The silence in the chamber was absolute.
The swirling fragments of broken fate continued to drift through the air, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls as the High Oracle of the Ephemera Sect stood frozen. His hand, still outstretched from the scrying ritual, trembled faintly.
His breathing had slowed, each breath labored, as if the revelation he had just witnessed weighed heavier than the very mountains above.
The flickering image of the vision lingered for only a moment—just long enough to burn itself into the minds of everyone present.
A field of withered lotus petals…Monks weeping blood…Twin blades dancing amidst crimson storms…Lin Mu, not as a cultivator, not as a righteous hero or a lone swordsman, but as a devil cloaked in celestial steel.
The image showed the sky burning red and silver. In the midst of the sacred fires and collapsing temples, Lin Mu stood alone, drenched in blood, surrounded by the echoes of a million howling souls.
