Chapter 6The First Spark

The tunnel slopes down into the earth, narrow at first, the walls so close I can touch both sides if I stretch my arms.

Wait—let me back up. I’m getting ahead of myself.

The moment I step through that secret doorway in the shrine, everything goes from “creepy abandoned building” to “definitely haunted ancient temple” real fast. The air changes—thicker, older, like breathing in history itself.

I’ve barely taken three steps when the wall behind me grinds shut with a finality that makes my stomach drop. No going back now. The book in my backpack is still vibrating like it has a motor, and the faint blue glow ahead is the only light I have.

So I walk.

And walk.

The tunnel keeps going down, getting narrower and narrower until I feel like I’m being swallowed by the earth itself. My sneakers scuff against stone that has been worn smooth by who-knows-how-many centuries of footsteps.

The only light comes from tiny crystals embedded into the stone. Not candles, not electrical bulbs. They just glow faintly, a soft pulse like a heartbeat you can barely hear.

It isn’t bright enough to banish the shadows completely. But it’s enough to reveal the carvings.

They start simple: winding lines and circles, flowing around each other like rivers drawn by a dreaming hand.

But the deeper I go, the more the carvings grow complex—figures taking shape, stories unfolding.

First, I see them: Five young women, standing proud, each one framed by a different element:

A blossoming tree for one.

Flames curl another like dancers.

A mountain rising into clouds.

Blades of clear wind slicing across stars.

A swirling wave behind the last one.

Each Princess is captured mid-motion—gentle, fierce, strong, piercing, wise. Their faces are different, but all are unmistakably… glorious.

I reach out and trace the edge of the carving with my fingertips, feeling the ridges where ancient hands have etched them into stone.

“You’re real,” I think. “You were always real.”

Further along the walls, the figures change. Grandfather Moon, carved with robes swirling like tides, a crescent halo over his head. The inscription beneath simply says: “Primordial.”

I keep moving, heartbeat picking up.

Then another scene unfolds: The Five Celestial Princesses, standing side by side, facing a massive swirling darkness—Móyuān, the Tainted Ethereal. The battle frozen in stone: light clashing against corruption, blades crossing the endless void.

It’s the exact scene I have read in the book, but somehow… it’s more. It feels alive.

I stop walking, staring up at the high, arched ceiling where the final carving curls into infinity. A strange shiver runs down my spine.

“This shrine isn’t just memory,” I realise. “It’s a promise.”

The dust stirs faintly at my feet. The air tastes sharper, heavier. And somewhere ahead, deeper in the tunnels, something shifts in the dark. Something not supposed to be here.

I spot a small tunnel behind me.

One minute I’m squeezing through a narrow stone throat, heart hammering louder with each step— —and the next, I stumble into a vast underground hall, so huge I can’t see the far walls.

Rows upon rows of figures stand there, so still, so perfect, they look forged from materials alien to earth.

“Zobito Sanctum Two Hundred Eleven, Level One,” an intricately carved sign reads.

Hundreds of tidy rows stretch into the darkness, each figure frozen in a large chrysanthemum-shaped crystal encasing. The crystals shimmer with a warm, peachy pink colour that reminds me of sunset on a summer evening—not harsh or artificial, but soft and alive.

Each clone is identical in form, standing a little taller than a man, their features somewhere between alien and robotic, yet somehow graceful and ancient. Their armor is crafted from adamantine Celestial alloys that catch the soft pulse of the Celestial Crystals overhead, creating a gentle dance of light across their surfaces.

But what strikes me most is their faces—all have their eyes closed, peaceful expressions that make them look like they’re simply sleeping rather than deactivated. They don’t look scary at all. In fact, each clone feels warm, like they carry the memory of sunlight within their crystal shells.

I can’t help myself. I stop in front of one, drawn to examine it more closely.

The details are breathtaking. Every curve of their armor seems to flow like liquid metal frozen in time. The chrysanthemum crystal encasing isn’t just a container—it’s part of them, the edges blending seamlessly with their forms. I can see tiny runes etched along their arms and chest, symbols for memory, balance, watchfulness that glow with the faintest inner light.

Some have delicate vines curled around their arms like lazy serpents, others are covered in cobwebs that only add to their ancient, timeless beauty. But even under the dust of centuries, they stand in ageless perfection, patient and waiting.

Waiting for what?

My fingers itch to reach out. To touch. To say I’m here. But I hold back, not wanting to disturb their peaceful slumber.

The silence presses against my ears like a second skin.

And under it, something else.

Movement.

At first, I think it’s my imagination—shadows flickering in the far corners, the kind of thing your brain makes up when you’re alone in the dark too long.

But the shadows keep moving.

I squint, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. Not shadows, then. Something solid, but shifting, like heat waves over pavement on a hot day.

The shapes move again, and this time I catch a glimpse of something that makes my stomach clench. Half-sapien, half-animal forms, their movements too fluid, too graceful to be human, but too purposeful to be wild creatures.

My breath catches in my throat as one of the figures turns, and I see it clearly for the first time.

Half-sapien, half-fox.

Orange-furred bodies that move with impossible grace, tails that flick like silk ribbons in the wind. Their faces are a strange blend—fox-like features with expressions too intelligent, too knowing. Eyes that gleam like stolen coins in the dim light, catching the faint glow of the Celestial Crystals.

Fox Spirits! Like from the fables I’ve read as a child, the stories about magical creatures who can walk between worlds. I’ve always thought they’re just stories, but here they are, slinking between the sleeping Zobito like they own the place.

One turns its head toward me, tongue flicking over sharp teeth in what might be a smile—or a threat. I can’t tell which is worse.

I freeze, and hold my breath.

Behind them, other forms move.

“Black Husk Soldiers,” one of the Fox Spirits calls, “Take a look around that side.”

These hulking things with beetle-carapace armor fused over shriveled human torsos, their limbs clicking as they march. Their faces are hidden behind chitin masks; only the gleam of many small, insectoid eyes betrays them.

“No, that side, THAT side!” the Fox Spirit commands with exasperation. “Don’t look at me you dummy! Go left!”

They move in tight formation, four by four, silent, relentless.

And lumbering deeper in the gloom… a massive, bulky rock giant. Stone fused into a crooked body, dragging an arm like a slab behind it. Its breath rumbles like falling mountains, stirring the dust at its feet.

“Oh good,” I think wildly. “Welcome to Peach’s No-Good Very-Bad Ancient Shrine Adventure Hour.”

Another taller Fox Spirit walks up. “You’re the dummy, you’re not doing it right! Don’t wake the giant Rock Guai.”

The second Fox Spirit barks low, strange musical yips—and the Black Husk Soldiers respond, splitting into new patrol lines.

Orders. They are organized. They are guarding something. Or… someone.

A shiver races down my spine. These freaks are guarding something important. The same thing I’m looking for.

And if they catch me here? I tighten my fists. Not happening. Not today.

I slip between two Zobito ranks, heart pounding so loudly I’m sure it will echo. Ahead, somewhere deeper in the dark, I have to find what they’re hiding. Before they find me first.

I press my back against a cold Zobito’s shoulder plate, trying to melt into the shadows.

Somewhere ahead, a Fox Spirit barks again—three sharp yips—and the sound echoes off the carved walls like a knife scraping a bone.

Click. Click. Click.

The Black Husk Soldiers move in formation, their jointed limbs scraping stone. The sound isn’t loud. It’s worse than loud. It’s relentless.

I dare to peek around the edge of the sleeping Zobito. A squad of Husk Soldiers is patrolling the nearest row, mandibles twitching under their half-masks. Their carapace armor glistens wetly under the faint light, and between their shields and chitin swords, there’s no softness left in them at all.

Only obedience. Only orders.

And if the way they’re fanning out says anything, it’s clear: They know something doesn’t belong here. Me.

I exhale slowly through my nose, willing my heartbeat to quiet.

“Okay, okay, brain. Less freaking out. More sneaky thinking.”

Foxes have a strong scent! So I quickly grab as much dust or grime around as I can and pat all over my body, but I know this wouldn’t last long.

Then, a whisper of movement to my right. Another Fox Spirit darts along the top of the Zobito’s shoulders—graceful, balanced, sniffing the air. It’s close. Way too close.

I freeze, heart hammering. The Fox Spirit pauses, its nose twitching. It’s maybe fifteen feet away—close enough that if it turns my way, I’m toast. After a few agonizing seconds of sniffing, it moves on.

I need to distract them.

Quietly, carefully, I shift my weight, cup my hands like I’m throwing a voice across a river, and—

“Over here,” I shout, pitching my voice high and airy, mimicking the Fox Spirit’s voice like a ghost in a bad horror movie.

The sound pops three rows away. The effect is immediate. The Fox Spirits’ ears perk up. The nearest squad of Husk Soldiers swivel their heads in eerie unison and move toward the sound, their clawed feet tapping faster.

“Yes! Still got it!” I think.

“What are you doing there?” the Fox Spirit asks, shouting from three rows away.

“I found something by the entrance. Come take a look. Follow me, dummy.”

I slither low between the silent legs of the Zobito, hugging the shadows, heart galloping.

“How dare you call me dummy!” the Fox Spirit grumbles, “wait up, I’m coming your way.”

Another patrol passes within inches of me.

One of the Husk Soldiers hesitates. Sniffs the air with a twitching mandible.

I don’t breathe.

Do. Not. Breathe.

The soldier gives a low rattling click and moves on.

I wait a beat longer, then slither forward like my life depends on it—which, you know, it probably does.

Up ahead, the vast hall breaks into two paths: One leading toward a darker, heavier stone archway, the other sloping downward toward a fainter pulse of Celestial light. The patrols are heavier near the first. I aim for the second path.

“Go toward the light,” I think grimly. “Ignore every horror movie warning. Just go.”

A distant rumble echoes through the ground—deep and seismic. This giant they call the Rock Guai is waking up too. Awesome. Absolutely awesome.

I creep forward, keeping to the edges of the Zobito ranks, each step a prayer that the ground won’t betray me. But in the silence, my own breathing sounds like a drum.

And the Fox Spirits are getting smarter. They have stopped barking orders. They are now… listening.

My stomach clenches tighter the deeper I creep into the ranks of sleeping Zobitos. The Black Husk Soldiers are changing their patrols—sweeping methodically now, closing gaps. And the Fox Spirits are moving quieter too, tails low, snouts sniffing for any hint of wrongness.

Any second now, they’re going to smell the one very lost, very panicked human girl hiding among ancient robots.

I duck behind another Zobito’s broad legs, heart racing.

“Think, Peach. Think! No snacks. No invisibility cloak. No emergency dragon. Just you and your mouth.”

I swallow. Maybe… maybe if I can fake another command? I remember the Fox Spirits’ strange little barks and yips—sharp, musical.

I close my eyes. Focus. Then, from behind the nearest Zobito, I yip.

“Yip-yip! Rrrah!”

It echoes oddly in the vast hall. The effect is immediate. The nearest squad of Black Husk Soldiers freezes mid-step. Their antennae twitch. Then—without warning—they start to sway.

Clack-clack—stomp. Clack-clack—stomp.

It looks suspiciously like… dancing.

I blink. Hard.

“What are you doing to my soldiers?” One of the Fox Spirits barks sharply, trying to regain control. “This is no time to play!”

In response, one of the Black Husk Soldiers headbutts it clean off a Zobito platform. The Fox Spirit yelps, furious, and pounces on the beetle soldier.

“How dare you hit me!” Another Fox Spirit joins the fray. “Black Hust Soldiers, go, pull that traitor’s tail!” Soon there’s a small riot—mandibles snapping, some randomly dancing, tails whipping, weapons flashing.

I gap from behind a Zobito’s knees. “Okay… not exactly what I meant… but I’ll take it!”

The patrol lines collapse into chaos. The far corners of the hall fill with snarling and crashing sounds.

“NOW, LEGS, NOW!”

I bolt. Keeping low, I zig-zag through the open rows, the storm of violence behind me masking my footsteps.

Ahead—the two paths yawn wider.

I veer toward the sloping tunnel, the one bathed in a faint Celestial glow.

A heavy tremor shudders through the ground— the Rock Guai, woken by the fighting.

Another bellow shakes dust from the ceiling.

But by the time the first Fox Spirit realises something is wrong— By the time the Black Husk Soldiers begin slamming their shields into order again— I’m already vanishing down the second tunnel.

Breathless.

Shaking.

And very much still alive.

For now.

The hallway narrows again, then opens into a chamber so wide I can’t see where it ends.

It isn’t empty.

It’s full—wall to wall, floor to ceiling—with Zobitos.

They stand in staggered platforms like an underground amphitheater of silence, all facing inward toward a raised platform in the center.

The Sanctum.

I stumble forward, boots crunching over old dust and cracked tile.

At the center sits a broken altar, split down the middle, with ancient banners still clinging to the poles above—barely visible under centuries of mildew.

The air tastes like stone and alloy. Time itself seems to hold its breath.

And I know—I have made it.

Then I hear them.

Footsteps.

Clattering, sharp. Many-legged. Many-armed.

The Fox Spirits have rallied. The Black Husk Soldiers are regaining order.

And I have just run into a dead end.

I whip around.

Three dark forms block the entry. The Fox Spirits slink into view, their eyes gleaming like gold coins held too long in fire. Behind them, the chitter-click of armored limbs closes in.

One of the Fox Spirits grins, showing too many teeth.

“Hi,” I say weakly. “I’m just here for a tour. No touching. No flash photography.”

They snarl.

I back up to the altar, heart hammering like a drum line.

No weapons. No allies. No way out.

Unless…

I turn to the broken altar.

For a moment, I think about all the carvings I saw in the tunnel—the Five Princesses standing together, facing impossible darkness. They weren’t just powerful because they were chosen. They were powerful because they chose to stand. Because they chose to fight.

Maybe that’s what I’ve been doing all along. Not just running, but fighting to survive, to discover, to understand who I really am.

“Okay, ancient relic,” I whisper, placing my hand on the cracked stone. “Time to do the thing. Whatever the thing is.”

Nothing happens.

I hear claws tapping behind me.

“Look, I know I’m not a chosen one or a warrior or whatever—unless sarcasm counts—but if there’s anyone listening in this very dramatic and ominously lit hall… now would be a really great time to wake up.”

Still nothing.

The lead Fox Spirit leaps onto the platform, snarling, jaws open.

I shout.

“Zobito, if you’re in here somewhere—HELP! I’m like five-foot-two and mostly made of dumplings and panic!”

The air shifts.

Somewhere deep in the sanctum, a soft hum answers.

The Fox Spirit pauses, ears twitching.

The altar beneath my hand glows—just faintly, like a memory trying to return.

“Please,” I whisper, suddenly more quiet. “I don’t want to be a hero. I just don’t want to die before I figure out who I’m supposed to be.”

But as I speak, I realise something. Maybe I don’t have to be a hero. Maybe I just have to be brave enough to ask for help when I need it. Brave enough to keep going even when I’m terrified.

A light cracks down the altar’s center. It pulses out—once—like a heartbeat echoing through a buried city.

Across the chamber, in the sea of Zobitos, one begins to glow.

Soft gold traces the lines of her armor. Her head rises. Her chest lights up, humming with old power returning.

The Fox Spirits turn, growling in confusion.

The Black Husk Soldiers freeze.

The chosen Zobito steps off her pedestal. Her first footfall is soft.

The second shakes the ground.

She turns to me, her voice rising in a calm, gentle chime that somehow combines ancient wisdom with childlike warmth:

“Celestial Authority recognized. Yaoguai units detected: Fox Spirits, Black Husk Soldiers. Initiating civilian protection protocol.”

The Fox Spirit hisses. The Zobito steps forward, shielding me with a sound like wind sharpening into steel.

I stare up at her, heart thudding, legs weak.

“Hi,” I whisper. “You’re… tall.”

The Fox Spirits lunge.

Zobito raises one hand.

And everything goes white.

Not just light—pure, searing brightness that burns through my closed eyelids like the sun has decided to explode right in front of my face. I feel heat wash over me, not burning but warm, like stepping into sunlight after being in a cold room for hours.

The air crackles with energy, and I hear the Fox Spirits screech in pain and confusion. The Black Husk Soldiers make clicking, rattling sounds that might be screams.

I want to open my eyes, to see what’s happening, but the light is too intense. I can feel Zobito’s presence beside me, steady and protective, her energy humming like a massive engine coming to life.

“Protection protocol: complete,” her voice echoes through the chamber. “Hostile units neutralized.”

The light begins to fade, and I finally dare to peek through my fingers.

What I see makes my breath catch in my throat.

The Fox Spirits are scattered across the chamber, some unconscious, others groaning and clutching their heads. The Black Husk Soldiers have been knocked back against the walls, their armor smoking slightly. And the Rock Guai—that massive stone giant—has been reduced to a pile of rubble in the corner.

But most importantly, the Zobito who has saved me is glowing with a soft, golden light, his chrysanthemum crystal encasing pulsing with renewed energy.

“Threat assessment: clear,” he says, turning to me. “Civilian status: protected. Next directive: await instructions.”

I stare at him, my heart still racing from the adrenaline, but now mixed with something else—awe, gratitude, and the beginning of understanding.

This isn’t just a rescue. This is the beginning of something much bigger.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the ringing in my ears.

“Mission parameters: acknowledged. Guardian protocol: activated.”

The Zobito then inclines her head slightly, and I could have sworn I see the ghost of a smile in her expression.

I blink in surprise. Her voice has suddenly shifted from that precise, mechanical tone to something much more natural—almost human. It’s like she’s switched from reading a technical manual to having an actual conversation.

“Oh, welcome!” she says brightly, as if we’re meeting for tea rather than in the middle of a battle. “What took you so long?”

And as the last echoes of the battle fade away, I realise that my adventure in the shrine is far from over.

It is just beginning.