Chapter 29: Silent Footsteps
The mist slowly settled.
Ashen stood still for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the path ahead, but his thoughts lingered in the silence behind him. The echo of that voice—his voice—still faintly clung to the air like a whisper trapped between heartbeats.
Shadow of the Supreme.
He didn't know whether to treat it as a threat or a warning. Perhaps it was both.
Not a spirit.
Not a remnant will.
Not a ghost.
Something born from him.
Ashen exhaled quietly and closed his eyes. The forest was silent, but not peaceful. The air felt heavy, like the valley itself waited for his next decision.
"I left that life behind."
He said the words softly, not to reassure himself, but because speaking them solidified his choice. There was no audience. No voice answering back. But the world listened.
For now, that was enough.
When he opened his eyes, he walked forward without looking back. If the shadow returned, it would return on its own terms—and when it did, Ashen would face it then.
He continued deeper into the valley.
---
The Valley Grows Strange
The path shifted gradually from packed soil to uneven stone. Trees thinned out, replaced by walls of rock and tangled roots twisting like veins beneath cracked earth. The deeper Ashen walked, the more muted the world became—no insects, no wind, only a faint distant drip of water.
He brushed his fingers across a stone surface. The texture felt wrong—too smooth in some places, too jagged in others, as if shaped by something other than time or weather.
The valley felt less like a natural place and more like a scar the world refused to heal.
---
A Trail Left Behind
After several minutes, a faint, sharp scent reached him. Not blood. Not rot.
Herbs.
Ashen paused and knelt beside a patch of crushed leaves. He rubbed the powder between his fingers. The aroma was subtle but distinct—root-like, calming, refined.
A rare medicinal herb capable of reducing internal Qi backlash.
It hadn't been crushed long—perhaps a few hours.
Ashen's eyes narrowed slightly.
The Divine Doctor must have passed through here.
He rose and continued tracing the faint path. Every so often, he found small signs:
broken stems kicked aside in haste
footprints layered over each other
pressure indentations indicating someone stumbled
Not random travel. Someone fleeing.
Someone being chased.
His pace quickened.
---
Signs of Struggle
Eventually, the path widened into a clearing where the grass was torn and earth disrupted. Ashen crouched again, inspecting signs more carefully.
Five sets of footprints.
Two lighter—running.
Three heavier—pursuing.
He brushed his fingers over the soil.
A faint droplet of blood.
Not old. Partially dried. Still dark.
The Divine Doctor may have been injured.
He stood silently.
That man didn't deserve this—not for refusing to take sides, not for healing without discrimination. Ashen had only heard rumors, but he respected people who stood by conviction.
Whether the doctor lived or died might decide whether this valley became a graveyard or a turning point.
Ashen continued, footsteps light, expression unchanged.
---
The Mist Watches Again
As he descended deeper, the air thickened. Mist pooled around his ankles, rising slowly with every step. Unlike before, it didn't just linger—it followed, trailing behind him like curious hands reaching for warmth.
Ashen could feel it assessing him.
He didn't push it away.
The valley wasn't attacking—it was observing.
Almost waiting.
"You can watch," he said calmly. "Just don't interfere."
The mist curled in response—not retreating, not advancing, but listening.
---
Footsteps Above
A soft crack echoed overhead—stone shifting under careless weight.
Ashen stopped and looked up.
Three silhouettes moved across the ridge: the same rogue cultivators who had shadowed him earlier. Their movements were quieter now, more deliberate. They were learning to fear the valley.
One whispered:
> "He's still ahead… keep distance."
Another replied:
> "We're not here to fight him. Just follow. He'll open the path."
Ashen ignored them and kept walking.
He did not fear them. They feared him.
That was enough.
If they crossed his path, that would change.
---
A Sacred Spring
The trees finally broke open into a wide cavern fed by flowing water. Pale moss glowed across the stone walls, illuminating the river like veins of moonlight.
Ashen stepped to the water's edge and dipped his hand.
A faint warmth pulsed through his fingers—gentle, soothing, restoring.
A healing spring.
No wonder the Divine Doctor passed through here.
He looked closer and noticed something caught between the rocks—a torn satchel strap stained with ash.
He picked it up.
Inside:
shattered bone needles
crushed medicinal powder
faint remnants of spiritual salve
All damaged.
A struggle happened here.
Ashen set the bag down gently and touched the earth beside it.
Deep grooves carved into stone—someone dragged away while resisting.
Not by beasts.
By people.
His jaw tightened just slightly.
He followed the gouged trail.
---
A Presence Beneath the Water
Halfway across the cavern, the river widened into a reflective pool. Its surface was smooth—too smooth. Ashen stopped, studying his reflection.
It stared back with calm eyes.
No shadow mimicking him this time.
But the water trembled without wind.
A presence lurked beneath.
Ashen remained still.
"I know you're there."
Silence.
The surface rippled once.
Then eyes opened beneath the water—dozens of pale, shifting eyes with no bodies connected.
Mist-formed creatures.
Not spiritual beasts.
Not illusions.
Instinctual beings born from fragmented wills lingering in the valley.
They hovered just below the surface, watching him, but not attacking.
Waiting for something.
Ashen did not draw his blade.
"If you're waiting for the other one," he murmured, "you won't see him yet."
The water rippled again.
Then the eyes retreated.
Not afraid of Ashen—
Afraid of what followed him.
---
A New Pressure
The air suddenly thinned.
Ashen stopped walking.
A faint chill pressed against his back—not physical, not emotional.
Presence.
Like someone stood behind him.
He didn't turn.
Instead, he spoke quietly.
"…It's not time."
The presence faded instantly—like something slipping back into darkness.
Not the Shadow itself.
Its echo.
Even unseen, the valley reacted.
Stones creaked.
Water darkened.
Fog curled toward him, then pulled away.
The world shifted around his existence.
Ashen continued moving, faster now.
---
The Hunters Arrive
Behind him, voices echoed sharply:
> "There! He left tracks!"
> "If he found the doctor's trail, we take him down and force him to talk!"
Ashen didn't turn around.
He didn't speed up.
But the faintest trace of impatience flickered in his gaze.
He had no time for men who chased scraps of power.
The footsteps grew louder.
Metal clinked.
Someone shouted:
> "Stop! Hand over the spirit! We saw it follow—!"
Ashen vanished from their sight.
A second later, he stood behind the speaker, silent and still.
The cultivator froze, breath caught in his throat.
Ashen spoke without raising his voice.
"I am not your enemy. Do not make me one."
He stepped away, continuing down the path.
The rogue cultivators didn't pursue.
Not because of strength—
But because the mist rose behind Ashen again, forming a silhouette.
Not solid.
Just watching.
Like a promise waiting for the right moment.
---
Deeper Shadows
The path narrowed into a descending gorge once more, stone walls tightening around him. The deeper he went, the darker everything became.
Not a normal darkness—light existed, but it refused to reach him fully, as if the world bent around his figure.
The valley wasn't just a place anymore.
It was a witness.
A judge.
A mirror reflecting not what he was—
—but what he might become.
Ashen kept walking.
His steps echoed softly.
He didn't fear the path ahead.
But he understood now that whatever waited deeper in this valley—whether the Divine Doctor, ancient remnants, or the shadow—
none of it would let him leave unchanged.
He accepted that.
A quiet voice echoed faintly behind his thoughts:
> "You're walking toward me."
He ignored it.
For now.