The New Awakening
The Himalayan wind clawed at Arya's face, sharp and relentless, carrying the icy tang of ancient glaciers and the faint, distant scent of pine.
Each gust bit into his skin, a stinging chill seeping through his layers of clothing.
He trailed behind the main group, his breaths steady and deliberate, each exhale blooming into mist against the frigid air.
Towering peaks surrounded him on all sides, rising like jagged sentinels that pierced the endless blue sky.
Their snow-clad forms stood unmoving, timeless and indifferent to the fleeting lives beneath them.
"So this is what they meant by breathtaking."
A faint smile tugged at his lips, the sight stirring something fragile within him. He had never seen so much snow in his entire life.
The journey was supposed to be different—a shared adventure with his closest friends.
They had spent countless nights planning this trip. Yet, when the time finally came, life had pulled them away—jobs, obligations, and distant priorities—leaving Arya to face the mountains alone.
At twenty-six, his friends were building careers, climbing corporate ladders, and securing the future their families expected of them.
Meanwhile, he drifted through life like a leaf caught in a stagnant stream—unemployed, directionless, and quietly suffocating under the weight of his own failures.
Even here, surrounded by nature's grandeur, the weight of his stagnant life remained.
The beauty of the Himalayas pressed down on him rather than lifting him, a silent reminder of how small and insignificant he truly was.
The cheerful chatter of a couple nearby pulled him from his thoughts.
They were seasoned climbers from New Zealand, embarking on their second Himalayan expedition.
Their laughter rang clear through the crisp air, a bright contrast to the gloom weighing down his heart.
"Perhaps there is more to life than chasing a stable job and meeting expectations," he thought.
But the idea barely surfaced before the old doubts smothered it once again.
His gaze drifted absently across the snow until it caught a glint of gold buried beneath the white expanse.
A small, unadorned object peeked out—no larger than two inches across, its dull metallic surface reflecting the pale sunlight.
"What's that...?"
Curiosity sparked, cutting through the fog in his mind. He veered off the path, boots crunching against fresh snow. The thought was foolish, but a small thrill fluttered in his chest.
"Could it be gold?"
He bent down, fingers brushing the cold surface.
The instant his fingers made contact, pain lanced through him—sharp and searing, like a bolt of lightning coursing through his veins.
Golden light exploded across his vision, blinding and absolute. His body convulsed, limbs locking in place as though an unseen force had seized control.
His scream remained trapped within his throat, swallowed by the suffocating silence.
He forced his gaze downward, struggling to understand what was happening. A thin cut marred his palm, blood welling up in a crimson line.
The object had no sharp edges, yet it had sliced through his gloves and flesh as if they were nothing more than paper.
A low, resonant hum filled the air—soft at first but growing louder with each passing second.
The sound seemed to burrow beneath his skin, vibrating through bone and marrow. Panic surged within him.
The golden surface pulsed, casting flickering patterns of light across the snow.
Strange symbols shimmered along his arm—runes etched themselves into his skin like molten brands.
His breath caught as something drained from within him, leaving only a hollow emptiness.
His mind grew sluggish, thoughts slipping away faster than he could grasp them.
"No... no, this can't be happening."
Tears welled up, blurring the distorted world around him. His heart ached with sudden, painful clarity.
He remembered his mother, his father, and the family he had always taken for granted.
He longed to tell them he loved them, to apologize for the countless times he had disappointed them.
"God... I'm begging you."
The prayer remained unheard.
The golden light flared brighter, the hum rising into a deafening roar that seemed to echo from the very depths of the mountains themselves.
"Sorry... mothe—"
Arya's silent cries stopped, swallowed by the void.
A single tear traced down his cheek, freezing mid-path beneath the merciless cold.
The light surged one final time—brilliant and absolute—before vanishing without warning.
The world returned to stillness, the mountains standing as indifferent witnesses to the tragedy.
Arya lay motionless in the snow, his vacant eyes reflecting the endless white expanse.
The journey that had once burned with dreams of adventure and conquest had ended here, in this cold and desolate place.
He died without warning, without reason—a life cut short before it could truly begin. He had lived as a disappointment.
-----
Jiang State. Qingyun Region. Qingyun City.
Su Family Manor
A sharp, desperate gasp shattered the silence of the opulent chamber. A young man's eyes flew open, his body drenched in cold sweat.
His heart pounded against his ribs, erratic and frantic, echoing in the heavy stillness.
A searing agony split his skull as unfamiliar memories crashed into his consciousness like an unstoppable tide. He clutched his head, fingers digging into his scalp, as visions flooded his mind.
"What… was that?" he murmured, his voice hoarse and unsteady.
Even his own voice felt slightly foreign. His body felt both familiar and unfamiliar.
Staggering to his feet, he stumbled toward the bronze mirror in the room.
The reflection staring back was undeniably his. Wheatish skin, sharp black eyes, short black hair, and silver earrings glinting against the dim candlelight.
His physique remained the same—lean yet athletic, honed through years of training.
The gray ancient robe draped over his shoulders carried the disciplined air of a warrior.
"It's my body," he whispered, fingers brushing against his face as if to confirm its reality.
His heart still thundered in his chest, his thoughts tangled and chaotic. He forced himself to sit, inhaling deeply, trying to wrest control over his spiraling emotions.
Slowly, he sifted through the storm of memories threatening to consume him.
Then, he saw his future.
He saw himself journeying to the Central Plains, battling demon cultivators, and joining the Heavenly Sword Sect.
At first, it seemed like the start of a grand adventure. But the visions did not stop there.
Two years later, he witnessed his family's destruction.
His mother's suicide.
His father's brutal torture.
His clan, humiliated, broken, slaughtered like animals.
The women of his family, violated before their inevitable deaths.
And worst of all, he had been forced to watch it happen, powerless to stop it.
His fingers dug into his robes, his body trembling with rage and sorrow.
"I'm sorry… It was because of me…" The words left his lips in a broken whisper, a sob catching in his throat.
His eyes stung with unshed tears. The weight of his family's suffering pressed down on him, suffocating. But grief alone would not change anything.
Wiping his face with the back of his hand, he took a shuddering breath, forcing himself to push forward. There was more to understand.
Because alongside these memories was something else. Something even stranger.
He saw Arya.
A young man from Earth.
Arya's struggles. Arya's failures. His quiet disappointments. His yearning for something greater.
He felt the cold winds of the Himalayas. The breathtaking peaks. The crisp mountain air. The quiet solitude that mirrored the emptiness in Arya's heart.
He lived Arya's final moment. The curiosity that led him to the golden object buried in the snow. The searing pain. The blinding light. The abrupt, senseless end.
And above all, he felt Arya's regrets.
A son who had let his family down. A man who had never truly lived.
That regret, that longing—Su Kang felt it as if it were his own.
His fingers trembled as he ran a hand through his hair.
"So… my soul merged with Arya's? Or am I Arya's reincarnation?"
The question gnawed at him. He couldn't separate his love for the Su family from Arya's love for his own family on Earth.
Two sets of emotions that felt equally real.
In the end, he let it go for now.
But there was one undeniable link between both lives. The golden metallic object.
The very same object that had killed Arya in the Himalayas was the same object Su Kang had obtained in the future.
Even then, it had been a mystery. No treasure pavilion had been able to decipher its purpose. It had remained inert, a silent enigma he had kept in hopes of unlocking some forgotten legacy.
Until the moment of his death, when it had suddenly glowed.
That object held the answers.