There was nothing but silence.
Hei Tian sat cross-legged in the dark room of the inn, the black token resting in his open palm. Not a sound, except the slow breathing of Yun Lue and Mu Liang, asleep behind him.
He had waited until nightfall to enter this meditation. But tonight was different.
His mind felt pulled, dragged into a bottomless pit. The token grew warm, very slightly, like a faint heartbeat.
Then came the visions.
A black thread, woven of living filaments, slipping beneath invisible skin. Masked figures, faceless, leaning over him. He didn't know whether he was asleep or being watched.
A voice, deep and impassive, echoed between his temples:
— You are not yet born.
He opened his eyes abruptly. A breath escaped his throat, barely audible.
The token glowed faintly, with a warm black light. He could have sworn he heard a whisper fade away.
The next day, he returned alone to the alley where the beggar had been beaten.
No one.
But as he turned to leave, an old, dragging voice called out to him.
An old man, sitting on the ground, was weaving a basket of black wicker. His fingers trembled slightly.
— You carry a thread you have yet to see, he said without lifting his gaze.
Hei Tian approached. The man continued weaving, every motion precise, ancient.
— Some are born with their eyes fixed on the sky. Others, on the mud. But those who look beneath their skin… see the thread.
— The black thread? Hei Tian asked, barely audible.
A grin. The old man nodded.
— They've seen you. Now they search for you. If you want to understand, follow the shadow. Do not chase it.
Before he could ask another question, the man slowly stood… and disappeared around the corner. As if he had never been there.
Hei Tian remained frozen. The cold wind made his fingers shiver.
That evening, Mu Liang burst into the room, eyes gleaming.
— A tournament! A secret tournament! In the sewers, tonight!
Yun Lue raised an eyebrow.
— You want us to go down into the sewers to fight?
— Not to fight, said Mu Liang. To watch… or maybe more.
Chen, recently returned, turned pale.
— You're not going. It's a… filthy place. Not the kind of filth you think.
He refused to say more.
Hei Tian studied his face. There was fear. But also something else. Shame?
He nodded softly.
— We're going.
Yun Lue hesitated, then smiled. Mu Liang jumped for joy.
No one argued with the decision.
They left through a window of the inn at nightfall. Hei Tian led the way, expression neutral.
Two alleys away, a manhole cover was slightly ajar, a faint blue light shining through.
Two teenagers guarded the entrance. Their eyes were… strange. Calm. Empty. As if they didn't see the passersby. But they opened the way as Hei Tian approached, asking for their names without saying anything more.
They descended.
Moisture. The scent of iron. Of garbage. Of old blood.
A long underground tunnel led them to a circular chamber, lit by blue flames on torches fixed to stone pillars.
A hundred people, mostly children. Some seated. Others injured. All silent.
In the center, a circle drawn in black chalk. The arena.
A fight had just ended.
A teenager staggered out of the circle, one arm twisted. His opponent remained standing, expressionless.
— Three rounds, or you fall, murmured a voice next to Hei Tian.
He turned. A little girl with a masked face. She walked away at once.
Mu Liang looked around, fascinated. Yun Lue, more tense.
— These are not children's games, she said.
— No, replied Hei Tian. And this isn't an official tournament.
He had just noticed a detail: some fighters wore, tied to their belts, black tokens identical to his. Or almost. They were all… slightly different. Etched with incomplete patterns.
— The sect is watching them, he whispered.
No stands. No teachers. But he felt a presence. Invisible eyes.
This place was a gate. And someone was deciding who could pass.
A name was called:
— YUN LUE!
She froze.
— You don't have to, Hei Tian murmured.
She clenched her fists.
— I'm not weak.
And stepped forward.
Her opponent entered from the other side of the circle. Bigger. Stronger. Silent.
He wore a dagger made of white bone, tied to his arm with a black cord.
Yun Lue stopped two steps from the circle. Her eyes burned.
Silence fell.
The fight was about to begin.
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