Reader's POV
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We didn't rest after the Still Mind trial.
There was no time. No breath between moments. No "next." Only forward.
The path appeared the moment we stepped beyond the circle —
a narrow stone stairway unfurled from the earth, twisting upward like the spine of a slumbering serpent, swallowed by mist.
No objectives.
No guidance.
No map markers.
Just three words carved into every third step:
> Echo. Fall. Rise.
---
I didn't know what to expect.
Only that something — someone — was watching.
Not with eyes.
But with memory.
---
As we climbed, the air thinned.
The wind grew sharp, carrying whispers it never voiced.
And then the mist parted.
We emerged into a field of gravestones —
not scattered, but spiraling inward with uncanny precision.
Hundreds, maybe thousands, curved around us like the rings of an ancient tree.
At the very center stood a weatherworn shrine.
A cracked gong hung crookedly above it.
Before it, two twin blades were stabbed into the earth, their hilts covered in moss and moonlight.
Jiwoon exhaled slowly. "This is a battlefield."
Ereze's voice was barely a whisper. "No. It's a memorial."
---
Then — the wind changed.
The air shimmered.
And they began to appear.
Not monsters.
Not illusions.
Not enemies.
People.
Warriors. Fighters. Students. Children.
Their forms flickered — translucent, pale, like smoke caught in light.
Echoes from countless Murim generations, standing solemnly among the graves.
Each one turned to face us. Silent.
Then, from among them, one stepped forward —
a girl with the insignia of the Crane-Wind sect stitched across her robe.
She bowed.
> "You walk the path of Shenhua."
"We are those who fell before reaching the truth."
"If you wish to pass, carry our echoes forward."
---
[New Trial: Echoes of the Fallen]
Objective: Witness the final moments of those who failed. Choose to carry their burden — or let it die.
---
The air rippled.
A wave of sound crashed through the silence.
Screams.
Steel.
Shouts.
Weeping.
The echoes began to relive their final moments —
and we were forced to watch.
To bear witness.
One by one.
---
A boy knelt before his master, trembling.
> "You said I was ready! Why—"
Slash.
He collapsed in an instant.
His master fell to his knees, whispering apologies no one heard.
The echo faded.
---
A woman stood defiant, her robes torn, her skin scorched, a dozen wounds painting her body red.
> "The truth isn't in your blade. It's in the lie you keep swinging."
She smiled.
Then flames consumed her.
---
A young man threw his broken sword aside and screamed toward the sky.
> "Let me try again. Please. One more time."
But the silence answered.
And he vanished.
---
Dozens more followed.
Regret.
Conviction.
Rage.
Hope.
Each story different.
Each end the same.
They tried to reach Shenhua.
They failed.
But they believed.
---
Then it was our turn.
Three echoes stepped from the spiral, their eyes fixed on us.
Not hostile.
Not angry.
Just… familiar.
One looked like Ereze — her stance proud, her spirit sharp.
Another mirrored Jiwoon — calm and steady, fists like iron.
And the last —
The last looked like me.
Same eyes. Same posture. Same hesitation, buried deep.
He raised his blade.
> "I was you. Almost."
"I turned back when I saw what the truth cost."
"Will you?"
I couldn't answer.
Words didn't matter here.
So I stepped forward.
And nodded.
> "Then carry my echo.
Remember what I couldn't."
---
Ereze reached for her echo, placing a steady hand on the girl's shoulder.
Jiwoon stepped into his twin's shadow and gripped his forearm.
And then — they let go.
One by one, the spirits passed their memories into us.
Not powers.
Not techniques.
Stories.
Footsteps left unfinished.
Blades that never found balance.
Dreams that ended in silence.
Now, they lived on — in us.
---
The shrine began to glow.
The twin blades trembled, then spun in a helix of light and steel, fusing mid-air into a single blade — smooth, silver, and humming like a held breath."
The moment our eyes met its edge, the world shifted.
Visions slammed into us.
---
> The birth of Murim.
The first stone laid at Shenhua.
A sacred vow whispered by torchlight.
The Song of Styles sung without instruments.
> The flowering.
Sect leaders laughing at a shared meal.
Students learning not just martial forms — but philosophies.
Peace, fragile but real.
> The breaking.
Alliances shattered.
Jealousy, betrayal, pride — blade turned against blade.
Shenhua burning beneath its own ambition.
> And after.
The ones who tried to restore it.
Who died believing it could be whole again.
Who left their echoes behind.
---
We collapsed as the visions faded.
Minutes passed.
Maybe hours.
Then came a sound — gentle and final:
[Trial Completed: Echoes of the Fallen]
New Trait Acquired: Echo-Bearer – You can sense and interpret martial ghosts.
Ereze gained: Last Stance Memory
Jiwoon gained: Fallen Brother's Form
---
We descended the mountain in silence.
Not because we were afraid.
But because we now carried voices —
hundreds of them —
that didn't want to be forgotten.
---
Back at the dojo, I opened my map.
A new symbol pulsed at the edge of the known world.
It marked the location of the third trial.
And beneath it, written in trembling script:
> Dream Grave.
I whispered them aloud. The candles flickered… and one went out."
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