Chapter 31: Spiral of Memory

Each step Yang Xiang took down the staircase felt like sinking through time itself. The steps—formed entirely of human teeth—shifted slightly beneath his boots, as though chewing.

The whispers had become a chant now. He couldn't make out the language, but he knew it wasn't foreign—it was forgotten, buried in the marrow of his bones. The walls of the passage bled roots, black and pulsing, twitching when the copper seal drew near. His breath came hard. He couldn't tell if the pressure in his chest was fear or memory.

Somewhere behind his ribs, something answered back.

The spiral led him into a narrow cavern lit by phosphorescent veins running through the rock. In the center stood a stone plinth. Sitting atop it—a mask. Made of silver, lined with threads of darkened gold, and carved into the smooth, expressionless face of a child.

As he stepped closer, a fragment of his past snapped into view.

A woman. Pale hands. A lullaby he hadn't heard in twenty years.

"Little crow, little crow, fly below, not above…"

His mother? No. Not mother. But familiar.

He reached for the mask, and the moment his fingers touched its surface, the chamber went dark. A surge of heat and freezing cold pulsed through him. His knees buckled.

A voice, sharp and female, cut through the dark:

"You shouldn't be here yet, Yang Xiang."

His eyes snapped open. Someone stood across the plinth.

A woman—late twenties, in expedition gear soaked with soil and sweat. Her eyes gleamed with intelligence and exhaustion. She held a bone lantern that pulsed with pale light.

"I followed the seal," she said. "But I didn't expect to find you here."

Yang blinked. "Who are you?"

She stepped closer.

"Dr. Lu Anqi. I think you and I are from the same nightmare."