Sixteen Years ago, two great sects coexisted in harmony within the lands of the Golden Palace—a name that encompassed the vast and powerful regions of Zhongyin, Huding, and Luoyu. These lands were home to scholars, warriors, assassins, and magicians alike.
The Shadow Sect, hidden in the quiet paths of Luoyu's Jade Gong, raised assassins in silence and discipline, molding them into shadows that served and protected the realm. The Magic Sect, in contrast, stood deep in the forests of Huding, guiding those born with unnatural abilities—and rarer forms of energy—teaching them to balance power with wisdom.
Together, they upheld peace across the Golden Palace. Disciples from every corner of China would journey across deserts and rivers just to kneel before the masters of these sacred sects.
But peace shattered when tragedy struck.
No one knows exactly what happened inside the Magic Sect's sacred grounds. What little is whispered speaks of a strange poisoning, swift and unnatural, sweeping through the heart of the sect. Some believe it was the doing of an outsider. Others claim betrayal came from within. The truth was buried with the dead.
In the wake of the catastrophe, the Magic Sect crumbled.
Terrified by the instability of unchecked magic, the emperor declared the practice of magic forbidden within the Golden Palace. All mages were exiled from Zhongyin, Huding, and Luoyu except Meng Fei. The once-glorious halls of the Magic Sect were abandoned, left to rot in silence.
Now, only the Shadow Sect remains, upholding what little order is left.
But there were those who saw the fall of magic not as a tragedy—but as an opportunity.
Far from the Golden Palace, in the cold regions beyond Pingyong, the Qi Clan stirred. A powerful clan known for its greed and ambition, they coveted the Jade Crystal, the last known relic capable of amplifying both magic and spiritual strength.
With the Magic Sect gone and the palace weakened, the Qi Clan launched a surprise attack. Under the cover of fog and snow, they tried to breach the inner sanctum and steal the Jade Crystal from the Jade Temple. It is said that the crystal brings peace and eternal powerl into a land. Qi Zifen, the Clan Leader who wanted it for himself, not for his land but to bring his spiritual power into an eternal like.
But despite their cunning moves, they were forced to retreat—wounded, but not broken.
Though they failed, they left behind a scar... and a promise to return.
Now, the lands of the Golden Palace grow uneasy. Magic runs wild in bloodlines, untamed and feared. Shadows move more freely. And somewhere out there, two fates begin to intertwine—
One seeking to save,
The other to survive.
And both destined to uncover truths long buried in silence.
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Sixteen Years Ago
"Diē, what's happening? Why are you packing our things?"
The boy's voice trembled as he stood frozen, watching his parents rush to gather their belongings in a panic.
His mother knelt down and gently held his face, her hands shaking. "It's alright. We're just… moving to another place," she said, forcing a smile before pressing a kiss to his forehead.
She stood up and, without another word, buried her face in her husband's shoulder, her body trembling. The father peeked through the window—his expression tightened.
"We leave. Now."
Grabbing the boy's hand, the mother pushed through the door. They ran into the night, the sound of footsteps and distant shouts echoing behind them.
The boy glanced back. Torches flared in the darkness. Shadows of angry villagers closed in, shouting, weapons raised.
Then—his mother stumbled.
They didn't have time. The mob was already surrounding them.
The father threw himself over his family, shielding them with his body.
"You murderer!" someone shouted. "You're the reason people keep dying in this town!"
The boy looked up with wide, terrified eyes. "Niáng… what's happening to us?"
"Everything's fine my little magician," she whispered, voice quivering as she clung to him tightly.
The villagers moved in.
The boy began to cry, but his mother swept him into her arms and held him close.
The father's gaze hardened. With a flick of his wrist, a burst of energy erupted—sending several attackers flying backward.
"Niáng, what's happening?!" the boy cried again. No response.
The father rose, gripping a fallen spear. He sliced his finger across the blade's edge—his blood running down its sharp metal edge.
"I never wanted to hurt anyone," he said, panthing. "But if you dare lay a finger on my family—then I won't regret drawing blood on this spear."
He surged forward and drove the spear deep into a villager's chest.
The mother turned to flee with the boy, but a sword halted her—cold steel at her neck.
"Kill them all," a voice growled behind her, "and she dies."
The boy trembled, paralyzed with fear.
The father stopped in his tracks. His eyes widened at the sight of the sword pressed against her throat. Before he could move, someone tore the boy from his mother's arms and tossed him into a carriage.
"No! Bring him back!" the mother screamed. Her cries were silenced a moment later as the sword cut clean across her neck—blood spilling down her robes.
The father watched in horror as he fell to his knees, staring at the love of his life as she collapsed.
And then—
A blade pierced his back. Blood spilled from his mouth as he gasped.
He fell forward, eyes fixed on her wife's still body—until everything went black.
Inside the carriage, the boy screamed and pounded on the walls. The door creaked open, and a figure stepped in—his blade still wet with blood.
"It's alright," the man whispered, resting a cold hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Your parents are just fine."
Then—
A swift strike to the neck.
The boy collapsed into his arms, unconscious.