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Cradle of Ash
The map had no ink.Yunlei stared at the moon-threaded silk, turning it over again and again. No lines, no compass. Just smooth fabric, cool to the touch, as blank as the sky before a storm.And yet, he could feel it.Not see it—but feel it. Every time his fingers brushed a certain patch of the cloth, a strange tug stirred in his chest, like gravity with no direction. As if the map responded not to sight, but will.“You’re sure this isn’t just a riddle?” Meizhen asked, arms crossed.“No. This is a test.”Yunlei knelt by the campfire, pressing his palm flat across the center of the silk.The fire dimmed.Zhao stepped back instinctively. “Uh… that’s not normal.”Runes, ancient and pulsing, bloomed across the fabric like glowing veins. A pattern began to take form—five circles, five paths, each leading to a jagged symbol at the center. The Cradle of Ash.Meizhen whistled. “Old magic. Older than the Empire.”“Runes from the Deep Flame,” Yunlei murmured. “No wonder the Jade Court hid this.
Valley of Echoes
The valley was silent.Yunlei dismounted at the edge of a narrow, winding path that disappeared between sheer stone walls. A soft mist clung to the ground like memory refusing to fade. High above, jagged peaks cut into the sky, their crowns veiled in snow.He stood alone, as requested.No guards. No weapons beyond the dagger hidden in his boot. He had left Meizhen and the others camped four leagues behind, reluctantly obeying the demands of the scroll bearer.The Valley of Echoes had once been home to the legendary Jade Court—the imperial bloodline thought to be extinguished during the Age of Burning Thrones. Now it whispered of old ghosts, untouched by time, and perhaps, not as extinct as history claimed.Yunlei stepped into the pass.His boots crunched frost-covered grass. Every footfall echoed louder than it should have, ricocheting between the cliffs, as though the valley itself were repeating his arrival to unseen ears.An hour passed. Then two.And then came the voice.“Tell me,
Fire beneath the Lotus
The city of Nanyue had once been called the Pearl of the South. Its towers were lotus-shaped, its canals lined with floating lanterns. But on this day, the waters ran black with ash, and smoke painted the skies in strokes of gray.Yunlei stood atop the city’s northern gate, staring into the horizon where fire still flickered on the ruins of the outer farms. His cloak whipped in the wind, stained from days of battle and ashfall. Behind him, his generals waited, tense and silent.“The lotus fields are gone,” said Meizhen. “Burned to mud.”Yunlei didn’t reply at first. His gaze followed the curling smoke as if it could carry him to the ones responsible.“They struck in the night. Silent. Precise. They didn’t want territory. They wanted symbolism.”Zhao stepped forward, arms crossed. “Three Heartseeds destroyed in a single night. Dozens dead. No tracks. No survivors.”“Only one mark,” Meizhen added. “A single word burned into the temple wall: ‘Ash.’”Yunlei clenched his fists.“Ashen Pact
The Ashen Pact
The Hollow Throne stood in a crater of black stone, its jagged spires like claws grasping at the blood-red sky. Once the seat of emperors, now a desecrated ruin, the throne’s presence infected the land around it. No birds sang. No beasts stirred. Only the low hum of forgotten curses buzzed beneath the cracked earth.Within its shattered walls, seven figures knelt in a ring of scorched ash. Hooded, silent, and cloaked in blood-dyed silk, they formed a circle around a central brazier that burned with ghostfire—cold, blue, and endlessly flickering.A voice emerged from the shadows behind the throne. Feminine. Velvet edged with venom.“Raise your heads.”The seven rose in unison. Their faces were masked—some in bone, others in obsidian or lacquered gold. Their auras crackled with power held barely in check.Lady Xiyue stepped into the ghostlight. She wore black robes trimmed with serpent-scale silver, and a chain of fingerbones adorned her neck. Her eyes gleamed with cruelty and clarity.
Oaths in Ash and Iron
The coastal winds tore through the camp at dawn, scattering embers from the night’s dying fires. Tents flapped like battered sails, and the cries of gulls merged with the clang of steel as soldiers trained in the yard below the cliffs. Amid them stood Yunlei, bare-chested, arms wrapped in hemp bands, his fists streaked with blood.Opposite him knelt General Haoyu of the Sky Piercer Mercenaries, gasping for breath, his blade driven into the sand for balance. Yunlei had not used his sword. He hadn’t needed to.“You wanted proof,” Yunlei said, offering the older man a hand. “Now you have it.”Haoyu took it, grunting as Yunlei pulled him to his feet. “That was no duel,” the general spat. “That was a lesson.”“Then learn it,” Yunlei replied calmly. “I’m not asking for loyalty. I’m offering a cause.”Around them, the warriors of the Sky Piercers watched in tense silence. Many had heard the rumors—of the Kirin Heir returned, of an Accord reforged—but few had believed them until now.Haoyu st
The Blade and the Bloom
Rain fell gently over the moss-laced rooftops of Yuanjin Valley as a trio of cloaked riders approached the village gates. None of them bore banners, yet the lead figure carried a presence sharper than steel—Meizhen, the Azure Blade. Her sword was wrapped in silk, but the air around her shimmered with tension.Behind her rode Zhao, now wearing the half-armored robes of the Kirin Guard, and Lin Bo, a quiet youth with healing talents awakened in the Temple Ruins. They had been sent ahead of Yunlei to reestablish contact with the hidden sect of herbalists known as the Blooming Veil.The gates opened with a groan. An old woman greeted them with a bow so low it nearly touched the wet earth. “You come on behalf of the Heir.”Meizhen dismounted, brushing rain from her shoulders. “We come seeking Master Huai of the Blooming Veil.”“He waits by the Lantern Tree,” the woman said, voice trembling. “But be warned—he is not what he once was.”As they made their way through the village, Meizhen felt
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