The chamber was not made of stone.
It only appeared to be.
Jinryu stepped across its surface, yet left no footprints. The light overhead shimmered like moonlight on water, but there was no moon, no sky — only ceiling that folded and rippled like breathing silk.
At the center stood the pedestal — floating inches above the ground, rotating slowly. Upon it, the unsealed Core pulsed like a living heart made of crystal and flame. It was small, no larger than a closed fist, but Jinryu could feel its weight in his bones.
The cat had not followed him in.
He was alone.
As he stepped closer, the Core whispered.
"You were not supposed to return."
His vision blurred.
The chamber dissolved into darkness — and was replaced by a sea of memories.
— Years Ago —
The monastery was burning.
Screams echoed down the halls. Iron doors were being torn from their hinges. Sects were collapsing, and the sky had turned red. He remembered clutching a smaller hand — a child's hand — his sister's, perhaps? But her face was already gone from his memory.
Figures loomed ahead: masked, cloaked, their auras heavy with corrupted Qi.
And at the center of the storm stood a man with eyes like Jinryu's own — silver-haired, red-eyed, but older. Wiser. And cruel.
He said only one thing:
"Seal him. If he awakens now… the world ends too early."
Pain surged.
Chains of light. Searing cold. Then nothing.
— Present —
Jinryu collapsed to one knee. Blood dripped from his nose, but his hands remained steady.
The Core hovered in front of him, pulsing with ancient intent.
"You carry a piece of the Ninth Core. The only fragment that was never meant to awaken."
"Why?" he asked aloud.
"Because it was never supposed to be born."
"Then what am I?"
"A mistake… or a key."
The chamber around him shifted again.
This time, the scene changed not to a memory, but a trial.
Jinryu stood at the edge of an endless bridge made of shattered blades. Ahead of him stood himself — but older, colder. His doppelgänger wore dark robes marked with Council runes. His eyes were dead, his expression empty.
"You left the Gate open," the older Jinryu said. "And so the world burned."
Jinryu gripped Haeryun's hilt. "I don't believe in fate."
"You don't have to," his future self replied, drawing a black version of the same sword. "You just have to lose."
And the battle began.
It wasn't just steel on steel — it was Core against Core.
The sealed fragment inside Jinryu surged awake, flooding his limbs with volatile energy. Symbols crawled up his arms, bleeding into the air like living script. His blade moved faster than before, faster than thought.
But the future version of him was stronger — colder. He had mastered the Core. Jinryu had only glimpsed it.
The duel tore through the dream-bridge, causing shards of reality to rain down into the void.
"You'll kill them all," the shadow-Jinryu hissed. "Everyone. Like last time."
"I don't remember that life."
"But it remembers you."
With a final surge, Jinryu drove his blade forward — not toward the heart, but the Core embedded in his other self's chest.
It cracked.
Light exploded outward.
Jinryu awoke on the pedestal platform, gasping.
The Core had gone dim.
It no longer hovered.
It rested in his palm.
Still. Waiting.
The cat reappeared beside him, tail low.
"You saw something," it said, its voice softer now.
"Yes," Jinryu whispered. "I saw what I might become."
"And what did you decide?"
Jinryu stood, the Core fading into his chest, fusing silently with the sealed fragment already within him.
He stared ahead as the Gate slowly opened into a new passage — glowing symbols lining a stairway descending into the dark earth.
"I decided to become something else."