The forest changed the deeper Xu Yan walked.
At first, the shift was subtle—easy to mistake for imagination born from exhaustion. The air cooled by a fraction. The light dimmed as the canopy thickened. Even the sounds of distant insects grew faint, as though muffled behind an unseen curtain.
But step by step, the difference became undeniable.
This part of the forest felt… older.
Not simply in age, but in presence.
The trees rose like silent pillars, their bark darkened into muted shades of violet-gray. Thick roots coiled across the ground in slow, deliberate spirals, pushing aside stone and soil alike as if time itself had shaped their path. Moss clung to everything in heavy layers, untouched by wind or wandering beasts.
Nothing here felt abandoned.
It felt remembered.
Xu Yan slowed without realizing it.
His breathing remained steady, yet a quiet tension settled into his chest. Instinct—honed through pain, pursuit, and survival—whispered that this place was different from the wilderness he had crossed since dawn.
Not dangerous in the obvious sense.
Something deeper than danger.
Like stepping into a room where someone had been waiting long before you arrived… and never left.
You feel it, the Void Devouring Dragon murmured within his mind.
Xu Yan's gaze moved carefully between the ancient trunks.
"…It feels like we're being watched."
A pause followed.
Then the dragon replied, voice low and distant.
Not watched.
Remembered.
A faint chill brushed along Xu Yan's spine.
He kept walking, though each step grew more deliberate. Since morning, the faint spatial fractures at the edge of his perception had remained shallow—tiny imperfections scattered through the world like hairline cracks in glass.
Here, they changed.
The fractures were deeper.
Older.
Yet strangely… stable.
Not the chaotic tearing caused by violent power.
These felt… sealed.
As if something long ago had broken space—
and something even stronger had forced it closed.
Xu Yan stopped.
His eyes lowered slowly toward the forest floor.
Roots spread thick and tangled beneath fallen leaves, but Void Sense whispered a quiet truth his eyes alone might have missed.
They were not random.
They curved.
Spiraled.
All of them—subtly, patiently—bending toward a single point several steps ahead.
Xu Yan's heartbeat quickened.
He moved forward carefully, pushing aside damp leaves with the tip of his shoe. Beneath the thin cover of decay lay a shallow depression in the earth, barely noticeable unless one searched for it.
Ordinary.
Silent.
Empty.
Except for the hollowness beneath.
Void Sense stretched downward and found… space.
Not soil.
Not stone.
Space.
"…There's something underground," Xu Yan said softly.
Yes, the dragon replied.
And it has been waiting longer than you have lived.
That was not comforting.
Xu Yan crouched slowly, brushing aside soil with cautious fingers. Every movement carried the readiness to recoil at sudden danger.
The moment his skin touched the center of the depression—
a faint vibration traveled up his arm.
Soft.
Ancient.
Aware.
Xu Yan froze.
It was not hostility he felt.
But recognition.
"…It noticed me," he whispered.
Of course, the dragon said quietly.
You carry the Void. Things bound to distance will always recognize you.
Loose soil shifted inward without sound, sliding away to reveal a smooth dark surface hidden beneath centuries of growth.
Stone—yet not stone.
Too flawless.
Too cold.
Threaded with a faint black-violet sheen like starlight buried in mineral form.
Thin engraved lines crossed the surface in patterns too complex for mortal logic. Looking at them too long made Xu Yan's thoughts feel slightly displaced, as though distance itself blurred meaning.
Spatial inscriptions.
Ancient ones.
His pulse quickened.
"…A ruin."
A fragment, the dragon corrected.
Broken… but not empty.
Excitement stirred beneath caution.
Ruins meant inheritance.
Power.
Knowledge.
Or death.
Usually death.
Xu Yan exhaled slowly.
Standing outside forever would not make him stronger.
He placed both palms against the dark surface and pushed.
Nothing happened.
He tried again, guiding the rough Qi inside his meridians toward his hands. The unstable energy carried faint traces of void aura—uneven, fragile, but real.
The instant it touched the black-violet stone—
the world shifted.
Dim lines of light awakened beneath the soil, racing outward through buried inscriptions like veins filling with blood after endless sleep. The ground trembled—not collapsing, but unlocking.
Xu Yan stumbled back.
Roots snapped silently as the earth folded inward, revealing a descending spiral staircase carved from the same dark material.
Cold air rose from below.
Old air.
Air untouched by sky for longer than memory.
Xu Yan stared into the opening, unease tightening in his chest.
"…We just opened something ancient."
Yes.
"…And we're still going in."
Yes.
He let out a quiet breath.
"Good. Just checking."
The staircase was narrow and steep, spiraling downward into complete darkness.
Each step carried worn inscriptions that still resisted time's decay. Space folded subtly along the walls—not enough for sight, but enough that Void Sense felt a quiet endurance woven into the structure.
Whoever built this place had not been weak.
Xu Yan descended slowly, one hand brushing the wall for balance. Darkness thickened until the entrance light vanished completely behind him.
Yet he was not blind.
Distance, edges, and emptiness formed a dim map inside his mind.
Void Sense was crude.
But growing.
After many silent turns, the spiral ended.
Xu Yan stepped onto flat ground—
and his breath caught.
A vast chamber stretched before him, far larger than the surface suggested. Broken pillars of black-violet stone reached toward a shadowed ceiling. Ancient symbols covered the walls, glowing faintly like dying constellations scattered across night.
Time felt trapped here.
Still.
Waiting.
At the chamber's center stood a low platform.
And upon it—
something small rested in perfect silence.
Xu Yan's heartbeat grew louder.
"…That's not debris."
No, the dragon said softly.
They approached together, caution wrapped tight around curiosity. Each step echoed faintly, the sound swallowed too quickly by the heavy air.
Closer.
Closer.
Until Xu Yan finally saw it clearly.
An egg.
No larger than two cupped hands. Its shell shimmered like deep space, threaded with faint silver-violet lines pulsing in slow rhythm—like distant stars breathing.
Warmth radiated from it.
Not heat.
Life.
Xu Yan stopped just short of touching it, awe tightening his throat.
"…Another Primordial Beast?"
The dragon grew very still.
Not surprised.
Not confused.
Something closer to recognition.
Yes, it said quietly.
But this one should not be here.
Xu Yan's eyes sharpened.
"What do you mean?"
This ruin existed before your rebirth, the dragon replied.
Which means the egg was placed… in expectation.
Understanding crept in slowly.
"…It was waiting for me."
Silence confirmed it.
A cold realization settled deep in Xu Yan's chest.
He had believed his rebirth was chance.
Fortune.
Accident.
But this suggested something far more unsettling.
Preparation.
A path arranged before his first breath in this world.
Xu Yan stared at the softly glowing shell, unease mixing with wonder.
"…Heaven," he murmured, voice barely sound,
"what am I becoming?"
For once—
the Void Devouring Dragon had no answer.
In the silent ruin beneath ancient roots…
the egg pulsed once.
Twice.
Then—
a thin crack spread slowly across its surface.
From within the fracture…
something small shifted.
And the air of the entire chamber suddenly grew cold.