The battlefield stank of blood and smoke.
Once divided by pride and old grudges, the five tribes now stood united—not in celebration, but survival.
Demons, ancient and relentless, had devoured peace across the land.
Only one tribe bore the true bloodline.
And they suffered most.
As chaos tore through sky and soil, the true bloodline turned away—not in cowardice, but in sorrow.
They opened a hidden portal, sealing the blood-soaked battlefield behind them. A storm of all five elements—wood, fire, earth, metal, and water—rose like a final cry.
The battlefield was locked.
The artifact buried.
The war forgotten by those who would come after.
A woman stood alone in the final hour. With a voice that trembled but did not falter, she sang the ancient sealing chant—her body glowing, her spirit burning.
"Only the Emperor may see and his bloodline shall also sacrifices. Only the Void shall seal."
She poured her spiritual qi into the artifact, weaving it with the breath of all elements.
It vanished.
Only to reawaken when the Star Cycle rose again—when fate cried for a sacrifice. Each time it stirred, one blessed—or cursed—with the Void Cultivation was destined to die sealing it once more.
It was a cycle.
Until the betrayal.
The woman fled. The other tribes, all but one, turned on her.
With blood in her mouth and the last of her power fading, she whispered a final prophecy:
"Only my blood... shall fulfill this fate."
She vanished.
And with her, a ring of old power disappeared into the breath of the world.
The land trembled.
The world fell silent.
Time forgot... but the force did not.
Long ago—after the war—
A force descended from the sky.
Neither fire nor shadow. Neither god nor man.
It landed in a meadow untouched by battle, cloaked in the glow of both sun and moon.
No one saw it fall.
Winters bled into summers. Summers into dust.
The meadow grew wild, but the force waited still.
Not for flame.
Not for glory.
But for the one born in silence—
The one who would come with nothing the world worships.
The Void Cultivator.
The scene shifted.
A child was born beneath a sky dark with sorrow.
There was no cheer, only trembling silence.
The mother, wounded and fading, traced ancient sigils in the air—delicate strokes of power glowing dimly.
She sealed the child's cultivation. Not in fear.
In love.
"Let her live... free of power, free of pain," she whispered.
"Until the stars call her name."
Her body collapsed, a final breath escaping her lips.
From the shadows, a cloaked hand reached forward, lifting the child gently.
The portal opened.
And they disappeared.
The world exhaled.
The prophecy slept.
But the stars...
The stars never forget.
Note:
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