The forest was quieter now.
As Zhen Hu walked through the Dark Forest's twisted paths, the mist parted before him without protest. The spirit beasts, once eager to rip him apart, now slunk away, crouching behind trees and vanishing into the undergrowth. Their instincts warned them of something far older than prey or predator.
He didn't limp anymore. The wounds from the chase had closed—sealed by Nytherion's touch. His skin bore no scars, but the weight of his transformation hung on him like a second cloak.
He could still feel her—Aelira.
Her voice echoed faintly in the back of his thoughts, guiding him, reminding him to be wary of the world he was reentering. "You are no longer of it," she had whispered. "But they will pretend to welcome you… until they understand."
Zhen Hu walked beneath branches that once clawed at his robes but now bent away in deference. Roots moved to clear his path. The air felt different, no longer choking, but reverent—almost mournful.
After days of walking, the outer wall of the Dawnyu Sect appeared through the haze.
The guards at the gate didn't recognize him at first.
His robes were torn and bloodstained. His eyes shimmered with flickers of Nytherion's black flame. The air around him rippled subtly, warping ever so slightly—like heat rising off stone, but cold.
They stepped forward hesitantly.
"Who—" one began, but then stopped.
"Zhen Hu," the other muttered, astonished. "Impossible. He was supposed to—"
Die.
He was supposed to die in the forest.
Zhen Hu said nothing. He walked past them, his gaze fixed on the inner courtyard. The moment his foot touched the sacred stone of the sect grounds, an unease swept across the Dawnyu stronghold. Birds fell silent. Meditating disciples opened their eyes, blinking in confusion as a chill prickled their skin. Elders paused mid-conversation.
Something had returned.
---
Inside the main hall, Patriarch Zhen Xai stood beside a jade table, his brow furrowed as he read reports from the forest.
The guards had vanished. No word had come for days. The elders remained composed, their schemes hidden behind still eyes, but the patriarch's heart was heavier than stone. He hadn't wanted to send his son—he had resisted. But the elders had insisted. A test of resilience, they had said. A mercy, some had dared to call it.
When the great doors creaked open, the room went still.
And Zhen Hu walked in.
Zhen Xai turned, breath caught in his throat.
His son's face was the same—and yet… not. His aura, once dim and lifeless, now pulsed with an unfamiliar pressure. Not zen. Not Xen. Something that felt like the void between stars. It unsettled the elders instantly.
One took a cautious step forward. "Zhen Hu. You survived the forest?"
"I didn't survive it," he said softly. "I claimed something deeper than survival."
His voice had changed—calm, steady, yet resonant with an undercurrent that made lesser disciples step back. His presence no longer radiated desperation or fear. It radiated inevitability.
Zhen Xai stared hard at him. "What happened in that forest?"
Zhen Hu lifted his gaze to his father's eyes. "I met a goddess."
A silence fell.
The elders exchanged glances—some confused, some alarmed. One elder's fingers tightened around his staff.
"You speak madness," another scoffed.
"Do I?" Zhen Hu said, stepping forward. "Then tell me—why does your zen tremble when I walk near?"
The elder's face paled as his internal zen fluxed wildly—disrupted just by proximity.
One elder in the shadows whispered, "He's tainted… something foreign rides his spirit."
Zhen Xai didn't move. His eyes hadn't left his son once.
Zhen Hu paused before him. The boy bowed, but not deeply.
"I went to the forest a crippled shell," he said. "You let them send me to die."
A flicker of pain passed through the patriarch's eyes.
"But I return…" Zhen Hu whispered, "carrying the power of Nytherion. And I no longer walk your path."
He turned without waiting for permission, leaving the hall as the elders erupted in murmurs, some fearful, some enraged.
Outside, disciples whispered as he passed. Some stared in awe, others in fear. One bowed instinctively—but he didn't notice. His mind was already elsewhere.
Aelira's voice floated to him again, soft and solemn.
"They will resist your rise, Zhen Hu. They will brand you unholy. But in the end, they will kneel."
He walked to the edge of the sect's training grounds and looked out at the horizon.
He had returned to the world that had cast him out.
But he was no longer theirs.