The air beyond the Gates of Silence grew thick and heavy, as if charged before a storm. The light from Leng Wei's dagger no longer cast clear shadows—it bled into the subterranean gloom, illuminating just a few steps ahead. The walls here were alive, sheathed in pale, pulsating mycelium that emitted a faint, phosphorescent glow. A low, vibrational hum filled the air, resonating from every direction at once.
"We walk upon a living body," the Elder whispered, his voice trembling with awe. "The heart of the Tomb… it beats."
Leng Wei felt that rhythm in his own temples. His blood no longer sang or hummed—it pulsed in sync with the Tomb, like the other half of a single being. Each beat echoed deep in his bones, filling him with both strength and a dull, mounting ache.
Han walked with a hand clamped over one ear. "That drone… it's maddening. Feels like something's boring into my skull from the inside."
Ahead, the tunnel split into two identical passages. Yet the energy emanating from each was starkly different. From the left breathed an icy chill, carrying the scent of numbness and eternal stillness. From the right wafted a scorching heat, thick with the odor of ash and fury.
Hovering in the air between the paths was a shimmering, indistinct form—neither human nor vampire, but a coalescence of light shifting between shapes.
"Heir," a voice spoke, coming from everywhere and nowhere. "Your path is divided. The choice you make will determine not only your fate, but the very nature of your power."
Leng Wei studied the two passages, his instincts torn. The cold promised control—a serene power untouched by emotion. The heat offered untamed might, enough to incinerate all in its wake.
"What is this choice?" he asked, his eyes fixed on the divergent ways.
"One road leads to the Icy Heart," the voice replied. "The power of absolute control over self and others. The other leads to the Fiery Blood—a force that burns all in its path, yourself included. Both lead to power. Both lead to ruin. You must choose which fate to embrace."
Han let out a sharp breath. "The Icy Heart. No question. Life's easier without all these damn emotions."
The Elder shook his head. "No, Han. Insensibility is not control. It is death in life. It strips away the very reason we fight."
"And the Fiery Blood will burn him to cinders!" Han shot back. "I've seen what happens when rage takes him!"
Leng Wei listened, but his focus turned inward. He remembered the cold resolve with which he'd slain the Stalker, and the all-consuming fury that had annihilated the overseer in the labor camp. Both states were part of him. Both were dangerous.
"I choose neither," he said at last.
The voice in the air wavered. "It is not possible. You must choose."
"No." Leng Wei stepped forward, right to the point where the paths diverged. "You asked which fate I would embrace. But I ask you—who decreed I must play this game at all?"
He raised the dagger, and its blade shone not with crimson, but with a pure, nearly white light. "I will not renounce my rage, nor my calm. Rage gives me the strength to fight. Calm gives me the clarity to think. I will not splinter myself for the illusion of control or power. I accept myself in full."
He turned not to the left or the right, but drove the blade straight into the wall between them—into the very stone where the living mycelium crawled.
"I choose my own path!"
The stone yielded. Under the will-charged edge of the dagger, the wall crumbled, revealing a third passage—narrow, dark, and devoid of any energy. It simply was.
The shimmering form in the air flickered, distorted, and dissolved into a soft sigh. The hum that had filled the chamber fell silent. Only their breathing remained.
Han stared at the new opening with open disbelief. "And what d'you think is in there?"
"I don't know," Leng Wei answered truthfully. "But it is a path I forged myself—not one I selected from another's design."
The Elder watched him with profound respect. "You did not follow the ancient rules. You wrote your own. No one has ever done this."
"Or they did," Han muttered darkly, "and never returned to speak of it."
Leng Wei took the first step into the dark passage. "Then we will be the first."
The tunnel was low and tight, forcing them to hunch over as they walked. The walls here were rough, unfinished, as if hastily carved. Yet Leng Wei sensed it—this was the true road to the Tomb's heart. A road not preordained. A road he had made himself.
Ahead, in the darkness, something stirred. Not hostile, but… waiting.
"Ready yourselves," Leng Wei said softly, tightening his grip on the dagger. "We have arrived."