The forest shifted again, subtly—like a dream fraying at its edges. The black trees seemed thinner now, the oppressive silence easing into a still hush. The path beneath Ramon's feet pulsed with a familiar hum, like the heartbeat of the castle itself.
He took a step forward—and the world bent.
In a blink, the dead forest vanished.
Ramon stumbled back into the grand hall of the black castle, breath catching in his throat. The door he had entered through had sealed behind him, its surface now smooth and unbroken as obsidian glass. The air here was warmer. Familiar. Real.
He turned in a slow circle, heart pounding, trying to anchor himself. But the whispers were gone. The weight had lifted.
He had passed the first hurdle.
A faint light glowed from above, illuminating the path forward—not deeper into the castle, but toward a narrow staircase winding up to a half-open archway. He followed it in silence, no other choice remaining.
At the top was a small alcove—a single stone dais surrounded by faded murals of stars, flames, and a robed figure with arms outstretched. At the center of the dais glimmered a circular platform inscribed with spiraling runes. The crystal almost seemed to whisper in his mind:
An exit formation.
Ramon stepped onto it. The runes flared—soft gold, tinged with crimson—and the world fractured around him like cracked glass.
He emerged just as the sun began to sink beneath the distant cliffs, staining the horizon with weak orange light. The wind was colder now. The Redwood Forest loomed behind him, but the path ahead led to Cloudpetal City, its silhouette visible beyond the trees—quiet, gray, half-lit with flickering lanterns.
Night was coming fast.
Ramon walked.
He had no energy to marvel, no strength left for questions. Every step felt heavier than the last, but he forced his legs forward. The ground here was familiar. The old Ramon had walked this path hundreds of times.
And so, even now, he guided the new Ramon home.
The city gates were half-closed when he arrived. Two guards loitered by the threshold, their armor dulled by dust and neglect. They straightened as he approached, spears lowered.
"Halt there," the taller one barked, his voice tired more than harsh. "Where've you been?"
Ramon paused, squinting like someone dazed by exhaustion. "Foraging. Deep woods. Lost track of time."
The shorter guard leaned forward. "That far out alone? You're lucky something didn't eat you."
Ramon forced a weak smile. "I'm not worth the effort."
The taller one snorted. "Fair enough. Go on, then. Just don't bring trouble back with you."
Ramon nodded his thanks and slipped through before they could ask more.
Cloudpetal City was quiet at night.
Lanterns burned low along crumbling alleyways. Smoke curled from shuttered food stalls. The scent of spice, ash, and faint rot hung in the air. Merchants were packing up; a few street urchins darted between carts like hungry ghosts.
Ramon's heart beat faster—not from fear, but awe. And disappointment.
He had read so many cultivation stories in his old world. Tales of immortal cities, flying swords, brilliant sects. Of bustling towns filled with pill shops, talisman vendors, and radiant beauty.
This wasn't that.
Cloudpetal was weary. Starved. Drenched in gray.
He walked past cracked walls and faded banners bearing the Cloud Lotus sigil. Once, perhaps, this place had shone. Now it barely endured.
The memories in his body led him to a narrow side street and a small wooden building with an aging sign that read: Pine Hollow Inn.
It didn't look like much. But the light inside was warm.
The innkeeper was a squat old woman with sharp eyes and a tighter mouth. She gave him one glance and said, "Copper or silver?"
Ramon dug into his robes and pulled free a pouch. Inside were a few tarnished coins: seven copper, two silver. Not much, but enough.
"Dinner and a bed," he said. "One night."
She nodded, took one silver, and gave him a key. "Room at the back. Bread and stew'll be out in a minute."
The stew was watery, but hot. The bread was stale, but filling. Ramon ate slowly, letting the warmth spread through his tired limbs.
The food wasn't to his liking, but after the day he had, he would have eaten anything as if he were dining at the finest restaurant back on Earth.
Other guests murmured in corners—travelers, laborers, maybe a wandering cultivator or two. Those were supposed to be rare, from what the memories of the old Ramon told him.
No one paid him attention. Just another tired boy in the dark.
His room was small—just a straw mat, a chipped basin, and a crooked window that looked out onto nothing.
Ramon sat down slowly, unshouldered his satchel, and exhaled.
For a while, he just sat there, eyes closed, letting the silence settle around him.
Then the memories came.
The wraith.
The black forest.
The fight.
The feeling.
It wasn't fear that gripped him now—it was purpose.
Something had tested him. Judged him. And unlike the soul before him… it had found him worthy.
He didn't know who that robed figure in the mural was. He didn't know what kind of power had built the black castle, or what these trials truly meant. But he felt it. In his marrow.
This was an opportunity. This new life—however he had come by it—and that black castle, which seemed to operate in strange ways… all of it was a gift.
A chance.
A path to greatness.
And he had taken the first step.
Ramon looked out the crooked window, into the dark city.
It wasn't the world he imagined.
But it was his now.
And something inside him whispered:
Live.