The sun had not yet crested the mountain peaks when the clang of steel rang out across the Phoenix Monastery. In the predawn haze, warriors moved like flowing water, blades flashing, feet barely touching the stone tiles of the courtyard. Li Shen stood at the center of it all—shirtless, sweat dripping from his brow as he practiced a hundred strokes of the Ocean Soul Blade. Each movement was fluid, like waves pulled by the moon, yet behind the elegance pulsed a lethal force.
The monastery was alive again.
The younger disciples, once scattered by war, had returned at the call of Master Xing. Some came wounded, others wary, but all bore the look of warriors who had lost too much and were ready to take it back. Around the temple grounds, smiths reforged old weapons, monks traced ancient wards onto the stones, and messengers carried scrolls inked with desperate requests for allies in far provinces.
Li Shen's movements came to a stop.
He stood with the Ocean Soul Blade held horizontally in front of him, its edge shimmering like liquid glass. The wind caught in the folds of his sash, whispering secrets from the distant horizon. Something dark was coming. He felt it in his bones.
Later that day, Li Shen knelt in the Flame Hall alongside the remaining Phoenix Masters. The chamber's walls were blackened from centuries of fire rituals, and the great brazier in the center roared with sacred flame. Master Xing presided, her face drawn with age but lit by an inner light.
"We must prepare for siege," she said, sweeping her hand over a charcoal map of the monastery grounds and the surrounding peaks. "Thornspire's fall will draw the Hollow Council's eyes. They will not wait."
Master Ren, grizzled and half-blind from the war at Emberwatch, tapped his cane. "They'll come with hollow beasts and shadow monks, I'll wager. But not before they send spies. We should purge the forest paths. Send Li Shen and the Sentinels."
Li Shen bowed. "I'll lead them myself."
"No," said Xing. "You've done more than enough. You must preserve your strength."
"I'll not rest while we're hunted," Li Shen said, voice quiet but firm. "Let them come. I want to meet them in the trees, where their shadows stretch thin."
There was a pause. Then Xing nodded. "So be it. Take who you need. Hunt the first spark of their vengeance."
Two nights later, beneath the light of twin moons, Li Shen stood atop the Pines of the Red Hollow, watching the valley below. With him were five of the monastery's most silent blades: Zhen the Silent Step, Lao Gui of the Feathered Spear, twin sisters Mei and Yun—masters of mirrored blades—and Jun, a storm-eyed warrior from the fallen Lotus Wall.
Mist curled along the trees, thick and unnatural. The scent of rot and iron clung to it.
"We're not alone," Yun whispered.
Li Shen unsheathed the Mirror Vale Blade. Its edge flickered like a portal to another world, bending the trees in reflection. "Watch the mist," he murmured. "They come cloaked in it."
From the shadows, movement.
A whisper. Then—strike.
A Hollow Monk burst from the fog, his arms split into blackened chains tipped with spectral hooks. Mei parried the first strike with a ringing clash, Yun diving low to sever the monk's leg with a reverse spin. Behind them, two more shapes erupted from the mist—twisting warriors wrapped in bone-threaded robes, blades curved like crescent moons.
Li Shen moved. His Ocean Soul Blade flowed like a tide, severing one monk's hook-arm with a single rising sweep. The Eidolon Blade followed—an arc of ghostfire that cleaved through the other's chest in a bloom of shrieking light.
More came. Dozens.
The forest erupted into chaos.
Jun summoned lightning from the iron bands on his arms, hurling bolts that turned the fog electric. Lao Gui spun his spear in a cyclone, turning shadows into torn silk. But it was Li Shen who commanded the rhythm of battle—his five blades dancing in harmony, switching mid-stroke as if possessed by memory itself.
The Crimson Feather Codex glowed with runes, unleashing a wind-borne strike that scattered the incoming Hollow beasts. Sērahn's Echo howled like an ancient song, and Li Shen wove it in wide circles, leaving trails of burning silver in the air that disoriented and blinded.
When the battle was done, the trees were scorched. Hollow corpses—if they could be called that—melted into pools of black ash. The scent of sorcery and blood hung heavy.
Li Shen stood, blades sheathed, staring at the fading mist.
"We were lucky," said Zhen quietly. "Too many. They're probing our defenses."
"No," Li Shen replied. "They were never here to win. Just to measure."
"Measure what?"
Li Shen turned toward the monastery's distant silhouette, lit by torches on the mountain's edge.
"My resolve."
At dawn, Li Shen entered the Monastery's Sacred Forge, a cavern buried deep beneath the Flame Hall. It was there the weapons of the Phoenix order had been shaped since the time of the Skyfall. Only those who bore a soul-blade could walk its path.
Li Shen brought his blades one by one to the ancient altar. He laid them in a five-point star around a brazier whose fire burned with blue flame—spirit fire, fed by the memories of monks who had given their lives.
Master Xing joined him.
"You seek to reforge them," she said. "At what cost?"
"Whatever is needed," Li Shen replied.
The process began.
Fire met metal. Memory met soul. Li Shen entered a trance, guided by the monks of old. Each blade opened visions—of their past wielders, their victories, their defeats. He saw a phoenix monk burying the Ocean Soul Blade in the chest of a sea tyrant; a Mirror Vale swordswoman splitting a demon across seven mirrors; the last wielder of Sērahn's Echo dying with a smile on her lips, her voice still singing.
When it was over, the blades had changed.
They were sharper, yes. Stronger. But more than that, they were awake—resonating with him, bound more deeply than ever before.
The monastery braced for war. Scouts returned from the north reporting Hollow banners gathering. The sky had darkened. In the distance, black ships sailed upriver. Lightning walked the ridgelines of the world.
Li Shen stood on the monastery's walls with Mei and Jun at his side.
"Storm's coming," Jun muttered.
"No," Li Shen said, eyes narrowed. "The storm's already here. Now we show them how we burn."