The moment Shadow stepped onto the staircase leading out of the Echo Trial, the world twisted once more.
There was no thunder this time. No lightning.
Only silence.
He landed softly in a realm bathed in dim violet hues, where the walls shimmered like mist-wrapped mirrors. He stood within a great stone chamber that stretched beyond visual limits, its ceiling obscured by roiling clouds. The ground beneath his feet pulsed with faint thunder-veins, their light vanishing and reappearing in irregular patterns. The air was still—oppressively still—as if the storm held its breath.
A voice echoed—this time soft, feminine, and eerie:
> *"Trial Two: Maze of the Silent Storm. Find the path. Break the silence."*
Before he could react, the chamber shifted.
Walls of translucent stone surged from the earth, forming spirals and corridors at impossible speed. The floor beneath him pulsed—then shifted. Shadow now stood inside a **labyrinth**, one that changed as he breathed. Every path was a storm-forged illusion. Every step came with the risk of being swallowed.
Shadow raised his guard, gaze sharpening. "This place isn't meant to be solved by brute force."
He knelt and placed his palm on the stone, letting a trickle of Qi slide into the floor.
Instantly, the glyphs on the walls responded. Faint ripples of spiritual intent rushed along the corridors—echoes of movement, of attempts by those who had come before. Faint spiritual remnants still lingered. Failed cultivators, perhaps. Or echoes of those consumed.
> *No map. No markings. But the Qi flow speaks.*
Shadow stood and moved forward.
The maze didn't attack him. Not with spears or spikes or illusions. It did worse.
It whispered.
Each wall he passed flickered with images—his master fading face, his master's silhouette walking into a storm, the pain of his earliest failures. Their voices called his name, begging him to turn around, to stop this madness.
Shadow gritted his teeth. "You want to break me with ghosts?"
He pressed on.
After the third turn, a wall shimmered to his left and began folding in like collapsing paper. A new path formed behind it, more vivid than the last. A temptation.
He marked the floor with lightning Qi and continued down the original corridor.
> *It's adapting to me,* he realized. *This maze... is alive.*
Hours passed. Or minutes. Or days. Time stretched, uncertain in this world of storms. The paths changed every few minutes. Sometimes he walked in circles without realizing it until he saw one of his earlier lightning Qi marks burned into the floor.
His pulse matched the silence. That was the worst part—no sound. Even his footsteps were muted.
Eventually, he stumbled into a chamber where seven stone pillars surrounded a glowing formation etched into the floor. Each pillar bore an ancient rune—one for each of the base elements.
He approached and examined the array.
> *A layered concealment illusion,* he muttered. *But flawed. The lightning script... it pulses off-beat.*
He pressed a hand to the thunder rune and focused.
The moment his Qi aligned with it, the maze responded.
The floor beneath the formation pulsed, and invisible chains of force lashed toward him—but he was already moving.
He struck the center rune with **thunder slash **—absorbing the ambient lightning that powered the trap. The floor darkened.
> *I see. The maze generates misdirection by feeding on your spiritual uncertainty. If you act decisively, it weakens.*
The runes shattered like glass.
From the broken circle, a faint pathway emerged—straight ahead, lit by stormlight.
Shadow smiled faintly.
"That's two."
He walked.
But the tomb wasn't finished.
---
At the far end of the revealed corridor, the air turned colder.
He entered a wide chamber filled with low fog and surrounded by crystalline walls. The sound of his boots echoed.
Then something moved.
Too late—
A blade of mist shot toward his neck. He leaned back, spinning sideways. The attack barely grazed his shoulder.
He landed, sliding across the floor, eyes narrowing.
A figure emerged from the mist.
Clad in silver-gray robes. Masked. Silent.
A disciple of the Mist Sect.
Shadow recognized the formation-based stealth steps—the shifting of aura, the cold mist blade technique.
"You followed me," Shadow muttered, standing slowly. "Or were you waiting?"
The attacker said nothing.
Their second strike came faster. Twin blades forged of solidified fog aimed for Shadow's throat.
He parried, lightning crackling along his blade. Sparks clashed with mist. The fog hissed as thunder passed through it, distorting the air.
Shadow slid back.
This one isn't here to compete. They're here to kill.
The Mist Sect's methods were known—deadly, efficient, without warning. The tomb's rules forbade infighting in the outer corridor.
But within? It was fair game.
The masked assassin circled, blade dripping cold Qi.
Shadow smiled slightly. "Fine. Let's see if you can silence thunder."
The storm surged behind his eyes.
And they clashed.