Night draped over the ruined Celestial Sect like a cloak of quiet sorrow. The wind whispered through broken halls, stirring the dust of centuries past. Where once banners of glory flew, now stood crumbling pillars and weeds. This was no longer the mighty sect that ruled stars—it was a relic, gasping to survive.
In the far edge of the sect, away from the inner courtyards and cultivation grounds, a lone hut leaned against a fractured wall. Its roof leaked when it rained, its floor was cracked stone covered with old straw, and the thin cloth that served as a door fluttered weakly in the cold night breeze.
This was Lin Hai's home.
Barely sixteen, an orphan since the age of five, he had grown up among the ruins of legends. His parents—ordinary outer disciples—had died during a failed beast tide defense. No one mourned them. No one cared. The sect was too busy surviving its own fall from grace.
Since then, Lin Hai had lived on scraps—both food and dignity. His daily meals were usually stale rice and boiled herbs picked from the mountain's edge. Water came from a mossy spring that only flowed clean during certain seasons. If he was lucky, he got dry bread from the kitchens when the seniors were in a good mood.
Despite all this, he never complained.
He worked harder than anyone else. He cleaned the training halls before sunrise, drew water for the alchemy labs, mended robes, polished broken spirit stones—even swept forgotten shrines that everyone else had long abandoned.
And it was in one of those forgotten corners—specifically the collapsed eastern shrine—that fate turned.
While sweeping dust and fallen rubble, his broom struck something solid. Curious, Lin Hai knelt and brushed it away, revealing a strange object embedded in the cracked floor: a crystal chip, no bigger than a thumb, glowing faintly with a mysterious hue.
It pulsed gently. As if… waiting.
He reached for it, fingers trembling.
The instant he touched it, the chip vanished—gone without sound or light. A moment later, a searing pain stabbed through his skull. He cried out and fell to the floor, body writhing, vision dimming. His mind felt like it was being torn open by invisible claws.
The world spun.
Then… silence.
The pain left as quickly as it came, but Lin Hai was soaked in cold sweat, gasping for air. No visions. No memories. Only emptiness, like a door had been forced open—and then slammed shut.
He stumbled back to his hut, his legs shaking. The night wind was biting, but he had no energy to light the small brazier. Curling up on his thin mat, stomach empty, head pounding, he stared at the cracked ceiling and whispered:
"Why me?"
He did not know that, deep within the Celestial Sect's forgotten formation core, something ancient stirred.