Far above the buried ruins, beyond the shattered temples and the forgotten tombs, a golden city floated in the clouds.
Its towers pierced the heavens. Great rings of jade circled the central palace, spinning slowly with divine rhythm. This was Heaven's Reign, the capital of the Eastern Celestial Empire—the heart of cultivation, politics, and divine inheritance.
Inside the highest temple sat nine elders robed in silk etched with stardust. Before them hovered a glowing mirror of jade and gold, carved from the essence of a divine beast long dead.
This was the Heavenly Mirror of Awakening, a relic that reflected every spark of power born within the empire.
It had just pulsed.
Not once. Not twice.
Three times.
The mirror never pulsed without cause.
The First Elder leaned forward, his eyes gleaming beneath white brows. "Mark that soul signature. Ashen Flame… reborn?"
An attendant trembled. "It comes from the South. Near the ruinlands of the Emberfall Sect."
The room stilled.
A younger elder with sharp eyes said, "The Emberfall Sect was destroyed years ago."
"It was… by our command," said another. "We feared the spread of the Ashen Flame after the war. But if someone survived…"
The First Elder turned to the mirror. "The boy has passed the Flame Trial. And now, the Shadow Corridor. Few among even our chosen have achieved that before the age of twenty."
A moment of silence stretched.
Then the elder smiled.
> "It seems… we missed one."
---
Back underground, Shen Liun felt a chill run down his spine. Not fear—a gaze. As if someone, somewhere far above, had looked directly into his soul.
"You felt that too?" Ning'er asked, her eyes narrowing.
Liun nodded. "Someone is watching. Someone powerful."
> "The moment you rejected the voice of the echo beast," Aoshen said quietly, "you stepped out of fate's shadows. They can see you now. The gods, the sects… the hunters."
"Let them see," Liun said. "Let them know I'm coming."
He stepped into the next chamber.
Unlike the previous ruins, this place was pristine—an open courtyard beneath the earth, lit by glowing lotus lanterns that floated without flame. Trees with silver leaves swayed in windless air. In the center stood a massive stone slab shaped like a sword's hilt, buried deep into the ground.
And around it…
Graves.
Dozens of them. Small shrines, stacked with incense and broken weapons. Each one bore the name of a cultivator lost in the trials.
Ning'er walked slowly among the graves. "This place… it honors the fallen."
Liun knelt beside one of the shrines.
The name etched into stone was faint, but he could still read it:
> "Lan Xiyan – Dreamwalker, Third Star Realm. Fell protecting her brothers."
He bowed his head, a quiet ache building in his chest.
"These were real people," he murmured. "Not just names. They bled here. They died trying to rise."
> "And you walk their path," Aoshen said. "That's what makes it sacred."
From behind the central sword monument, a figure emerged.
An old man, skin like bark, draped in tattered robes. His eyes shimmered with faint white light, and he walked barefoot, each step silent.
He studied Liun carefully.
"You bear the Ashen Flame," the old man said, voice like dry leaves rustling. "But you carry something else too."
"I carry regret," Liun replied. "And resolve."
The old man nodded. "Good. Only those with both may face what lies ahead."
He gestured toward the sword-shaped monument.
"This blade once belonged to the founder of the Emberfall Sect," he said. "Its name was Dawnmourne. Forged from starlight and sorrow. You cannot pull it free… unless your soul burns brighter than his ever did."
Liun approached.
The moment his hand touched the stone, heat surged into him—but not like flame. It was memory again. A battle long past. A man standing alone against an army. A sect burning. A promise whispered over bloodied ground.
> "If I fall, let someone else rise. May my flame light the path."
Liun's fingers tightened.
He pulled.
The stone resisted. The sword didn't move.
Pain lanced through his chest. Doubt. Grief. Anger. The blade was testing him.
But Liun didn't yield.
"I don't need to prove anything to you," he whispered. "I'm not here to replace you. I'm here to finish what you couldn't."
And then—
The stone cracked.
With a sudden, thunderous sound, the monument split in two.
Dawnmourne rose into his hand, its black-gold blade pulsing with heatless flame.
The old man's eyes widened. "He accepts you."
"No," Liun said, staring at the blade. "He remembers."
In the shadows beyond the chamber, something shifted.
A seal broke.
And far above, in the skies of the empire, a bell tolled. One that hadn't rung in thirteen years.
The Ashen Flame had returned.