The Tomb of Ash drifted through the skies of a forgotten plane, a broken realm orbiting three dying suns. The stars here whispered in extinct languages, and time passed only in memory. It was said only two types of beings had entered the Tomb: those who had forgotten their names, and those who sought to forget them.
Lin Xue stepped through the ripple in space, following the blood-ink map given to her by Mistress Ning. As soon as she crossed, the world shifted. The sky turned copper, and the land beneath her boots cracked like old bones. A stone path lay ahead—mismatched tiles carved with names long erased.
At the end of the path, a gate of chained arms loomed. Each limb writhed faintly, as though begging for memory.
She raised her Remembrance Flame. The chains hissed.
As she walked through, whispers filled the air:
"Zhuo… protector… betrayal… ash…"
Inside the Tomb, halls twisted like a spiral maze. Mirrors lined the walls, but none showed her reflection. Instead, they showed visions of Yan Zhuo: cradling a wounded disciple, screaming at the Celestial Judges, and finally, kneeling before a girl wrapped in chains—her face strikingly similar to Lin Xue.
Then the mirrors cracked.
"Why do they show me this?" she murmured.
"You are her echo," a voice said.
A boy stood at the end of the corridor. Golden eyes, a broken jade talisman in hand. He looked at her like she was both salvation and doom.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"I am Xu Jian, son of the Forgotten Emperor. The last ember of a crown swallowed by time."
He walked forward, offering the talisman. "This is yours."
As she took the jade piece, a roar echoed through the tomb. A beast emerged—twisted by the celestial fire, born of flame and chain. The Ashbound Warden.
Xu Jian stepped back. "It guards the Third Flame. Only memory can harm it."
Lin Xue nodded. She released her flame—and her memories.
Of her mother's final words. Of the first time she was called cursed. Of the day she found Yan Zhuo's journal.
Each memory struck the Warden like a blade. It howled.
And then came a final one—not hers, but inherited: Yan Zhuo, holding a crying girl in his arms. "You must forget me to live."
Lin Xue wept. "I don't want to forget."
She unleashed the full scripture:
"Where remembrance burns, fate unravels."
The Warden disintegrated into chains of light, absorbed by her flame.
The Third Flame ignited in her chest—cold, resolute, and eternal. The tomb trembled. The skies cracked.
Xu Jian bowed. "You are not the Tyrant. You are his will."
Above, the three suns dimmed.
In the Blackfeather Province, Ji Wuxian collapsed.
"She's found the Third Flame…" he gasped.
And in the coffin, a pale girl opened her eyes and smiled.
"She's almost ready."