The air fractured with a ripple of cold, and the darkness bent unnaturally as if pulled toward an unseen centre. From the wrapped gloom, a figure surfaced—half-formed, wavering between illusion and reality, twisting the night as if the world itself doubted its existence.

  It was a wolf.

  But not like the one trembling before it.

  The apparition stood twenty-five feet tall, its bulk draped in fur that seemed woven from shade. Its fur, dark as shadow yet hollow under the faint light, shimmered like heat distortion, bending the air around it.

  Its eyes were closed, but even shut, they radiated a chill that seeped into the bones. Its elongated muzzle bristled with too many crystalline teeth, glinting like glass knives. Its forelegs bore no monstrous stretch, their proportions undeniably lupine—yet something in their movement defied sequence, as if it walked half a breath ahead of reality. Its tail lashed, whip-like, thick and unsettlingly fluid, its pointed tip twitching in ways the eye could barely follow.

  Shadows near it stretched toward its body, drawn as if by some invisible pull, and then stilled. There was no sound, no scent, no aura—nothing. Nature itself forgot it was there.

  The Hollow-Paw’s snarl died in its throat. It stood rigid, muscles locked, its instincts screaming to flee, yet its legs refused to obey.

  The second cry, harsher and darker, smashed what fear had already hollowed out. It broke the predator’s will and shattered the last fragments of resistance.

  The creature convulsed, its body jerking as Xiao Lei closed the distance.

  He struck—each blow cracked bone and split the ground, shockwaves rattling the air. The Hollow-Paw’s scream warped into a ragged whimper before silence swallowed it whole.

  It lay still.

  Xiao Lei stood over it, swaying, chest heaving. His vision swam. The last threads of strength bled out of him, leaving him hollow.

  Gasping, he staggered and collapsed beside the slain creature, his body trembling violently.

  The shimmering figure behind him loomed silently. His Primordial Echo.

  With the last flicker of consciousness, Xiao Lei’s eyes met it—and then closed.

  ?? — ? — ??

  The cold still clung to him when he woke, as if the shadow of that towering wolf had never left.

  When his eyes finally opened, the world felt distant, muffled. Damp earth clung to his skin, and every breath tasted of blood and rot. He turned his head slowly, muscles protesting with sharp stabs of pain, and saw it—the carcass of the Hollow-Paw Wolf.

  Its body lay twisted among the leaves, black fur matted with blood that had already seeped deep into the soil, leaving only dark stains. The beast’s glassy eyes stared upward, wide and unseeing, as if even in death they could not comprehend what they had faced.

  Xiao Lei remained still for a few breaths, gathering the fragments of his strength. With a grunt, he forced himself onto his elbows, then to his knees. Weak, his limbs trembled with the effort. But he was alive.

  The forest around him was silent, unnaturally so. No rustle of birds or insects, only the whisper of leaves high above. It was as if the Wilds themselves were wary of what had taken place here. Thankfully, no other spirit beast had wandered close during his unconsciousness.

  His gaze returned to the Hollow-Paw. Even dead, the creature radiated a lingering dread. Xiao Lei’s lips pressed into a thin line. Moving stiffly, he crawled to the carcass, his fingers shaking as they gripped one of its limbs. With a final pull, the flesh tore free, wet and heavy in his hand.

  He sank back, panting. There was no strength to gather wood, no energy to kindle a fire. Hunger gnawed at him, fierce and demanding.

  The raw meat was slick, almost black in the dim light. His stomach roiled at the sight, but survival left him no choice. He bit into it.

  The taste was metallic, bitter with the tang of blood. His body rebelled, nausea rising, but he forced it down. Bite after bite, he chewed and swallowed, until the churning in his gut dulled to a low burn.

  When he could stomach no more, he staggered toward a nearby tree. Each step felt distant, his legs barely obeying, until he finally collapsed against the rough bark, the half-eaten limb still clutched in his hand.

  For a moment, he simply sat there, his head tilted back, eyes half-lidded. His thoughts drifted—not to the pain, but to what had happened moments before he fell.

  Every cultivator carried a second soul—Rhen had told him that much. A core spirit, the Primordial Echo, waiting to awaken and lend strength no mortal could touch.

  At Qi Awakening, it would finally take shape. A shadow of its true self, but still powerful.

  Most cultivators awakened with a single gift. Xiao Lei’s was different.

  The first ability he had used—Void Step—wasn’t teleportation. It was a clean, unnatural tear through space, skipping the distance between two points as if the space in between had ceased to exist. A movement born not from training, but instinct. As natural to him as breathing.

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  The second was far darker. The Shattered Howl. The corrupted cry he had unleashed attacked the mind, unravelling his opponents’ instincts while awakening something primal in himself. With it came a predator’s surge—speed sharpened, strength amplified, reflexes honed to a razor’s edge. Yet the power came at a price. Each use tore at his body, drained his qi, leaving him on the brink of collapse. Using it twice in quick succession had nearly killed him.

  And then, at the very end, that thing had appeared.

  The figure behind him—the shimmering, otherworldly wolf—had been his Primordial Echo.

  He had seen echoes before. His father’s was a giant silver hammer, solid and formidable. In books kept by the branch clan, he had seen illustrations of many others: weapons, plants, beasts. But never anything like his.

  Even now, the memory clung to him—the way the air itself had frozen under its presence, how the Hollow-Paw’s eyes had filled with terror. That silent dread wasn’t his own, but it lingered in the space the wolf had stood, as if the shadow of its power refused to leave.

  To him, it was strange yet familiar, like a shadow that had always followed unseen. He thought it was normal, just rare. After all, the Lei Clan was only a branch clan; their knowledge of the world was limited.

  The power felt raw, almost overwhelming—but it was his. Whatever this new strength demanded, he would rise to meet it.

  Xiao Lei closed his eyes, letting the thought settle.

  He didn’t know it yet, but in the entire world, there were few who would even recognize the shadow he had called forth.

  ?? — ? — ??

  The Duskroot Wilds no longer felt like an endless maze of death.

  Winter crept at the edges of the forest, chasing away the last traces of the rainy season. The air had turned sharp, carrying the dry scent of frost waiting to settle. Mist drifted low to the ground, curling around the roots and stones, and every breath clouded faintly in the chill. Leaves whispered under the faintest stir of wind, but otherwise, the Wilds stood in its familiar, uneasy silence.

  Ahead, two spirit boars clashed in a muddy clearing. Their hides were dark, bristling with coarse hair matted by old wounds. Tusks clashed with a dull, bone-jarring crack as they slammed into each other, mud spraying with every impact. One squealed, backing off with its head lowered, while the other stomped forward, eyes red with rage. The ground churned beneath their hooves, the sound of their struggle breaking the stillness in harsh, guttural bursts.

  The fight raged for moments more—snorting, ramming, the wet slap of hooves in the mud—until a sharp hiss split the air.

  Whoosh.

  An arrow cut through the mist, piercing clean through the skull of the dominant boar. It stumbled, legs folding under its weight, collapsing in a wet heap. Steam rose faintly from its body in the cold air.

  The other beast froze. Panic flickered in its eyes. It bolted, crashing through the underbrush, desperate to escape.

  Another hiss.

  The second arrow struck, driving deep into its head. It fell mid-stride, skidding through the mud before lying still.

  For a few breaths, the forest returned to silence. Mist drifted, the wind whispering softly through the branches. No movement. No sound but the slow drip of blood into the earth.

  Then, from a branch some distance away, a figure moved.

  A youth dropped soundlessly from the tree, bow in hand. His bare torso caught the pale winter light, muscles lean and tight beneath a lattice of scars. Some were shallow, faded lines across his skin. Others were deep, jagged reminders of battles survived. The air carried the faint scent of sweat and iron as he landed in a low crouch, rising slowly with measured steps.

  The bow slid onto his back as he approached the first carcass. His expression remained unreadable, eyes sharp, posture calm. Kneeling, he gripped the arrow protruding from the boar’s head and pulled it free with a wet sound. Blood streaked its shaft, which he wiped clean against his pants without a glance.

  He moved to the second body, his steps steady, precise. As he reached for the arrow, a rustle came from the bushes—sharp, sudden.

  A hidden spirit beast lunged, bursting from the shadows, jaws snapping.

  The boy did not flinch.

  At some point, the arrow in his hand had vanished. In its place, his fingers curled into a makeshift glove, rough leather bound with shards of claw and fang that glinted faintly in the dim light.

  The beast came close.

  His fist struck like a hammer, driving the creature to the ground. Bone cracked under the blow, its body twitching once before going still.

  Breath misted in the cold air as the youth lowered his hand. Slowly, he crouched, retrieving the fallen arrow from the ground.

  Xiao Lei straightened, his eyes cold and unreadable. The mist swallowed him as he moved on, a shadow among shadows.

  He moved through the thinning trees, his steps quiet against the frost-crusted ground. The air was brittle, each breath rising in pale wisps before vanishing into the stillness. Ahead, a pond came into view, its surface a dull mirror under the muted winter light.

  The water was not yet frozen, but a thin film of ice clung to its edges, delicate and cracked where the wind had touched it. Bare branches arched above, their reflections breaking against the ripples. The world smelled of cold earth and wet bark, the faint tang of iron still lingering on his skin.

  He knelt by the edge, cupping the water in his hands. The chill bit into his fingers, searing in its clarity, and when he splashed it over his face, the shock sharpened his senses. Droplets slid down his cheeks, stinging in the cold air, before dripping back into the pond with soft, concentric ripples.

  Three months.

  That was how long it had been since he had first stepped into the Duskroot Wilds. At first, the forest had been an endless threat, each shadow a predator waiting to strike. Now, the outer regions no longer held fear for him. Spirit beasts here, unless they were veteran rank ones or the rarer rank twos, no longer posed any danger.

  He had adapted. More than that—he had grown.

  The bow slung across his back had become an extension of himself, its smooth wood worn to his grip. For close combat, he relied on a crude gauntlet, leather bound tightly around his hand, its surface studded with claws and fangs torn from his kills. Every mark on it was a reminder of the fights survived, the blood spilled.

  His cultivation had surged like a river breaking through a dam. Only days ago, he had broken into the third stage of Qi Awakening. After advancing from Mortal Vein, he had learned what defined talent—the number of opened qi channels. Five to eight marked mediocrity, a slow climb that most never escaped. Nine to twelve was average, enough to earn a place in most sects. Thirteen to sixteen belonged to the elites, the ones whose names spread even in the great clans. Anything beyond seventeen was rare enough to be called genius.

  Yet when he examined himself after his last battle, the truth had left him silent. Thirty-six channels—every single one open. A strength that should not exist, yet flowed through him as naturally as breath.

  With this, his battle prowess eclipsed that of ordinary cultivators far above his level. He had no formal techniques to channel this overwhelming strength. Yet with Void Step and the Shattered Howl, even that flaw had become a weapon.

  The pond reflected his image back at him: lean, scarred, eyes sharper than the winter sky. The boy who had entered this forest was gone.

  It was time.

  Beyond this line, the Wilds did not forgive weakness. But he no longer feared what waited.

  He rose, tightening the strap of his bow, the cold wind brushing against his bare shoulders. Turning away from the pond, he took a step—then froze.

  Someone was there.

  His breath stilled, his body shifting ever so slightly, every muscle poised. The silence stretched, sharp and heavy, as his gaze locked onto the figure ahead.

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  Destiny Reckoning. It’s set in the same universe, and you definitely don’t want to miss it, because the stories will eventually crossover.