.
.
Ashfall breathed again—but it bled in silence.
The Rooted Dust Sect stood alive, but not untouched. The victory at the spires had turned whispers into legend, yet Lin Chen knew: all legends birthed envy. And envy brought blades.
The wounded were tended, fallen buried with rites carved into bonewood. The snow had turned red, then brown, then silent again. Yet within that silence, something else stirred.
Not grief.
Change.
I. Root Rot
Deep within the earth beneath Ashfall, Lan Shu and Elder Xu led a descent into the sect's ancient caverns. The altar stone had pulsed again—a tremor that sent dust raining from the library shelves and awoke long-dormant sigils beneath the archive floor.
They found it on the fourth day of excavation: a chamber of living stone.
Etched along the walls were spiraling glyphs that shimmered only under true qi. But stranger still—a sculpture at the center, grown from crystal, depicting a vast tree without leaves. Beneath its roots, a serpent circled.
Lan Shu traced her fingers over the glyphs. "Not a warning. A memory."
Elder Xu grimaced. "No sect records this far down. This predates us."
Lin Chen, called to the chamber, stared at the tree with a weight in his chest. Something in his dust-vein resonated.
"This isn't our past," he said softly. "It's our beginning."
II. The Returning Wind
By spring, new disciples flowed into the sect like thawed rivers. Some were drawn by rumors; others by desperation. But a few came with names.
Among them: Jiang Yun, exiled princess of the Vermilion Court, her cultivation sealed by royal decree.
And Dao Fei, son of a disgraced war general, cast out for choosing mercy in a losing campaign.
Both knelt before Lin Chen. Neither begged.
Jiang Yun said, "I lost everything trying to change what could not be changed. But you, Sect Master Lin... you change what others fear to touch. I ask for a place to earn again."
Dao Fei added, "I would rather die defending ash than rot in gold."
Lin Chen nodded. "Then rise. Learn. And endure."
III. Steel Between Brothers
Despite growing strength, unity remained fragile.
Wei Yan, once Lin Chen's closest war hound, had changed in captivity. Nightmares haunted him. He trained longer, slept less, and grew sharp-tongued with junior disciples.
Tie Hui, protective of the sect's future, confronted him.
"This isn't the Wei Yan we followed into flame. What happened to loyalty?"
Wei Yan spat. "I was loyal. And I watched it break in chains. If you think grit alone saves us, you're a fool."
The two clashed in the sparring arena. Not to kill—but to decide.
Blades met. Fists flew.
Lin Chen watched from above. When it ended, both lay bloodied.
He descended and spoke: "Loyalty isn't obedience. It's the choice to rise again after breaking. You both chose that. Now rise again—together."
They did.
IV. Whispers From the North
One evening, Lan Shu delivered a sealed message, folded in black silk.
No courier. No name. Just a sigil pressed into wax: a wheel of teeth.
Inside, a short note:
"We see you, Ash Walker. The Frozen Maw remembers."
Lin Chen stared at it long.
"They're watching," he said.
Lan Shu looked troubled. "You said the Heavensburn Coalition were not gods. But what of those who command them?"
He said nothing.
That night, he sat beneath the altar again. The voice returned.
"The mountain bled. Did you taste it?"
He replied, not aloud but with will: "Yes. It tasted like beginning."
"Then beware the serpent beneath it."
V. Path of Ash, Path of Flame
Lin Chen entered seclusion.
For days, he meditated within the stone chamber below the altar, focusing on refining his core. Energy Refinement had opened. Now he pushed into the marrow of the 2nd realm.
Visions assaulted him.
Of cities devoured by dust.
Of stars whispering names in languages the soul shouldn't know.
Of nine mirrors, each darker than the last, all reflecting him.
And in every mirror: a version of Lin Chen who had made a different choice.
He awoke one morning with blood on his palms and new lines in his meridians. Not fractures.
Roads.
VI. The Sect of Blood Rain
Far to the southeast, a sect called Blood Rain began seizing villages, converting them into cultivation farms. Crops soaked in blood. Wells tainted with sacrifice.
Jiang Yun begged to go.
"They use royal sigils," she said. "My people suffer. I must answer."
Lin Chen nodded.
He sent her with Dao Fei, Tie Hui, and thirty elite disciples. Their orders: dismantle Blood Rain. Spare the innocent. Destroy the source.
They returned twenty days later.
Dao Fei carried Jiang Yun in his arms. She was alive—but something in her eyes had dimmed.
"She burned their altar," he said. "Alone. Took in too much corrupted qi."
Lin Chen laid his palm over her chest and whispered dust-light into her spirit.
She slept for three days.
When she woke, her voice was hoarse.
"There were children," she said. "They made them drink blood."
Lin Chen stood.
"Then we will answer louder next time."
VII. Seeds in Winter
Spring turned to summer. Ashfall grew.
The sect now had outposts in four provinces. Merchants paid protection willingly. Orphans trained under stone banners. Old enemies called truce. New allies watched with wary hope.
But growth had cost.
Of the thirty elite sent with Jiang Yun, five had died.
Lin Chen held rites for them personally.
"The world isn't kind to seedlings," he told the disciples. "But roots hold through storm. You are roots. You are dust. You are not forgotten."
And they believed him.
For Lin Chen did not lead by promise.
He led by proof.
VIII. The Sound of Splintering
On the eve of the midsummer festival, the sky broke.
A sound like bone tearing through silk rang across the valley.
All cultivators felt it. Some wept. Others fell to one knee.
A single fracture appeared in the heavens—a hairline crack in reality.
From it, fell a feather.
Black.
Still burning.
Lin Chen caught it.
His dust vein pulsed. And in that moment, for just a breath, he saw the truth:
There were nine layers to this world.
And they were in the lowest.
IX. Dust Shall Rise
He did not tell the others what he had seen.
But the sect felt it.
Disciples trained harder. Elders prayed deeper. Lan Shu began etching glyphs with her own blood.
And Lin Chen prepared.
For beyond the horizon, things stirred. Things with names like Silence Monarch, Nine-Tongue Flame, and Shepherd of the Rift.
He didn't yet know their shape.
But he would.
And when they came, Rooted Dust would be ready.
Because Lin Chen had seen it:
A tree of ash, blooming in fire.
And beneath it—
A throne no god dared touch.
End Of Chapter 12]