Echoes of the Hollow Domain

His fingertip met the gate.

The light rose.

But it did not flow into the stone.

It flowed out.

Into him.

Shen Jin's consciousness was ripped away—

drawn down —

into something deeper than memory.

He fell into silence.

A domain no longer whole.

Dark light floated in the air around him,

like shattered bells suspended in motion,

ringing no longer — only circling.

Before him: a wall.

Not bone.

Not stone.

But something living.

A wall of god-fragments.

Each shard of the wall was carved — burned — twisted —

with lines of divine language.

They did not form order.

They healed like scars,

reforming in knots, as if memory had to bleed to continue.

There was no wind.

But the wall breathed.

Shen Jin stepped forward, slowly.

He recognized some phrases.

Scattered lines of the ancient Yao Script — found only in scraps within Lingyuan's forbidden scrolls.

"…The Day Gate first cracked at the center…

…Those who speak, lose name.

Those who bear, lose bone…

…The way of Yao's return… must begin with man…"

He leaned in, eyes narrowing —

and looked to the next line.

But it twisted.

Faded.

The sigil he had not yet read disappeared.

As if the wall itself —

did not want to be heard.

He frowned.

"Are you… hiding from me?"

No answer.

But more fragments blinked out.

Some vanished before he even reached them.

It was not damage.

It was denial.

The wall seemed to whisper—

"Not you.

Not for you."

—

At the wall's far edge, the light shifted.

A dim shimmer emerged from beyond —

not runelight, not spirit-light,

but something older.

A shape formed of memory.

Shen Jin looked up.

It was not an illusion.

It was what remained of a god.

Guiyao.

He hovered just beyond the wall.

Not whole.

Not awake.

His form was fractured —

burned, then frozen, then burned again.

Ash woven into shape.

His face was pale.

Eyes shut.

A glowing scar split his chest from throat to navel —

an old wound, not fully closed.

Shen Jin took a step back.

Not in fear.

In instinct.

Like prey catching scent of a species above its own.

Guiyao did not move.

But then —

he opened his eyes.

Empty eyes.

Lit only from within, like hollow vessels just ignited.

They stared at Shen Jin.

And a voice followed.

Not words.

Not speech.

A dragged emotion.

"…Which one…

are you…"

Not "who."

Not even "what."

But —

"Which."

Shen Jin froze.

He understood.

This was no welcoming.

No selection.

Guiyao's shattered will did not recognize him.

Shen Jin drew in a breath.

"I am… the Keybearer."

For a moment, Guiyao said nothing.

Then his hollow eyes shifted.

Barely.

And he gave a look that might have been —

A smile.

Or something far more distant.

Pity.

Guiyao whispered:

"Key… bearer…"

It was not a name.

It was almost… an echo.

A breath blown across cold stone.

Then, at last, he spoke again:

"You say…

you're the chosen one?"

Shen Jin said nothing.

He stood still.

Guiyao's smile grew a fraction wider.

"Keys… are not chosen.

Keys…

are what remain."

The words fell like frost.

Not loud.

But deep.

They rooted themselves inside Shen Jin —

a cold that spread beneath skin and thought.

Guiyao's gaze drifted.

Not at him.

Through him.

As if he were staring at someone else —

or some other time.

"You are not the first.

And you… will not be the last.

You —

Whose place are you holding?"

—

Shen Jin staggered back.

The bone wall trembled.

The air around Guiyao began to warp.

His will —

was breaking.

He spoke no more.

He only faded,

faded into dust.

And from the ash —

cracks bloomed like light shattering beneath ice.

The bone wall began to break.

Not explode —

but unravel.

As if the weight of memory could no longer hold itself together.

A tremor rippled outward.

The monument shook.

And something within the core pushed back.

There were no words now.

Only rejection.

It came from all directions at once.

A pressure.

A command.

Leave.

Shen Jin didn't move.

But the world did.

The floor beneath him folded.

A spiral of light pulled at his soul —

And he was cast out.

—

For a single breath —

he saw.

Whether vision or memory or echo,

he could not tell.

But it struck him.

Clear as a brand:

A man knelt beneath a divine pillar.

Blood covering his eyes.

His robe torn.

A Keymark burned across his back.

Not Shen Jin.

But someone else.

Another.

Chains of curse-script wound around the man's limbs,

fastened to the base of the stele.

Above him:

the shattered image of Guiyao.

Floating.

Watching.

And from above, the monument whispered:

"Keys do not open doors.

They bar the gods from returning."

Shen Jin tried to move.

Tried to speak.

But the vision crumbled.

And he fell into dark.

—

The light receded.

The gate closed.

Shen Jin knelt motionless at the threshold of the sealed domain.

In his palm, a faint flicker of divine script still shimmered —

glowing faintly beneath the skin.

The Keymark had vanished.

Drawn inward.

Sleeping, perhaps.

He didn't rise.

He only stared at the door,

as if expecting it to speak.

It didn't.

Neither did the monument.

And for the first time since he returned,

he felt no fear.

No relief.

Just one thought.

"If I wasn't chosen…

then why me?"

—

Footsteps behind him.

Soft.

He didn't turn.

He already knew.

Luo Qinghan approached.

She stopped just outside the boundary of the fading light.

From her sleeve, she drew a scroll.

Gold-rimmed.

But she didn't write.

Her voice was low. Even.

"Don't worry—I'm here under orders.

Post-procedure state recording."

She paused.

Then added, quieter still:

"The elders are watching."

Shen Jin didn't reply.

He only nodded, faintly.

"You watched?" he asked.

"I did."

"What did you see?"

She was silent for a breath.

"You entered as the Keybearer."

Another breath.

"You came out…

like someone who stepped through the wrong door."

He turned to look at her.

Not angry.

Only tired.

"You think he shouldn't return?"

She answered softly:

"I don't know if he should.

All I know is —

when you came back,

there was no answer in your eyes."

Shen Jin lowered his head.

Spoke like a question to himself:

"The key wasn't mine to choose…

Then why… not someone else?"

Luo Qinghan looked at him.

Her voice — barely more than a breath:

"Maybe he didn't reject the others.

Maybe…

there just wasn't time."