The air grew thinner as Tae-hyun and the others crossed the stone bridge leading into the Hollow Peaks. Mists clung to the jagged cliffs like smoke from an ancient fire, curling around their feet with every step. A narrow path twisted up the mountain, ending at a shattered temple gate. Statues flanked the entrance—weathered warriors with shattered faces, their hands once raised in prayer or defiance.
"This place feels... wrong," Minjae muttered.
"It's not just the qi here," Yul said, her hand drifting toward the dagger at her hip. "Something's watching us."
They stepped through the gate, and the sky dimmed. Inside, the temple revealed itself as a vast hollow basin carved directly into the mountain. Pillars towered like the bones of forgotten giants. In the center floated a massive obsidian obelisk, spinning slowly above a glowing sigil etched into the stone floor.
The second they stepped within range of the sigil, the obelisk pulsed.
"You who seek ascension," a voice echoed, deep and layered with countless tones. "Enter the Trial of the Hollow Peaks. Four trials await: Balance, Breath, Bond... and Break."
Before anyone could react, the ground split beneath their feet.
Tae-hyun's footing vanished as he fell—no scream, just wind, darkness, and a sudden thud. He landed on a circular stone platform suspended in the void. The others were scattered across similar slabs, suspended in midair.
A loud rumble filled the space.
"Trial One: Balance."
The platform shifted violently, tilting at a nauseating angle. Tae-hyun dropped to one knee to steady himself. Wind roared past, and unseen forces tugged at his limbs, trying to pull him over the edge.
Then came the worst part—gravity began fluctuating.
At first, it felt like climbing a hill, every movement heavier. Then suddenly, it was as if gravity flipped. His body lifted, floating above the stone. Tae-hyun spread his arms to stabilize, pulling qi through his limbs, forcing it into the soles of his feet to anchor himself. Center your core. Root your will.
Across the void, he saw Rin hunched, eyes closed, fingers weaving sigils in the air—forming a spiritual anchor beneath her platform.
Minjae shouted something, but the wind devoured his words. He was crawling, barely hanging on.
Tae-hyun focused. He adjusted his breathing, synchronized with the wild shifts. Not resisting—but flowing with them. Like water adapting to the shape of its vessel.
Suddenly, the platform steadied.
"Passed."
Tae-hyun exhaled. One down.
Then the air turned sharp and thin.
"Trial Two: Breath."
Instantly, the chamber felt like it was draining of oxygen. Tae-hyun's vision blurred, and his chest constricted.
Poisoned air? No… it's spiritual suppression. The atmosphere was thick with corrupted qi—dense and chaotic.
He sat cross-legged, closing his eyes. Internal qi circulation was the only solution. He willed his qi to flow like a tide—cleansing, filtering, cycling through his meridians to maintain oxygen to his organs.
Minutes passed—or hours. He didn't know. His skin was slick with sweat, and his body trembled with the strain of internal balance. At one point, a vision passed his mind—his mother's voice, calling his name on Earth. Was it a memory… or hallucination?
He held on.
At last, the constriction lifted. The chamber shifted.
"Passed."
But this time, he wasn't alone on the platform.
Yul appeared before him. Pale. Tense. A thin cut ran down her cheek.
"Trial Three: Bond."
"One must strike. One must stand. No defense. No evasion. Trust… or perish."
Yul's eyes darkened. "This again."
Tae-hyun met her gaze. "We've been through worse."
"And you trust me?"
"I do."
She looked away. "Idiot."
But she raised her blade.
Tae-hyun didn't flinch. Her strike came fast—but stopped just short, the tip of her blade pressing against his chest, unpierced.
Golden light exploded between them.
"Passed."
They were both lifted—brought to the final platform.
The others were already there. All weary. All marked by their own private battle.
Before them, the obelisk cracked.
"Final Trial: Break."
A portal opened—black as pitch—and out stepped… Jinhwan.
No longer cloaked in the easy arrogance Tae-hyun remembered.
Now, his aura was cold. Precise. Measured.
He bore a faint injury—a wrapped shoulder—but his presence hadn't dimmed. If anything, it had deepened.
Yul stiffened. "How…?"
Jinhwan's voice was calm. "They gave me a second chance. Or maybe I took it."
"What are you?" Tae-hyun asked.
"An echo," Jinhwan replied. "Or a lesson."
With that, the obelisk shattered—triggering a tremor through the entire mountain.
Jinhwan raised his blade.
"Let's begin."
---
Sky Fang Pavilion, Years Ago
The snow never melted on Sky Fang Peak.
Even in midsummer, the white never left the highest terraces. That was where the pavilion's core disciples trained—the favored, the chosen. Jinhwan's breath always fogged before him when he climbed those stairs, not from cold, but from what awaited at the summit.
He was thirteen the first time he stood in the central courtyard and heard his name called—not for praise, but for comparison.
"Your stance is off. Look at your brother. Do it again."
His father's voice was never cruel, just... indifferent. Elder Sung of the Sky Fang Pavilion did not waste energy on emotion. Not for Jinhwan.
Sung Hyun—Jinhwan's elder brother—was the pride of the sect. A genius. By fifteen, he'd achieved Core Formation. His swordsmanship was said to mirror the Pavilion's founder. They called him Heaven's Chosen Fang.
Jinhwan was the younger shadow. Gifted, yes. Quick to learn. His qi flowed strong. But every technique he mastered, his brother had already perfected. Every challenge he completed, his brother had surpassed.
No one ever said it out loud. They didn't need to.
The second son was only a lesser version of the first.
---
There was one moment—one fleeting moment—when Jinhwan had believed he could stand equal.
He was sixteen. There was a sparring tournament among the Pavilion's inner disciples. Hyun had abstained, citing closed-door cultivation. Jinhwan had fought his way through every round. Against every odds, he made it to the final match.
His opponent: Jin Myung, the third seat of the inner court. Ruthless, older, experienced. People whispered Jinhwan should forfeit.
He didn't.
He fought with everything—wind footwork, sky fang blades, spiritual thread technique. He bled, he faltered—but in the end, he stood victorious.
The courtyard had erupted in cheers. For a heartbeat, it felt like he'd earned something that was his alone.
That night, he walked into the family hall. His father was there, reading scrolls. Jinhwan bowed deeply, chest still aching from the match.
"Father… I won."
Sung did not look up.
"Your brother defeated Jin Myung in one strike last year. Rest and resume training."
No congratulations. No acknowledgment.
Just silence and comparison.
---
The walls of the Pavilion were polished jade, but to Jinhwan, they were mirrors that reflected only failure.
His mother was kind, but distant. She tried to support him with quiet words, but she dared not go against his father. No one did.
Sometimes, Jinhwan would sneak out at night to the lower cliffs and sit under the star-glass trees. That was where the outer disciples lived—those born without status, scraping for scraps of qi and recognition. There, he felt less alone.
Once, an old gardener told him, "Even the moon envies the stars, not realizing it's the only one who glows in darkness."
Jinhwan didn't understand what that meant then.
He was too busy chasing his brother's light.
---
The breaking point came during the Sky Ascension Trials.
Jinhwan was seventeen. It was his first chance to earn a formal title and prove his worth to the elders. He trained beyond exhaustion, refining his core, mastering blade and mind in unison.
The night before the trial, he overheard a conversation between two elders in the hall.
"If only he were born first."
"A shame. All that potential, yet so… ordinary beside Hyun."
That was the moment something inside him cracked. Not with anger—but with silence. A quiet, suffocating weight. He entered the trial not to win, but to disappear.
And he did well. He passed. He even placed third.
Hyun, of course, claimed first—again.
---
Years passed. Jinhwan became an elite disciple, feared and respected by peers, but never truly seen. His accomplishments were always measured against someone else's shadow. He became colder. Sharper. Detached.
He started pushing others away. Trust was weakness. Emotion, a liability.
Still… deep down, he hoped.
Hoped his father would one day nod with pride. That he'd say, "Well done." Or even just, "I see you."
It never came.
Not until the day Jinhwan was summoned—not as a disciple, but as a pawn.
A mission. A dangerous one. He was to infiltrate a corrupted sect hidden in the Hollow Peaks. But when he arrived, something was wrong.
The enemy had expected him.
He was ambushed. Outnumbered. Poisoned.
And somewhere in the chaos, as his consciousness faded, he heard the words:
"Sacrifices must be made. The first son cannot fall."
His father had sent him to die.
---
He should have died.
But the Hollow Peaks are strange. The corrupted qi feeds on resentment… on sorrow. It gave Jinhwan a choice:
"Live as an echo, or vanish forgotten."
He chose to live.
---
Now, standing before Tae-hyun and the others, in the fractured shadow of the trial chamber, Jinhwan watched them—eyes clear but cold.
He wasn't jealous of their strength. He wasn't even angry anymore.
He was just… tired.
And in that tiredness, a single thought lingered:
Maybe they'll see me.
Even if it's only as the enemy