Shen Jin stood before the stone.

It loomed like the fossil of some long-dead god, its cracked surface veined with black mist that bled steadily from within —

warm, moist, and wrong.

He didn’t move closer.

But the mark on his shoulder pulsed, hot as an ember pressed into bone.

Something deeper stirred — something not entirely his.

Then the monument shuddered.

A sharp crack split the silence — loud and metallic.

Shen Jin’s head snapped up.

A thin fissure was crawling slowly across the center of the stone.

No dust fell from it — only a single black tendril, slick and trembling, inching outward like the feeler of a creature that had never known sunlight.

He moved, hand ready to brace the burning in his shoulder —

“Don’t.”

The voice froze the air between heartbeats.

He turned.

Luo Qinghan stood at the edge of the protective array.

Her robes were slightly askew, strands of mist still coiling in her hair — but her eyes were razor-clear.

In her hand glowed a faded talisman:

fractured Abyssal glyphs pulsed faintly across the surface.

A Rift Seal.

Shen Jin’s eyes flicked toward the charm coils looped tightly around her wrist.

“You—” he started.

He didn’t finish.

From the side of the warding circle, Yan Jiuyan let out a low whistle.

“Well. Seal’s not even stitched shut and someone’s already slipped through.”

His tone was playful.

“Not bad. Neat trick, miss.”

Luo Qinghan ignored him entirely.

Her focus was on the stone, her expression unreadable.

Yan leaned back against a nearby rock, arms loosely folded.

“Alright.

I saw nothing.”

Something flickered behind his easy smile — something sharp — but he said no more.

“You think the Division’s wards can silence the Abyss?”

Her voice was soft. But cold.

“It will find you.

So long as there’s a crack to slip through.”

She stepped forward.

“And right now, you are that crack.”

The wind shifted.

Only three paces separated them — and yet it felt like an entire ruined world stood in between.

“You know what this is,”

Shen Jin murmured.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she moved her fingers through a swift motion, tracing a binding arc —

a thin line of silver light lifted into the air, separating him from the stone.

“You can’t get closer.”

Shen Jin didn’t argue.

He inclined his head.

“Alright.”

But then — the tendril stirred again.

And a voice, barely more than a breath, crawled into the space between them:

“…return…”

Luo Qinghan stiffened.

Beneath Shen Jin’s sleeve, the mark burned.

Faint chains, ancient and wordless, hummed under his skin.

The black mist slowly recoiled.

The tendril slithered back into the crack, arrested by some unseen will.

Luo Qinghan lowered the talisman without a word and turned away.

“Don’t approach it again tonight,”

she said softly — and vanished into the fog.

Shen Jin stood still.

Yan Jiuyan murmured behind him,

“Your friend’s not much for conversation.”

Then, after a beat,

“Still. Orders are in. You’re not to linger here.”

He lifted a palm, revealing a pale sigil flickering above his fingers.

“Come on. Quarter’s waiting.”

Shen Jin gave one last glance at the stone — and stepped into the mist.