The valley wind howled like the breath of an ancient creature that had never slept.
As Ruan's body plunged through the fog, he felt as though he was being thrown not downward, but into the stomach of a world that rejected his very existence.
The mist was so thick it erased vision entirely, making it impossible to tell which way was up or down.
His body spun, flipped, and twisted as the wind slapped his face with a cutting cold.
Ruan tried to scream, yet the sound died before it reached his lips.
The air stabbed into his throat, making him cough mid-fall. He stretched out his arms, as if he could grasp something in the empty air—but there was nothing except cold creeping into his bones.
In that endless descent, shadows filled his mind—not physical shapes, but memories sharp as broken glass.
Faces of disciples laughing.
Elders condemning him.
Thalmar's cold, merciless gaze.
Voices echoed through his head like distant mockery:
"Thief…"
"Someone like him deserves to fall…"
"That's where you belong, Ruan…"
Ruan shook his head internally, denying them, rejecting them.
His heart screamed, but his body could only fall.
He wanted to reject the world, but the world refused to hear him.
Then—
his body hit something.
The first impact was brutal, knocking the air from his lungs.
He let out a voiceless cry as his back slammed against a slanted rock.
His body bounced, tumbled, then crashed shoulder-first onto a second stone.
The pain clawed through him so violently that tears formed in his eyes.
He fell again—this time onto a massive root jutting from the ground like the rib of some buried giant. His left hand struck the root—
CRACK.
A sickening sound.
His stomach turned.
He knew the bone had broken.
And it still wasn't over.
His body rolled again before smashing into the valley's hard earth, kicking up damp dust and a musty stench.
He finally stopped when he slammed into a large boulder.
For a moment he couldn't breathe at all, as if something pressed down on his chest from within.
"Ughh—" Ruan gasped, the sound barely a whisper.
He tried to move his fingers.
Some responded.
Others didn't.
His body felt shattered, every part of him screaming in pain.
Sweat and blood stuck his hair to his forehead.
He whispered to himself, struggling to breathe,
"Am… I still alive…?"
It came out more doubtful than hopeful.
The world spun slowly around him.
The valley fog was so dense that even an arm's length away looked like another world entirely.
The air was humid and suffocating, mixed with a faint rot that came from nowhere—and everywhere.
Maybe from piles of corpses said to be buried here.
Maybe from beasts that fed on whatever remained.
Maybe from spirits that had never found their way home.
Ruan tried to push himself up with his right hand—
but pain shot through his shoulder, making him choke back a cry.
"No… I can't… my body…"
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to stay calm.
His body was too weak.
But his mind refused to go silent.
"Why… does it have to be me…" he whispered.
He remembered Elder Varun lifting the torn cloth of his robe.
The accusing eyes.
The guard's merciless shove.
Everything replayed like a nightmare beating against the sides of his head.
Ruan forced himself to look upward.
Through the fog, he saw a distant silhouette of the cliff he was thrown from.
From below, it looked like a gaping mouth of a giant that had swallowed its prey and watched in satisfaction.
"You really threw me away… like garbage…" he breathed.
His voice cracked—not from heartbreak, but from years of buried injustice.
He tried to inhale deeply, but his left chest burned sharply, as if a blade was wedged between his ribs.
He touched his side and felt the softness of bruised flesh.
"I… can't stay here long…"
He didn't know the valley's true nature, but since childhood he had heard stories:
this valley devoured humans.
Beasts prowled.
Lost spirits gathered.
Even the ground could turn against him.
He pushed himself, inch by painful inch.
Every movement was torture.
But he knew that lying here meant certain death.
Just as he managed to drag himself a few more inches—
A sound echoed through the fog.
Ruan froze.
It wasn't a small creature.
It was heavy—like something large dragging its body across the ground.
A rough, wheezing breath followed.
Then faint tremors as something massive stepped forward.
Ruan didn't dare breathe.
His eyes widened as he tried to pierce the fog.
All he saw was a dark shape moving, sniffing the air, searching.
"No… not now…" Ruan thought, terror gripping him.
He tried to crawl behind a shattered root for cover—
but his body screamed too loudly.
He barely moved.
The creature approached.
Its steps were slow, deliberate—
the pace of a predator confident its prey couldn't escape.
Ruan squeezed his eyes shut and begged silently,
"Please… don't come here… don't come here…"
The creature stopped just a few steps away.
Its breath rattled like stone grinding stone.
Ruan bit his lip hard enough to bleed to keep himself silent.
Then—
A short growl.
Footsteps.
The creature turned away, drifting back into the fog.
Ruan held his breath for several more seconds before finally exhaling in a trembling gasp.
His face was pale, soaked in cold sweat.
"If I don't move… I'll die," he whispered.
He forced himself to sit.
It took a long time.
Every motion speared him with agony,
but he had no other choice.
Using the wooden staff still tied to his robe, he dragged it close and used it as a makeshift support.
His legs nearly collapsed, but slowly—inch by inch—he pushed himself upright.
Once standing, the world shook.
He grabbed a nearby stone wall to steady himself.
"I'm alive… but I don't know for how long…"
After several staggering steps, he noticed something through the drifting fog.
A dark opening.
Like a small doorway carved into stone.
A cave.
He hesitated.
Dark places could be traps.
But this valley offered no safety anywhere.
And if the beast returned, he wouldn't survive a second time.
He limped toward the cave—
each step hammering his wounds.
As he neared it, a wind blew out from the cave's depths.
A warm wind.
Warm—
unlike the deathly cold air outside.
Ruan froze.
"This… isn't natural…"
He leaned against the cave wall and entered.
The interior was narrow, but deep enough to hide in.
It smelled of ancient earth.
Then something on the inner wall made him stiffen.
A symbol.
A circular carving, its lines intertwined like an intricate web.
A faint glow seeped from the cracks of the carving.
Ruan whispered,
"What is this…"
As he extended his hand, the symbol quivered gently—
And suddenly, a sound drifted from deeper inside the cave.
Soft.
Barely there.
Like someone whispering through stone.
Ruan froze.
He didn't know if it was human, spirit, or his imagination born from pain.
But the whisper said—very faintly:
"…live…"
Ruan's breath halted.
His chest trembled.
The world seemed to freeze.
"Who… who's there…" he whispered.
No answer.
Only the valley's echoes.
But Ruan knew the voice was real.
And for the first time since he fell—
that single word
lit a spark inside him.
Live.
He didn't understand its meaning.
He didn't know the source.
He didn't know if it was friend or enemy.
But in that cold, merciless valley,
Ruan held onto that word with everything he had left.
Because even if his body was broken—
the world had not yet taken all of him.
Not yet.