Han Yue kept his eyes fixed on the darkness.

  Ten minutes to five.

  By now, the horizon should have been paling toward dawn—yet the world remained drowned in black.

  No stars. No moon.

  Only faint Spirit-flora glimmered like drowned embers, barely enough to carve the jagged edge of the forest from the void.

  Above, swarms of Fiends drifted like vultures made of smoke, their whispers rasping against the air.

  Every sound scraped across Han Yue’s nerves.

  Don’t find her, he thought. Please don’t find that little Light-beast…

  Then the forest ahead erupted.

  Leaves convulsed as if struck by a gale.

  The Fiends screamed, their whispering chorus splitting into chaos as they dove, all in one direction.

  “Shit!”

  Han Yue moved before his mind could—crouched, fingers digging into bark, heart hammering in his throat.

  Through the haze he saw it:

  a spark, small and pink, darting through the trees like a falling star.

  Behind it came the black tide.

  The Fiend swarm poured after it—hundreds of fanged shadows feeding greedily on the creature’s light.

  Each bite stripped away a fragment of her glow.

  There were too many.

  The spark wavered, slowing.

  Then he saw—

  A rabbit-shaped Light-beast.

  She was heartbreakingly beautiful.

  Her body shimmered with rose-pink luminescence; long ears tipped with golden orbs glowed like twin suns.

  Her eyes, faceted like pink jewels, reflected every flicker of light still left in the world.

  But that glow—was fading.

  Barely ten meters from the barrier, she stumbled.

  Her front legs buckled.

  The Fiends screamed in triumph and descended.

  They tore into her, smothering her in a cyclone of black mist.

  The small creature curled tight, her light guttering like a dying candle.

  Too cruel.

  Han Yue clenched his jaw and turned away—

  —and froze as the air split with a blinding CRACK.

  A streak of violet lightning ripped through the undergrowth.

  The cat-type Light-beast.

  He had grown—tripled in size since morning—sleek and lethal as a panther, every strand of fur alive with crackling violet fire.

  He leapt, claws flaring like blades, piercing two Fiend cores in one motion.

  CRACK! CRACK!

  Black ichor sprayed.

  The Fiends convulsed mid-air, dissolving into dust.

  The violet beast landed before the rabbit—back arched, tail lashing, a low thunder-snarl rolling from his chest.

  For a heartbeat, the swarm faltered—then roared as one, abandoning the rabbit to hurl itself at this new enemy.

  The Light-cat didn’t flinch.

  He moved.

  Slash—leap—vanish—strike.

  Lightning burned through the dark; afterimages overlapped until it seemed he was everywhere at once.

  Every blow hit clean, precise—each time a Fiend fell, its soul-core shattered like black glass.

  Han Yue’s pulse spiked.

  He’s that strong?!

  Within minutes, half the swarm lay in ruin.

  But the cat’s radiance was faltering. His chest heaved; his glow flickered.

  Every hit he took drained more light than blood.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Still he stood—

  frontline, shield, guardian—

  his body a wall between the dying rabbit and the darkness.

  Han Yue couldn’t bear it anymore.

  He tore open the knife pouch at his waist; steel caught the meager light, flashing once like defiance.

  “Damn it… screw it.”

  He stepped through the barrier.

  ?

  His consciousness drifted through an endless black void—

  until a sharp crack! shattered the dark.

  YiChen’s eyes flew open.

  It felt as if an invisible hand had yanked him violently back into reality.

  Someone had left the barrier.

  He ripped the tent flap open and burst outside—

  —and the sight before him stopped his pulse cold.

  Han Yue stood beyond the protective field, Spirit Force flaring around his throwing knives as they cut through the air.

  Boom! A Fiend exploded on impact; the ground gleamed slick with black blood.

  Overhead, a violet Light-leopard tore through the haze, claws rending another Fiend’s soul-core clean in two.

  The swarm hadn’t expected resistance—its prey was fearless, impervious to the hunger that fed them.

  They shrieked and dove in frenzy, but Han Yue didn’t yield.

  When the knives ran dry, he seized a tactical axe—turquoise Spirit light arcing from the blade as he cleaved the Fiends back, one after another.

  YiChen couldn’t move for a moment.

  Han Yue never once stepped aside.

  He stood between the two Light beasts and death itself—taking blows meant for them, refusing to let their light be touched.

  Twenty Fiends still circled.

  Enough.

  YiChen stepped through the barrier.

  His axe was already raised.

  Silver runes flared along the haft—each stroke etching the night with moonlight.

  “Duck!”

  Han Yue dropped, rolling just as a silver arc screamed overhead—

  shhhk! Three Fiends split apart, black blood raining down in steaming sheets.

  YiChen charged, every movement precise, merciless—his strikes weaving a cage of silver around the swarm.

  The violet Light-leopard roared and surged larger, its body moving in perfect rhythm with his.

  When YiChen’s blade missed, he finished the job.

  When something tried to flank, YiChen’s axe came down in a clean, lethal arc.

  “Left!” Han Yue shouted.

  YiChen didn’t even turn.

  He swung blind—

  the Fiend that had leapt for his back split midair, dissolving into smoke.

  Han Yue flicked his last three knives; each struck home, detonating a core in synchronized bursts of silver light.

  By the time the final Fiend collapsed into dust, the eastern sky had begun to pale.

  Two men, two beasts—standing in a field of ruin, surrounded by ash and silence.

  The violet Light-leopard’s glow flickered, thin as a candle guttering in wind. He staggered to the pink rabbit’s side and nudged her gently.

  Slowly, the rabbit’s ear-tips began to glimmer again—two faint yellow suns flickering back to life.

  Han Yue wiped the blood from his face—only to find YiChen watching him.

  “What?” he asked, still catching his breath.

  YiChen flicked black blood from his axe, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

  “Nice aim.”

  The violet beast padded toward Han Yue.

  With each step, his form shrank, the light folding inward—until the great predator became a small, trembling cat again.

  His glow was faint, barely holding on.

  Han Yue’s heartbeat stumbled.

  That strange resonance again—stronger, deeper.

  His Spirit Meridians thrummed, something inside him answering the creature’s pulse.

  He crouched, slowly reaching out.

  The Light-beast raised his head, pink nose brushing his fingertip—

  —WUM.

  Resonance flared.

  A surge of violet light engulfed his sight.

  For an instant, he saw—

  a vast forest of stars, radiant beasts running beneath endless skies, the terror of Fiends, the loneliness of flight—

  then warmth.

  Then belonging.

  Without warning, the creature bit his wrist.

  Han Yue braced for pain—

  but none came.

  Instead, heat flooded through him.

  Energy coursed up his veins like a living current.

  He looked down, stunned—the Light-beast’s body was dissolving into liquid starlight, streaming into him in waves of violet fire.

  “This is…”

  The current surged through every Meridian, sweeping blockages away.

  It gathered at the base of his neck—the Great Vertebra—coalescing into a vivid sigil.

  An intricate violet mark bloomed across his skin, shaped like a claw-print unfurling into a flower.

  The pact was sealed.

  ?

  Han Yue stood motionless, breath ragged, Spirit Force radiating outward in violet rings.

  Between him and the creature—now one with him—an invisible bridge pulsed with light.

  This is my name.

  The voice resonated inside his mind—calm, deep, and resonant as moonlight on still water.

  It carried gravity, age, and the faint trace of amusement.

  Han Yue exhaled. The name filled his thoughts, complete and whole.

  Soulwhisper.

  He raised his hand. Violet fire ignited across his palm.

  Instantly, his senses expanded—out, and out again.

  Darkness vanished.

  He saw the beetle crawling under a leaf thirty meters away, felt the vibration of an earthworm shifting beneath the soil, heard dust drift through the air.

  When YiChen’s brow twitched, Han Yue sensed the ripple of thought behind it—like wind brushing a lake’s surface.

  Soulwhisper’s voice stirred again, quieter this time—warm, steady, faintly proud:

  I can make you hear the world breathe.

  Han Yue focused the energy into his eyes; the world shifted once more.

  Every living thing burned with a faint violet halo.

  From a hollow far off, he could even count a squirrel’s heartbeat.

  “How’s it feel?” YiChen’s voice pulled him back.

  Han Yue blinked, the glow fading from his gaze.

  He clenched his fist, smiling through exhaustion.

  “I think…” he said softly, wonder breaking through,

  “…I can sense the whole world.”