Echoes of the Spiral
The wind howled through the temple's broken archways, a mournful whisper carrying the weight of untold stories. Liang Ming stood motionless, his pulse still racing from the encounter with the shadowed figure. His fingers lingered over the closed cover of the Book, its presence an unbearable pressure on his very soul.
He had seen glimpses of the future, paths woven with golden threads and others drenched in darkness. Yet, the one undeniable truth remained—the Spiral had begun to turn, and he was caught within its endless pull.
A deep breath steadied his trembling hands. He had to move forward.
Stepping out of the temple, the cool night air hit him like a wave, cleansing and cruel at once. The ancient structure sat atop a secluded mountain, its crumbling stairway winding downward toward the thick, sprawling forests below. Somewhere out there, the other players moved. He had felt them. Their presence, their hunger.
"I am not alone in this."
His journey would not be a solitary one, and that realization sent a shiver down his spine. The vision of the man in the city, the fractured sky, the web of fate—what did it mean? Who was that other version of himself?
As if responding to his thoughts, the book pulsed faintly at his side. It was a warning.
Or a promise.
The Descent into the Unknown
He began his trek down the mountainside, each step slow, deliberate. He could feel something lurking in the forest below, waiting, watching.
The Shifting Path was a labyrinth of realities, and he knew better than to trust his eyes. Paths could lead to different places depending on who walked them, and even a single misplaced step could throw him into a world he was not meant to see.
The trees were ancient, their bark etched with symbols that pulsed softly under the moonlight. Warnings. Markers left behind by those who came before. Liang Ming ran his fingers over one—an intricate spiral carved deep into the wood.
"Spirals within spirals. Have I passed this place before?"
A rustling in the underbrush. Not the wind.
He froze, muscles tensed. The night had fallen silent. Too silent.
Then—movement.
A shadow broke from the trees. Not human.
A beast unlike any he had ever seen prowled forward, its form shifting as though reality itself rejected it. Limbs stretched and retracted, its eyes a void of swirling gold.
Liang Ming didn't hesitate. He moved.
The creature lunged, and he barely managed to roll aside, feeling the air twist around him as it passed. It wasn't just an attack. It was testing him.
The spiral was watching.
A Blade Against the Spiral
Liang Ming drew his dagger, the weight of it familiar in his grip. The moment he took a stance, the air around him shifted.
The beast stilled.
A voice—whispering.
"Do you truly think steel will cut what does not belong to this world?"
Liang Ming gritted his teeth. Then I'll make it belong.
The beast lunged again, but this time, Liang Ming didn't dodge. Instead, he twisted his grip and slashed through the air itself.
For a heartbeat, the world around him flickered. A seam, barely visible, opened.
The beast faltered, its form glitching as though it had been severed from reality itself.
And then, with a final, distorted howl, it collapsed into nothingness.
The forest remained still. The wind whispered once more.
But Liang Ming knew.
This was only the beginning.
The Threads Tighten
As he stood over the fading remnants of the beast, a realization struck him.
Someone—something—had sent that creature. It wasn't a mindless beast. It was a test.
The Spiral wasn't just drawing him in.
It was guiding him somewhere.
And he had no choice but to follow.