Zhou Wei stepped back instinctively to Long's side. "That's not him," he whispered.
Long could sense it too—this was a construct, likely formed from Zhou Wei's longing. Or worse, a puppet of the realm's controlling force, trying to deceive them.
Elder Lin narrowed her eyes. "Reveal yourself. We are not fooled by shadows." Her voice carried a commanding weight.
The fake Zhou Yun's head tilted, the smile fading. The eyes lost their pretense of humanity, becoming cold and distant. "Fooled? Perhaps not. But tethered as you are, you cannot tarry long here. Turn back, dreamers. This realm is peaceful—do not bring your discord." The words sounded gentle, but underlying them was a threat.
Gan snorted. "Peaceful? You've practically eaten half our sect, you… whatever you are."
At that, the figure of Zhou Yun blurred. When it solidified again, it was no longer Zhou Yun, but a stooped old woman—the likeness of one of the other comatose disciples Long had briefly seen earlier being tended, if his memory served. Her cloudy eyes looked past them. "We are bringing them peace. Clarity. No pain, no struggle... only unity." The same multi-voiced sound spoke through the frail form. "Why do you resist what you sought?"
Elder Lin's hands tightened into fists at her sides. "Because what we sought did not involve losing ourselves. Release my disciples."
The apparition of the old woman gave a sorrowful, pitying smile. "There is nothing to release. They have embraced Clarity. They are part of us now."
Zhou Wei trembled with anger or fear. Long laid a steadying hand on his shoulder. Long's other hand went to the hilt of the sword that hung at his side—even here in a dream, his will could manifest it, and the weight of it felt reassuringly real.
"Whether or not they've embraced it, we're here to bring them back," Long said firmly. "We will not leave without them."
The apparition slowly shook its head. "Foolish. In trying to save them, you will join them." And with that, the figure's form expanded like smoke, billowing outward. The curtains around the chamber fluttered wildly as though blown by a gale. The whispers in the distance rose in volume to an intelligible babble of voices overlapping, threatening to overwhelm their senses.
"Look out!" Elder Lin warned.
The smoky mass condensed into several shapes around them. Long saw phantom-like figures coalescing—some resembling disciples he had seen, others more monstrous amalgams, their limbs too long or faces lacking features. They encircled the group, cutting off the corridor they came from and any exit.
One lunged at Gan with a distorted arm that stretched like taffy. Gan yelped and jumped back, swatting at it with a burst of his own qi. He was a cultivator too, after all, even if not a particularly powerful one; his strike dispersed the phantom's limb momentarily. "They're not solid! But persistent!" he called out.
Elder Lin drew a small talisman from her sleeve and crushed it, releasing a pulse of silver light that pushed back several of the ghosts. "We have to move! These echoes will keep us busy forever if we let them. They're distractions."
Zhou Wei had produced a short sword and was warding off two apparitions that pressed close, their shadowy hands grasping at him. "There!" he shouted, pointing down the corridor. One end of the hall showed light—an exit into another courtyard. Beyond it, Long glimpsed something new: a large stone dais and above it a shimmering curtain of pale light, like a wall of luminescence. He had no idea what it was, but it felt significant.
"Go!" Elder Lin commanded.
Long swept his sword in a broad arc, channeling his will into it. In the dream, intention mattered as much as strength. The blade cleaved through two phantom shapes, cutting them like fog. They wavered and re-formed, but more sluggishly. He cleared a path and the four of them dashed toward the courtyard beyond.
As they crossed the threshold, the ghostly hands grasped at their backs. Long felt a cold touch graze his shoulder—a numbing sensation that prickled unpleasantly—before he shook it off. Zhou Wei stumbled as one managed to latch onto his ankle, but Gan turned and kicked the specter off with a burst of light from a charm he activated. Zhou Wei regained his footing and sprinted forward. They all tumbled onto the courtyard's stone ground, panting.
Elder Lin swirled around, drawing a circle in the air with her index and middle fingers pressed together. A quick incantation later, a ring of faint flame encircled the courtyard's edge, deterring the phantom figures which hissed and recoiled at the barrier. It wouldn't hold them for long, but it bought a moment of respite.
"Everyone intact?" Lin asked, breathing slightly heavy.
Long nodded. Zhou Wei and Gan affirmed as well, Gan rubbing his forearm where a red mark from a phantom's grip was fading.
Now they took in their new surroundings. The courtyard was one Long recognized as the central square of the temple, but it had changed dramatically. At its center rose a broad dais of white marble that he was sure did not exist in reality. Upon the dais stood three large stone lanterns arranged in a triangle, their flames an unusual pale blue that cast the shimmering curtain of light upward. That curtain formed a dome overhead—a barrier or veil of some kind, beyond which the sky's swirling colors were muted and distant.
And inside that dome... were people.
Long's heart skipped. Lying on the dais or drifting just above it were numerous slumbering figures. He counted quickly—eight, ten, maybe more. They were translucent, ghostly outlines superimposed on faintly glowing human shapes. As he approached carefully, he recognized some: the young girl Jianyu who had nearly drowned in her nightmare earlier was curled in a ball, eyes shut; near her, an older man floated inches above the floor as if reclining on an invisible bed, face serene. These must be the lost disciples—their spirits gathered here.