—fwoom—
The vast library seemed to draw a single, silent breath.
The chandeliers burned lower now, their candleflames steady and warm, casting elongated shadows that crawled across the endless table like tired spirits settling in for the night. The air felt heavier—older—as though this place understood that something was ending.
Orion sat motionless, hands clasped atop the polished surface. His newly lengthened hair slipped forward, brushing his eyes, a quiet reminder that nothing about him was the same anymore. Every revelation Zhang Han Lu had unveiled pressed down on him like invisible shelves stacked with forbidden knowledge.
At the far end, Zhang watched him.
Obsidian eyes reflected candlelight like polished voids. Then—slowly, deliberately—he rose.
—whisper—
The mist at the borders rippled in response, retreating a fraction, bowing as though to royalty. The predatory amusement that usually curved Zhang's lips was gone. In its place lingered something rare.
Solemn.
Perhaps even… pity.
"Good luck, Orion."
His voice was quieter now, stripped of theatrics, yet it carried through the chamber with inexorable weight.
"I hope you last at least a day out there."
The words landed gently.
They cut all the same.
Orion's chest tightened. "Wait," he said, rising halfway from his chair. "You're leaving? Just like that?"
Zhang inclined his head slightly, dark hair shifting like liquid shadow.
"My whim has ended," he replied. "You possess the spark. Whether it becomes a blaze—or gutters out—is no longer my concern."
He turned away, robes settling around him like folding wings.
Then he paused.
One pale hand rested against the table.
—silence deepens—
"One final warning," Zhang said.
His voice dropped to a near-whisper, yet it filled the library completely, echoing through aisles that no longer truly existed.
"Strict. Absolute."
He turned his head just enough for one eye to catch the light.
"Never—ever—visit the Fallen Castle."
The name struck Orion like ice down the spine.
"The Fallen Castle?" he asked instinctively. "What is—"
Zhang's gaze sharpened.
The question died before it finished forming.
"It devours more than fate," Zhang said coldly. "More than imagination. More than flesh."
The mist stirred uneasily.
"It consumes the essence of what might have been," he continued. "Even I tread carefully around its shadow. Remember this warning—if you remember nothing else."
The air thickened.
Unspoken horrors coiled in the silence, ancient and ravenous.
Orion nodded slowly, engraving the name into his memory like a curse.
"I… I will."
Zhang studied him for one final heartbeat. The faintest echo of his chilling smile returned—not amused now.
Bittersweet.
Almost… wistful.
Then—
—shhhhh—
He dissolved.
Not violently. Not dramatically.
Beautifully.
His form blurred, edges unraveling as midnight robes bled into the surrounding mist. Features softened, silhouette fraying until Zhang Han Lu became nothing more than drifting vapor—rising, dispersing, vanishing into shadow beneath the chandeliers.
No farewell.
No sound.
Only absence.
The candles flared once—
—fwash—
—as if in salute.
Then dimmed.
Orion was alone.
Truly alone.
The endless table stretched away in both directions, flanked by empty chairs waiting for occupants that might never come. The mist pressed closer now, patient, observant. The blank book before him gleamed faintly, its pristine pages untouched—and expectant.
He exhaled shakily and leaned forward, resting his forehead against his folded arms.
Memories crashed over him in waves:
—the thunder of the battlefield—
—the serenity of the starlit café—
—the godlike figures bending reality itself—
Zhang's lessons. Gifts wrapped in menace.
That aristocratic face. Those eyes that had dissected him, instructed him… and dismissed him with a hope no stronger than survival for a single day.
Fear twisted in his gut—cold, familiar.
But beneath it burned something new.
Fragile.
Fierce.
Determination.
He had made light.
Changed his flesh.
Witnessed worlds born of thought.
Orion lifted his head and straightened, pushing his longer hair back from his eyes. His hands trembled—but his gaze did not—as he stared into the mist-veiled depths of the endless shelves.
Zhang was gone.
The realm waited.
And somewhere beyond the table—beyond the mist—the Fallen Castle crouched, devouring futures yet unlived.
Orion stood.
—scrape—
The chair shifted softly against the floor.
"One step at a time," he whispered. "Survive first."
The candles flickered—
—flicker—
—as if in agreement.