The Man Who Waits

The wind carried whispers through the crumbling temple, curling around the stone pillars like unseen specters. Liang Ming stood at the threshold, his body taut with anticipation. The man before him—clad in dark robes, his presence an anchor of something ancient—studied him with quiet intensity.

Ming had faced Watchers, battled creatures born from the Spiral's will, and glimpsed impossible futures. But nothing unsettled him quite like this man's gaze. It wasn't just scrutiny—it was recognition.

"You should not have come here," the man repeated, his voice steady.

Ming's fingers hovered over the cursed book at his side. "Then why does the Spiral lead me here?"

The man's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Because the Spiral does not lead. It tests."

A pause stretched between them, thick as the air before a storm. The temple behind the stranger loomed, its broken walls lined with carvings—symbols Ming did not recognize, yet felt in his bones. They pulsed softly, almost in sync with his own heartbeat.

"Who are you?" Ming finally asked.

The man inclined his head slightly. "That is the wrong question."

Ming frowned. "Then what's the right one?"

A gust of wind swept through the clearing, scattering dead leaves across the stone steps. The man's robes fluttered, but he remained still. Then, after a long silence, he spoke:

"Why do you seek the truth?"

The question caught Ming off guard. He had expected a name, an explanation—anything but that. He opened his mouth, then hesitated. Why did he seek the truth? Was it curiosity? Fear? A desperate need to escape the Spiral's pull before it consumed him entirely?

The man watched him carefully, as if measuring the weight of his thoughts. "You hesitate. That is good."

Ming's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Because those who answer too quickly do not understand what they are asking for."

The words sent a shiver down Ming's spine. He had seen what the Spiral could do. The way it bent reality, how it toyed with fate as though weaving an endless tapestry. He had seen himself in visions, standing at the center of that web. And now, standing before this man, he realized something else:

This stranger was not just a guardian of knowledge. He was a gatekeeper.

"You've been here before," Ming said slowly, realization dawning. "You've walked this path."

The man inclined his head again. "Many times."

Ming exhaled. "And did you find the truth?"

The man's expression darkened. "I found a truth. Not the truth."

Before Ming could ask what he meant, the man turned and walked up the temple steps. He did not beckon Ming to follow, but something deeper—the pull of the Spiral itself—urged him forward. He ascended the steps cautiously, his senses sharpening as he passed beneath the temple's shattered archway.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old parchment and stone dust. The walls were lined with shelves, but instead of books, they held relics—artifacts of unknown origin, each humming with an energy that made the hair on Ming's arms rise. The floor was carved with spirals, intricate and layered, as though they had been etched over centuries.

The man stopped at the center of the chamber, where a single pedestal stood. Upon it rested an object wrapped in dark cloth.

"This is where your path diverges," the man said. "You have glimpsed the Spiral's nature, but you have not yet chosen whether to accept it."

Ming swallowed. "I don't understand."

"You will." The man lifted the cloth, revealing a mirror.

At first glance, it seemed ordinary. But as Ming stepped closer, the surface shimmered—and then his reflection shifted.

It was him. But not as he was now.

The man in the mirror wore the same robes as the stranger before him. His eyes held knowledge that Ming could not yet fathom. The temple around him was whole, pristine, untouched by time's decay. And in his hands…

The book.

Not the cursed tome at Ming's side, but another—identical in every way, yet emanating a power that made Ming's stomach churn. His future self met his gaze, and in that instant, Ming felt the Spiral tighten around him.

The stranger spoke, his voice quieter now. "This is what lies ahead, should you continue."

Ming's pulse pounded in his ears. "And if I turn away?"

The mirror rippled. The image darkened. Shadows consumed the reflection, and the temple around it crumbled into oblivion. The book burned, its pages turning to ash in the wind. And standing amid the ruin—

A version of himself he did not recognize.

A man without the book.

A man forgotten by the Spiral.

Ming's breath hitched. He could feel it in his bones, the weight of the decision before him. To walk the Spiral's path was to accept its burden, to bear the weight of knowledge and the inevitability of fate.

To turn away was to be erased.

The stranger turned to him. "This is the choice all who come here must make."

Ming's hands trembled. He had sought answers, but the Spiral did not offer them freely. It demanded something in return.

His future. His self.

He looked one last time into the mirror, at the man he could become.

Then he turned to the stranger and, with steady resolve, gave his answer.