Shen Liun stood still as stone.
The voice in his mind was not Aoshen's. It was deeper, colder—like wind blowing through bones in an ancient grave.
> "Ash… flame… broken one… You walk toward the gate of echoes. Will you hear me… when the beast begins to speak?"
Ning'er turned toward him, her brow furrowed. "Liun?"
He blinked and forced a breath. "I'm fine."
That was a lie. He wasn't.
The voice had felt too real—too sharp to be imagination. Like it had hooked into something deep inside him.
They continued forward, the tunnel growing narrower, the air thicker with age and rot. Faint sounds echoed ahead. Not footsteps, not breath—but murmurs.
Whispers. Constant. Overlapping.
Thousands of voices. Some cried. Some laughed. Some begged.
Some knew his name.
> "Shen Liun… son of ashes… the one she cast aside…"
His heart pounded. "Is this part of the trial?"
> "No," Aoshen said slowly. "This is something older. Something… caged."
The corridor opened into a vast underground cathedral. Stained stone columns reached high into the shadows above, and in the center stood a circle of cracked runes, surrounding a pit of black mist. Chains—some as thick as tree trunks—hung down from the ceiling, vanishing into the darkness below.
The whispers grew louder.
And then, it rose.
From the mist, a shape emerged—shifting, half-formed. A beast not made of flesh, but of shadow and sound. Its eyes glowed faint blue, like frozen stars. Its body rippled like smoke wrapped around bone.
It didn't growl. It didn't roar.
It spoke.
> "Another bearer of flame… another soul to offer."
Liun raised his spear instinctively. Ning'er moved beside him, her stance guarded.
> "You are not alive," Aoshen warned. "That… thing isn't either. It's a remnant. A whisper of a divine beast, devoured long ago and bound here by will alone."
"A whisper?" Liun asked.
> "Yes. Not the creature… its soul echo. It lives only through voice and memory. If you listen too long… it can replace your thoughts with its own."
The beast circled the edge of the pit, its body flowing like fog over stone.
> "She left you," it whispered, its voice touching Liun's mind. "You weren't enough. Weak. Forgotten. But I remember you. I remember your fire."
Ning'er grabbed Liun's arm. "Don't listen."
But Liun's vision blurred.
He saw Ye Ruoxi again—her eyes cold as she turned her back on him. Her words, sharp as a blade: "You'll never rise. You'll only drag me down."
He gritted his teeth.
The beast leaned closer. Its form loomed above them now, endless and shifting.
> "Give me your flame," it said, "and I'll give you power. Enough to destroy all who wronged you. Enough to burn heaven itself."
> "DON'T," Aoshen snapped. "That's not power. That's possession."
The beast extended a tendril of mist toward him. It shimmered with a memory not his own—of triumph, of golden light, of entire sects kneeling before a boy with burning eyes.
Temptation. A future that could be his.
Liun raised his spear.
And drove it into the ground.
Ashen fire flared from his core—not wild rage, but steady, clear defiance.
"I've walked through fire already," he said, voice low. "I don't need to borrow another man's vengeance. I'll forge my own."
The beast recoiled, howling—not in pain, but in fury.
> "Then you shall hear what you refuse to take!"
The whisper turned to a scream.
Liun clutched his head as memories flooded into him—not his, but thousands. War. Loss. Betrayal. The sound of a father's last breath. The scream of a child orphaned by cultivators. The betrayal of sworn brothers.
So much pain.
It tried to crush him under the weight of sorrow.
But through it, one voice remained steady.
> "Liun. Hold on."
Ning'er's hand gripped his tightly.
And in his soul, Aoshen roared, casting flame through the storm of memories.
The whispers shrieked. The beast writhed.
Then, it shattered.
Its form broke apart, dissolving into mist, then silence.
All that remained was a faint blue crystal, pulsing gently.
Liun dropped to one knee, panting.
"That was… different," he gasped. "That wasn't just a fight."
> "No," Aoshen said. "It was a test of identity. To see if your soul is still your own."
Ning'er knelt beside him. "You held on."
"I almost didn't," he admitted. "If you hadn't been here—"
"You'd still be you," she said quietly. "You just forgot for a moment."
He looked at the crystal.
"What is it?"
> "A soul echo," Aoshen replied. "Very rare. You can fuse it with your own spirit sea. It won't make you stronger… but it will make you wiser."
Liun absorbed the crystal.
This time, there was no pain. Just stillness. And a quiet sense of… depth.
He stood slowly.
Above them, the chained ceiling groaned. A path opened behind the cathedral—one carved not by man, but by time itself.
They stepped forward.
Behind them, the beast's voice echoed once more—not in anger this time, but in recognition.
> "You are not flame…
You are what remains… when everything else has burned away."