Two months.
That's how long it had taken them to reach the bones of the earth.
The tunnels had no end, no light, no sense of time. There were days when the group didn't know if it was still day or night on the surface—or if the surface even still existed. Down here, in the crushing dark, there was only stone, silence, and the constant echo of their footsteps.
And the things that hunted them.
Sometimes, it was other travelers—mercenaries or cultivators sent to scour the depths for rare treasures. Sometimes, it was beasts, twisted by the pressure and strange energy of the underground. And sometimes, it was worse—things without names, without shapes, that moved through the dark and whispered in voices no human should hear.
But they survived.
More than that—they grew stronger.
Sunny had started noticing it in small ways. Shen and the Poet, who once couldn't stand the sight of each other, now moved in sync without even speaking. In battles, Shen's blade and the Poet's strange formations danced like they had been choreographed. When a tunnel collapsed on their path, it had been Shen's brute strength and the Poet's quick calculations that saved them all.
And somewhere along the way, they'd stopped glaring at each other after every fight. Now, Sunny often caught them talking—arguing, sure, but not with hate anymore. There was a strange kind of trust building there. One forged in blood and darkness.
---
By the time they reached the ground where the inheritance lay waiting, even Sunny had changed. The constant battles, the endless pressure, and the oppressive silence of the underground had sharpened him. He didn't even notice when his reflexes improved, when his control over his strange power felt smoother, more natural.
But none of that prepared him for the truth they discovered when they finally stood before the entrance.
---
It wasn't a grand temple or a glowing chamber of treasures, like the stories promised.
It was just… a door.
A single, unmarked slab of black stone, half-buried in the earth, thrumming with an ancient hum that rattled their bones.
Shen tried first. He placed his palm against the stone, his aura flaring. Nothing happened.
The Poet tried next, whispering under his breath, tracing glowing runes into the surface. The stone didn't even flicker.
One by one, everyone tried. Every trick, every skill, every ounce of power they had… and the door didn't move.
Then Sunny stepped forward.
He hadn't even meant to. He just wanted to look closer, to understand why the others kept failing. But the moment his hand brushed the cold stone, the hum changed.
A sound like a deep breath filled the tunnel, and the slab pulsed faintly—like it was recognizing him.
Everyone froze.
Even the Poet's usual calm slipped.
"…What the hell?" Shen muttered, his eyes sharp. "Why you?"
The Poet tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "Interesting. Very… interesting."
Sunny just stared at the stone, his stomach twisting.
"I don't know," he said quietly. "I didn't do anything."
---
Hours later, after the shock faded, the Poet was the one who explained it.
"The inheritance," he said, his tone unusually serious, "was built for one kind of person. Someone… untouched by the dream realm."
Sunny frowned. "Untouched? What does that even—"
"You've felt it, haven't you?" the Poet interrupted. His voice was sharp now, eyes locking on Sunny. "That presence. That… nightmare. The one everyone thinks is death itself."
Sunny's breath caught.
"Amon," the Poet said. "The one who drags people into dreams."
Shen blinked, confusion flickering in his eyes. "Dreams? What the hell are you talking about? Amon kills people. Everyone knows that."
"No," the Poet said flatly. "He doesn't kill them. He pulls them into something else. Something older. Something deeper. And anyone who's been touched by that realm? The inheritance rejects them."
Sunny didn't answer.
Couldn't answer.
Because deep down, he knew exactly what the Poet was talking about.
---
That night, while the others argued about strategy and next steps, Sunny sat alone by the quiet hum of the black stone. His reflection shimmered faintly in the polished surface, pale and unfamiliar.
He didn't know what scared him more—that the inheritance needed him…
Or that, whatever path this door would open, it might finally reveal what he really was.