The runes on the round platform glimmered a dark crimson, like dried bloodstains. Chen Wuya reached out and pulled Mo Feng to his feet. The three stood on the stone dais, their breathing still unsteady. The grinding of gears gradually ceased, and the hum of the mechanisms around them sank into silence. Yet no one relaxed.
"Go," Chen Wuya said in a low voice.
Bai Zhi nodded and tightened her grip on the flexible sword. She had barely taken a step when she suddenly froze, her brows knitting as a hand pressed against her temple.
"What is it?" Chen Wuya sensed something was wrong.
"I..." Her voice tightened. "My mother's face was right before my eyes just now, but now... I can't remember it."
Her fingers trembled slightly as she spoke, her gaze unfocused. The next moment, her body swayed, and she nearly collapsed to her knees.
Chen Wuya caught her by the shoulder. "Don't look ahead. Lower your head."
Bai Zhi gritted her teeth and held herself up, cold sweat beading on her forehead. Her lips moved as though she were silently reciting something, but her expression grew more and more anguished.
A black figure slowly descended from the top of the staircase. The Demonic Cult elder wore a black robe, his footsteps soundless. The green eye on his face flickered in the dim light, and a cold sneer curled his lips.
"You broke the mechanism array and thought you could reach the end?" His voice was hoarse. "These stairs are the true trial."
Chen Wuya stared at him. "What did you do?"
"It isn't about what I did." The elder raised a hand and pointed at the steps. "It is this place itself. Every step erases a piece of memory. The farther you go, the emptier you become.