2025-11-19 16:45:46The night should have been silent.
But silence did not belong to the aftermath of a Phoenix army’s arrival.
The forest still trembled from the clash that had left Rylan battered on the ground, blood trickling down his forehead. Seraphina knelt beside him, her fingers trembling as she tried to seal his wounds with her fading immortal energy. In her arms, the twins—wrapped in simple mortal cloth—let out soft whimpers, sensing their parents’ terror.
“Enough,” Elder Vaelor’s cold voice echoed through the clearing. His crimson robes fluttered, phoenix flames rippling across his sleeves. “Seraphina, the clan awaits. The ceremony is already being prepared. You will return immediately.”
Seraphina lifted her gaze, eyes blazing with defiance.
Elder Vaelor smiled. It was not a kind expression—it was the triumphant smirk of someone who had never once bothered to keep his promises.
“The clan does not negotiate with mortals.”
Seraphina lunged forward, her wings erupting behind her—shimmering, luminous, powerful—and for a moment, the air itself bowed around her. But Phoenix soldiers immediately surrounded her, spears glowing with immortal fire. She stopped, panting, knowing that any further action would endanger her children.
Rylan forced himself upright, clutching at a tree trunk for support. His vision swam, but fury anchored him.
A soldier struck him across the face with the blunt end of a spear.
Blood splattered the ground.
Seraphina screamed, “STOP!”
Elder Vaelor flicked a finger. “Bind him. Take him.”
Rylan blinked in confusion. “…take me?”
The soldiers moved before the meaning fully reached him. Fire-forged chains wrapped around his wrists and ankles, sizzling against his skin. He gritted his teeth but refused to cry out.
“You said you only wanted me!” Seraphina cried, struggling against the soldiers restraining her. “You said he would be left unharmed!”
Elder Vaelor’s eyes narrowed. “Your marriage to this mortal shamed the clan. Your return cleanses only half the disgrace. The other half must be purged.”
Rylan was yanked to his knees.
“Purge?” he repeated softly, the word stabbing into him like ice.
Elder Vaelor leaned down. “Your existence, mortal, is the blemish. Your life will be erased… starting with your name.”
Seraphina’s wings flared again, but the soldiers tightened their formation.
Rylan’s heart hammered. “Seraphina—take the twins and run.”
She shook her head violently, tears blurring her vision. “I won’t leave you!”
“You have to,” he said, choking on his breath. “Live. Protect them. That’s all I want.”
But she could not run—not while hundreds of immortal soldiers surrounded them.
Elder Vaelor raised his staff. A surge of golden-red energy erupted skyward, forming a blazing phoenix symbol that spiraled into the clouds. The air vibrated.
A second later, a massive crack tore through the sky—
It was not beautiful.
The Abyss Gate.
Rylan felt the heat of it even from meters away, scorching his lungs. Everyone knew the legends. The Phoenix Abyss was where traitors and disgraceful beings were thrown, stripped of identity, tortured by eternal fire, and wiped from memory.
“No…” Seraphina whispered, paling. “No, you can’t do this! He has no cultivation! He won’t survive a minute in there!”
“That,” Elder Vaelor said, “is the point.”
Rylan struggled as soldiers dragged him toward the gate.
One of the twins began to cry—then the other. Their frantic little wails stabbed through the night.
Seraphina tried to lunge forward, but a dozen spears halted her.
Her wings dissolved as despair robbed her of strength.
He twisted his head enough to meet her gaze.
His voice cracked.
And that broke something in her.
“NO!” Seraphina screamed, immortal energy exploding from her like a storm. She broke through the first ring of soldiers with a shockwave that sent several flying.
But the Abyss Gate’s pull had already activated.
The ground beneath Rylan cracked open. Flames burst upward, engulfing his legs and searing through his clothes. Pain ripped through him, and he collapsed, gasping.
Seraphina reached out—
“Take another step,” he sneered, “and the twins die.”
Her heart froze.
“No…” she whispered, trembling violently. “Please… not them…”
“Then stay where you are.”
She fell to her knees, helpless.
Rylan saw the horror in her eyes—saw the way she had to choose between her husband and her children—and the guilt crushed him more than the fire consuming his body.
The heat was unbearable.
Flames clawed at his skin, licking up his torso, burning the clothes and flesh alike. He screamed, but the roar of the Abyss swallowed his voice.
“SERAPHINA!”
She stretched hers back—
Their fingertips almost touched.
Almost.
But then the fire surged.
Rylan’s body was jerked into the gate with a violent pull, swallowed by blazing darkness.
And in the last flicker of light before he disappeared fully, Seraphina saw it:
His skin turning black with burn marks.
His eyes—wide, terrified—but still focused on her.
Then—
He was gone.
The Abyss Gate slammed shut with a thunderous boom, leaving only smoke curling in the air.
Silence crashed down on the forest.
Seraphina’s scream tore through the night, raw and broken.
Her wings burst forth again, her aura exploding with a power that made even the elders step back. The earth trembled, trees bent, and the air rippled from the force of her rage.
“You monsters…” she whispered, voice shaking. “You will pay for this.”
Elder Vaelor lifted his hand. “Restrain her. We leave for the clan.”
Soldiers moved in swiftly, throwing chains of immortal fire around her wrists. She didn’t resist—not anymore. Her strength drained with the fading echo of her husband’s last scream.
She clutched the twins tightly against her chest as the soldiers forced her to stand.
But as she lowered her head, her eyes glowed—not with defeat, but with something fierce.
Something dangerous.
Something that promised war.
Because deep within her sleeves, just before Rylan was dragged into the Abyss…
She had hidden something.
A trace of his aura.
A chance.
Her lips curved into a fragile, grief-stricken smile.
“He’s not dead,” she whispered to the twins.
The soldiers didn’t hear.
But the forest did.
The heavens did.
And the Phoenix Elders—
—would regret leaving her with even that tiny spark of hope.
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Chapter 13 — The Slum’s Three Friends
The slums were louder than usual that morning—shouts from street vendors, the clang of broken pots, the distant laughter of children pretending they weren’t starving. But beneath the noise, Arin felt a tension lurking in the air. As if the world itself was holding its breath after the strange symbol had appeared on their wall the night before.He kept Lyra close as they made their way toward the water barrels. Their shelter was no longer safe. They needed information—and allies.Whether he liked it or not.Lyra tugged on his sleeve. “Do you think someone will help us?”Arin hesitated. Help was hard to come by in the slums. But there were three people—three children like them—who had crossed paths with him enough times to matter.The first appeared without warning, as always.A cold voice cut through the morning air.“You’re late. The water’s almost gone.”Arin turned.Elira stood by the barrel, pale morning light reflecting off her dark hair. Her expression was as unreadable as ever—e
Chapter 12 — Arin’s First Faint Echo
The night fell heavy over the slums, carrying an unnatural chill that seeped through broken rooftops and thin blankets. Arin lay curled on the dirt floor beside Lyra, trembling uncontrollably. Sweat drenched his forehead. His breath came in ragged, uneven bursts.A fever—violent and sudden.Lyra had begged him to rest in the warmest corner of their makeshift shelter, but warmth felt like a distant dream. Every pulse of heat sent another wave of pain through Arin’s body, as though something inside him was fighting to break free.“Arin,” Lyra whispered, brushing damp hair from his forehead. “Please stay awake. Please.”He tried to respond, but the world around him blurred into a haze of shadows and muffled sounds.His fever wasn’t normal.His visions weren’t normal.And worst of all—the presence watching them earlier still lingered in the back of his mind.Arin gritted his teeth. “I’m fine.”The lie fell apart the moment it left his mouth. His body shook harder, his throat tightened, a
Chapter 11 — First Sign of Divine Bloodline
The slums woke slowly that morning, as if the sun itself hesitated to pour its light upon a place that forgot hope long ago. Thin smoke drifted from broken chimneys. Mothers shook dust from blankets. Children with hollow eyes hunted for leftover scraps from the market three streets away.But inside a narrow alley, beneath a collapsed roof held together by old rope and desperate faith, Arin and Lyra sat huddled beside a shivering stray dog.It had followed them for two days—limping, ribs showing, fur matted with dried blood. Arin had tried to scare it off at first. One more mouth meant one more problem. But Lyra… Lyra couldn’t walk away.She never could.“Arin,” she whispered, cupping the dog’s head gently. “He’s going to die.”Arin looked away. He hated this feeling—the helplessness of wanting to save but lacking the power, the food, even the freedom to try. He had nothing. He was nothing. And the world made sure he never forgot that.“We can’t save every dying thing,” Arin muttered.
Chapter 10 — Growing in Filth
The slums changed slowly—rotting boards collapsing here, a new layer of grime added there—but for Arin and Lyra, change happened whether they wanted it or not. Days turned into months; months slid into years. The world did not pause for abandoned twins.And so, they grew.Not in comfort or warmth, but in filth.The slums of Ember Hollow offered no kindness. The air always smelled of spoiled rice and smoke. Beggars fought over scraps. Children disappeared without a trace. Gangs controlled the alleys like miniature tyrants. But even in this cesspool, two small figures endured—thin, hungry, and clothed in stitched rags.Yet, they were always together.Always.At age five, Arin already possessed the shoulders and arms of a child who worked far beyond his years. Every morning, he hauled buckets of water for a local tavern in exchange for stale bread. Every afternoon, he carried wooden crates for vendors—sometimes for coins, more often for kicks to the ribs.But he didn’t complain.He could
Chapter 9 — A Miracle of Survival
The slums of Ember Hollow were places where even the moonlight hesitated to fall. Cracked rooftops leaned like broken ribs, and foul-smelling mist rose from open drains. Scavengers prowled the alleys—rats, thieves, and worse. In this forgotten corner of the realm, the cries of abandoned children were no more significant than the whistling of the wind.Tonight, however, something stirred differently.A faint, whimpering sound came from a dirty bundle near a collapsed wall. Two infants huddled together—one boy and one girl—wrapped in torn cloth that still carried the faint scent of phoenix ash. Their cheeks were smeared with dust, but their eyes glowed with unusual brilliance. The girl, Lyra, slept fitfully, clutching her brother’s sleeve. The boy, Arin, remained awake, tiny brows scrunched as though he sensed danger crawling closer.They were only a year old—soft, fragile, defenseless.Or so it seemed.A group of bandits moved through the slum path, boots splashing through muddy puddle
Chapter 8 — The Night of Abandonment
“Some stories begin with love. Theirs began with being thrown away.”Night fell harshly on Emberfall Village.A storm gathered above the rooftops, stirring dust and dead leaves through the narrow alleys. Windows shut early. Dogs hid under porches. Even the wind felt afraid.Two infants—one boy, one girl—shivered in an old wicker basket as they were carried under the cloak of darkness.Lyra’s tiny fingers clung to the frayed cloth.Arin, barely awake, whimpered against the cold.Joren Vale cursed under his breath as thunder rumbled overhead.“Damn these brats,” he spat, struggling with the basket. “Should’ve drowned them when we had the chance.”Mirra, walking beside him, hissed sharply, “Quiet! Elden said no bodies. Just leave them. Quick and clean.”“Clean?” Joren sneered. “We already burned their house.”Mirra slapped his arm. “Shut up!”Behind them, the burned remains of Rylan’s cottage still glowed faintly—embers simmering beneath the ash. The smell of smoke clung stubbornly to th
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