The rain had begun to fall, soft and cold, over the marble courtyards of the Silent Star Pavilion. High above the rest of the city, wrapped in perpetual twilight, this was a place untouched by time — a forgotten monastery that trained seers, starbinders, and those who whispered with fate.
Inside one of its chambers, a youth stirred from a nightmare, sweat clinging to his skin despite the winter air.
He gasped — then whispered:
"Lucien…"
The walls around him quivered. Crystal lanterns dimmed. His breath fogged the air though the flame never wavered.
A figure emerged from the shadows — cloaked in pale white, a silver emblem etched onto her forehead. "Again?" she asked, voice sharp and tired. "Another dream?"
The young lord, barely seventeen, nodded slowly. His eyes were pale gold — but dulled, haunted. "He walks again. I saw the blood. The trees bowed. The Void… was listening."
"You speak as if you know him," she said.
He turned toward her. "We all know him, even if we've never met. The boy who shattered the Sky-Slain Seal. The Anomaly who devoured a realm and survived."
"…those are myths."
"No," he whispered. "They're warnings."
—
Far beneath the low heavens, where realm meets realm and scarred ley lines bleed together like torn parchment, Lucien stood at the edge of a shattered bridge.
Around him, crumbled stone floated midair, remnants of the Drifting Path — a collapsed route between the World Above and what remained of the old Eastern Wastes.
He'd wandered far from the forest now. In his silence, the void had carried him — footsteps light, directionless, yet always arriving exactly where he needed to be.
The wind howled, but the bridge held still — as if afraid to disturb him.
The Whisper lingered beside him, her form shifting slightly in the mist. "You left the bodies unburied," she said.
Lucien didn't glance her way. "They deserved nothing more."
"Mm. And what of the one who sent them?"
Lucien's eyes gleamed — a black so deep, it swallowed even starlight. "Silver eyes. Crimson veil. Voice like falling glass."
"You remember her," the Whisper said with faint amusement.
"How could I not? She was the first to call me curse."
The clouds above parted for only a moment, and moonlight fell on Lucien's face.
Not young. Not old.
Something in between. Something wrong.
Despite his years beneath the earth, Lucien bore no beard, no signs of aging. His face was clean-cut — eerily preserved — as if time itself had been too afraid to touch him. But his eyes were ancient.
"I remember everyone who named me anomaly," Lucien said softly. "And I remember those who stayed silent."
The Whisper tilted her head. "What now?"
"I descend," Lucien answered. "There's an old temple below — once used to smuggle spirit ores during the war between the Five Hells. Now it sleeps."
"And you?"
"I need a name," he said simply.
"For the world to fear again?"
"No," he murmured. "For it to kneel."
—
Elsewhere —
Beneath the floating continent of Shen Lo, in a spiraling tower that never cast shadows, a woman in crimson silk stared into a dark mirror.
The assassin's last breath had been captured — his death replayed a thousand times.
Lucien hadn't blinked once during the entire execution.
"So he survived," she whispered, curling a lock of silver hair behind her ear.
Behind her, an attendant knelt low. "Shall we send the Pale Blades?"
"No. That would only confirm his legend."
"But—"
"Let the rumors grow," she said, stepping away from the mirror. "Let the insects swarm. The more eyes that chase him… the less will notice what I steal in the dark."
Her silver eyes flashed.
"I'll have his soul… before the world remembers his name."
—
Back at the shattered bridge, Lucien stepped forward. His foot hovered over empty air — then pressed down, and the void itself formed a path.
A bridge of nothing.
And with a faint hum, he walked across it — toward the ruins below.
Toward something older than any sect.
Toward the name even kings dared not speak aloud.
Lucien didn't need to cultivate.
He was cultivation gone wrong.
He was the scar the heavens couldn't heal.
And the realms… had just begun to remember.