The world had lost its voice.
A land of white mist stretched infinitely in all directions. There was no sun, no moon, no sky. Just an endless expanse of pale nothingness, broken only by the crunch of Shen Ziyan's boots as he stumbled forward.
He had screamed himself hoarse.
He had shouted her name into the void until his throat bled, until even his soul trembled.
But she did not answer.
Bai Yanyue had fallen—dragged away by the divine chain of the High Judge. Her final words still rang in his mind:
> "You will find me again… in the realm where gods die."
Ziyan stood still now, staring down at his own hands—shaking, bloodied, powerless. No matter how tightly he clenched them, he could still feel her slipping through his fingers.
Again.
Just like in his dreams.
Just like in his past life.
His dragon soul, usually roaring with indomitable pride, now lay curled within him—mourning, howling in sorrow.
But he could not stay like this.
She wasn't dead.
Not yet.
This realm… whatever it was, it wasn't just a prison of white emptiness. It pulsed with strange energy—deep and ancient. The kind of power that predates even the Celestial Tribunal.
He took a breath and walked forward.
Each step echoed in the mist like thunder in a tomb.
Hours passed. Or perhaps days. Time moved differently here. There was no sun to mark its passage. Only silence and mist.
Then, at last, a change.
The fog parted.
Ahead, a field of ancient swords jutted out of the earth—thousands, perhaps millions. Each one broken, rusted, or shattered. Some glowed faintly with divine light. Others bled black aura.
This was no ordinary battlefield.
Ziyan stepped among them, drawn by instinct.
The swords whispered.
> We were used by gods... then abandoned.
> We drank the blood of universes… then forgotten.
> You carry the scent of sorrow. You are one of us.
Ziyan paused at a particularly massive blade, stabbed into the ground at an angle. Its edge was chipped, its hilt wrapped in golden chains now broken.
At its base was a corpse.
No… not a corpse.
A statue of a man, kneeling, face buried in the hilt, as if mourning.
But the aura it gave off was unmistakable—divine.
Ziyan stepped closer.
The moment his fingers touched the statue's surface—
BOOM!
A wave of memory crashed into his mind.
---
He saw a god—once mighty and proud—betrayed by his own court, struck down not by blade, but by silence. Cast into this realm, stripped of name and power. Left to kneel before the last weapon that remembered his glory.
He saw others.
Gods falling, one by one.
Each sent here not to die, but to be forgotten.
This was the Grave of the Forgotten Gods.
The place where fallen divinities were entombed—not with stone, but with time.
---
Ziyan reeled back, gasping for breath.
His soul trembled.
So this was the realm where gods died.
And Bai Yanyue… was sent here?
"No." His voice returned as a whisper. "She's not forgotten. I remember her. I always will."
His dragon soul pulsed in agreement, flaring faintly.
He pressed forward.
Hours turned to days.
The sword field gave way to black rivers that flowed backward, to temples shattered by divine war, to skies that blinked in and out of existence. Each step forward felt like peeling back the fabric of reality.
At last, he came to the Lake of Echoes.
It was said that the lake reflected not your face, but your truth.
Ziyan looked into the mirror-like surface.
He saw a man—young, proud, wounded.
But behind him, he saw Bai Yanyue.
She stood in shadow, chained, her divine aura suppressed. Her eyes were closed, her body still.
But she was alive.
And she was calling to him.
> "Ziyan…"
Her whisper came not from the lake, but from within his soul.
He dropped to one knee, pressing both palms against the water.
The surface shifted.
Revealed beneath the lake was a single white lotus—its petals slowly decaying, but not yet gone.
Ziyan clenched his fists.
"No more running," he said.
His aura exploded outward, sending waves of divine force crashing into the stillness.
The Dragonblood Ascension Technique roared to life, fueled by heartbreak, love, and fury. His cultivation surged, breaking through the barrier he had hovered beneath for weeks.
Mid Soul Transformation Realm.
A realm that even Heaven would tremble before.
The lake shattered.
And a voice echoed across the white world.
> "You have touched the grave of the forgotten. You have disturbed the balance. You… are not welcome."
Ziyan turned slowly.
Above him floated a figure cloaked in pure void—a being without face or name.
But behind that cloak was the aura of a true god.
Not the kind worshipped in temples.
But one of the Old Divinities, those who ruled before Heaven was born.
"You've come to stop me?" Ziyan asked.
"No," the god whispered. "I've come to judge you."
The world cracked.
The sky fell inward.
And Shen Ziyan raised his blade.
"I don't need your approval. I only need her."
With that, he slashed—
—and the void screamed.