The moment they stepped into the third chamber, the air shifted.
It was colder — not the cold of stone or time, but a breathless chill, like the world itself had stopped waiting and started watching.
The room was vast, lit only by the flickering spirit torches carried in. Ancient blades hovered midair — hundreds, maybe thousands, suspended like a frozen storm. None touched the ground. None cast shadows.
In the center stood a raised altar with steps, shaped like a coiled dragon swallowing its tail. Beside it, stone braziers waited for spiritual fire.
Fei stepped forward cautiously. "This is where the tomb tests worth."
Huang stayed close, his eyes locked on the swords. Each one seemed angled toward them, like hunters pretending to sleep.
Behind them, Jiang Wei exchanged a subtle glance with Ren and Tao.
"It's time," Wei whispered.
He drew a second talisman — a black one. Unlike the earlier blood-glyph that targeted the chamber's formation, this one had been slipped into the trio's belongings that morning, carefully wrapped and hidden in a corner of the supply sack.
It bore Fei's spiritual signature. Copied. Twisted. Reversed.
He activated it with a snap of his fingers and a silent incantation.
A pulse rippled through the chamber — and Jiang Fei staggered.
He gasped, dropping to one knee. His aura, once steady as a steel thread, faltered like a shattered string.
Luo Sen turned. "Young Master!"
Fei's breath came ragged. "My spiritual core… something's siphoning it…"
Huang lunged forward and caught his arm. The jade token Fei had given him earlier flared to life on its own — a soft, silvery glow that shielded Fei's chest.
"It's a trap," Huang muttered. "Something's attacking you directly."
Fei's eyes narrowed. He looked up just in time to see the gleam of satisfaction in Jiang Wei's eyes — and the way he quickly turned away when caught.
That moment of clarity cost them.
The formation ignited.
With a thunderous shriek, the blades in the air exploded into motion.
Jiang Fei's scream was cut short as the light swallowed them.
Huang felt his body twist in air that no longer had direction. He saw nothing — no blades, no torches, no tomb walls — only the searing burn of movement that wasn't falling, wasn't flying, just being thrown through space.
Then the world crashed back.
Stone. Pain. Cold.
Huang slammed into wet stone and rolled with a grunt. Beside him, Jiang Fei hit the ground far harder.
"Fei—!" Huang scrambled to his knees, half-crawling toward the noble youth's crumpled form.
Fei was still, eyes closed, breath ragged. His robes were shredded along the left shoulder, where a long, ugly gash ran from collar to ribs. Blood soaked the cloth — too much blood.
"Damn it," Huang cursed under his breath, ripping the outer layer of his own slave tunic into strips.
The chamber was low and damp. Water dripped steadily from somewhere above, echoing in a slow, taunting rhythm. The only light came from faint blue fungus along the cracks in the stone — barely enough to see by, but enough to see how pale Fei's face had turned.
"Hold on," Huang muttered, pressing the cloth against the wound. "You're not dying here."
Fei's eyes fluttered half-open, pain clouding them. "Talisman… they used a suppression seal…"
"I know. Save your strength."
Fei reached weakly toward his belt — trying to draw his sword. "If they come… kill me before they do."
Huang caught his hand. "I'm not letting you die, and no one's coming down here. Not them, anyway."
A silence passed.
Fei tried to speak again. "Why… why help me?"
Huang sat back against the wall, dragging Fei gently with him so the injured young master could lean against his chest, wrapped in what warmth he had.
"Because you never treated us like dogs," Huang answered. "Because you gave me that jade. Because I owe you. And…"
He hesitated, then finished softly, "Because I'm not like them either."
Fei didn't respond.
Only his breath, shallow and shivering.
Drip… drip… drip.
Huang closed his eyes for a moment, listening to that sound in the dark, letting the wet stone press into his back. It smelled of rot and cold earth. They had fallen deep — far below the tomb, maybe even beyond it.
And they were alone.
Two figures cast out of light — one fading, the other uncertain.
Huang tightened his grip on the makeshift bandage. "You're not dying. Not yet. We're going to survive this."
Above them, far beyond the sealed floor, the cousins still waited, watching the soul token, still hoping for the crack to deepen.
But in that unseen corner of the world, in a forgotten pocket of the tomb where no sunlight reached, a bond began to form — not of servitude or duty, but survival.
And that was where change would begin.