

"So, you're the one who awakened it."

The voice was low, measured—almost amused. Yet beneath the calmness, there was an undercurrent of something far more dangerous.

Zhao Feng's muscles tensed. The figure before him was cloaked in a veil of shifting dark Qi, their form indistinct, as if they existed only half in this world. Unlike the assassin he had fought before, this presence was overwhelming. It pressed against him like an ocean tide, suffocating, inescapable.

He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he let his senses stretch out, analyzing every detail. The figure wasn't moving aggressively—yet. But that could change in an instant.

"Who are you?" Zhao Feng asked, his voice calm despite the tension thick in the air.

The figure chuckled softly. "Names hold little meaning to those beyond the veil. But you may call me the Herald."

Zhao Feng's eyes narrowed. The name carried weight. Not a title of nobility, but of something else—something foreboding.

"You speak as if you were expecting me."

"Expecting you?" The Herald let out a slow, deliberate breath. "No, but I knew someone would come. The crystal was never meant to sleep forever. And now… it stirs."

At the mention of the crystal, Zhao Feng's grip instinctively tightened.

A mistake.

The Herald's gaze—if it could even be called that—snapped downward, fixating on the faint glow beneath his robes. "Ah," they murmured. "So it chose you."

Before Zhao Feng could react, the pressure in the air multiplied.

It was as if the very world had turned against him. The weight pressing on his shoulders became unbearable, his knees threatening to buckle. The air around him vibrated with unseen force, and his lungs struggled to draw breath.

His mind screamed Move!

Zhao Feng surged backward, pouring Qi into his legs just as the space where he had stood collapsed. A thin, jagged line tore through reality itself—a rift of pure nothingness. Had he been even a fraction slower, he would have been erased from existence.

Cold sweat ran down his spine.

This wasn't just a powerful cultivator. This was something else entirely.

The Herald made no move to pursue him. Instead, they regarded Zhao Feng with something resembling curiosity. "You survived," they mused. "Interesting."

Zhao Feng forced his breath to steady. "You're not the first one to come for the crystal," he said, buying time. "The last one failed."

The Herald tilted their head. "Ah, the marked assassin? He was nothing but a vulture, picking at the scraps left behind. We are not the same."

They lifted a single finger.

Zhao Feng barely had time to react before a wave of black Qi surged toward him. He twisted his body, summoning a Void Edge in a desperate attempt to block. His blade met the attack—

And shattered.

The impact sent him hurtling backward, his body slamming against the cracked earth. The taste of blood filled his mouth. He coughed, forcing himself to stand even as his limbs screamed in protest.

"Your strength is commendable," the Herald said, striding forward at an unhurried pace. "But you are still a child playing with fire. You do not even know what you hold."

Zhao Feng wiped the blood from his lips. He didn't waste time replying—words meant nothing against an opponent like this. Instead, he poured everything he had into his next attack.

His Qi surged, condensing into three Void Edges at once. He didn't hesitate. With a flick of his fingers, they shot forward, faster than ever before.

The Herald sighed. They raised a hand—

And the Void Edges froze.

Not physically. Not through force. They simply… stopped, suspended midair, as if time itself had refused to acknowledge them.

Zhao Feng's blood ran cold.

The Herald examined the blades with mild interest. "Spatial techniques," they murmured. "Crude, but effective at your level." With a flick of their wrist, the Void Edges crumbled.

Zhao Feng barely suppressed a shudder.

This wasn't a battle. It was a demonstration.

The Herald took another step forward, and Zhao Feng instinctively moved back.

"You misunderstand," the figure said. "If I wished to kill you, you would already be dead."

Zhao Feng's grip tightened. "Then what do you want?"

"To warn you."

For the first time, there was something different in the Herald's tone. A strange amusement—no, certainty.

"You carry a fragment of something far greater than you realize. A relic from an age before history. An ember of the past that refuses to die."

The words sent a shiver down Zhao Feng's spine.

"Others will come," the Herald continued. "Not scavengers like the assassin, but true hunters. Those who have spent lifetimes waiting for the chance to claim what you now hold."

Zhao Feng forced himself to meet the Herald's gaze. "And you? What do you want from it?"

The Herald chuckled. "Me?" They raised a single hand, and for the first time, Zhao Feng saw something shifting beneath the shadows—a brand.

A symbol, glowing faintly on their palm. Different from the runes on the assassin. Older. More intricate.

"I am merely the messenger," the Herald said. "But you, Zhao Feng… you have been marked."

The words echoed in his mind.

Marked.

Somehow, he knew they weren't lying.

"The true hunt begins now," the Herald said, their voice almost gentle. "I suggest you run."

And then, just like that—they were gone.

No sound. No lingering energy. No trace that they had ever existed.

Zhao Feng stood alone in the ruins, his pulse hammering in his ears.

For the first time since he had stepped onto this path, a deep, undeniable weight settled onto his shoulders.

This wasn't just about the crystal anymore.

This was bigger.

And it was only just beginning.