The scent of charred earth clung to Ye Qingxiao's robes as they crested the hill overlooking Azure Mist Sect's ruins. Dawn painted the devastation in sickly amber light—shattered pillars jutted from the ground like broken teeth, and the occasional glint of a half-melted sword marked where cultivators had made their last stands.
A'Qing swayed on her feet, the dragon's blue fire still flickering in her veins. "It's quieter now," she murmured. "The swords aren't screaming anymore."
Ye Qingxiao adjusted the star-metal dagger at his belt—Frostmourn's Echo, as the Taiyi Sword Treasury now called it. The weapon had settled into a dormant state after the cavern battle, its seven pits dim but watchful. "What do you hear instead?"
"Whispers." Her silver eyes tracked invisible movements across the ruins. "From the sect master's pavilion."
The Xuanlong Zhenjian unfurled to its full twenty-foot wingspan, casting them in shimmering shadow. "Death lingers there. And answers."
They picked their way through the wreckage. Ye Qingxiao's chest tightened at familiar landmarks rendered unrecognizable—the meditation courtyard where Zhou Yan had taught him basic stances now a crater filled with blackened bones; the herb gardens reduced to patches of fluorescent mold feeding on spiritual energy leaks.
The sect master's pavilion had fared slightly better, its foundation stones still outlining the hexagonal training arena. As they approached, Ye Qingxiao spotted the source of A'Qing's whispers: seven faintly glowing swords arranged in a precise circle, their tips buried in the cracked jade floor.
"An array?" He reached instinctively for his dagger.
The dragon's tail blocked his path. "Wait. This is no cultivator's work."
A'Qing stepped forward, drawn like a moth to flame. The moment her foot crossed the sword circle's perimeter, the blades flared to life, projecting a holographic scene above the arena:
Memory Projection: The Night of Destruction
Sect Master Liu knelt at the array's center, his robes sodden with blood from a gut wound. Around him stood seven figures in Azure Mist Sect uniforms—except their faces melted and reformed like candle wax, never settling on fixed features.
"You promised thirty years more," the sect master rasped, clutching the bronze shard to his chest. "The boy isn't ready."
The central figure shook its ever-changing head. "The Abyss stirs earlier than prophesied. Your sacrifice will buy him hours, no more."
One of the other figures—this one with a temporary resemblance to Elder Alchemist Zhang—gestured toward the mountains. "The tomb guardians weaken. If the Seventh Key awakens prematurely—"
"Then we ensure it does." The sect master's hand shot out, grabbing the speaker's wrist. To Ye Qingxiao's shock, the "elder's" forearm split open like overripe fruit, revealing metallic bone structure beneath. "You've hidden the truth even from your own kin, Seven Luminaries."
The figures stiffened in unison. The central one sighed. "Necessity knows no morality. Begin the ritual."
The scene accelerated—Sect Master Liu driving the bronze shard into his own heart, the seven figures chanting as their bodies dissolved into liquid metal that flowed into the array's grooves. Then the vision fractured, showing disjointed glimpses:
Zhou Yan discovering the ritual mid-progress
The sect master whispering "Protect the boy" before exploding into golden mist
Seven streaks of light shooting toward the stars as the first invaders descended
The projection faded. The seven swords composing the array crumbled to rust.
Ye Qingxiao's knees hit the broken jade. His fingers traced the grooves where liquid metal had flowed—now cold and inert. "They weren't attacked. They invited the destruction."
A'Qing crouched beside him, her glowing hand hovering over the patterns. "This metal...it's the same as the hollow soldiers. But older. Purer."
The dragon sniffed the air, ruffling Ye Qingxiao's hair with its warm breath. "The Seven Luminaries are no mortal enemies. They are the prison's first wardens—forged to maintain the seals until the true Swordbearer came."
Ye Qingxiao's dagger pulsed at his belt. The Taiyi Sword Treasury updated:
Revelation: Azure Mist Sect was a training groundPurpose: Prepare the Seventh Key's vessel (Ye Qingxiao)
A'Qing suddenly gasped, clutching her temples. "The other wardens—they're crying out!" Silver tears streaked down her cheeks as her voice doubled with the dragon's timbre: "The First Key falters in the west! The cradle breaks!"
Ye Qingxiao helped her stand. "Where exactly?"
Before she could answer, Frostmourn's Echo flew from its sheath of its own accord, hovering point-first toward the setting moon. Its glow traced a path across the darkened landscape—not westward, but downward, toward a fissure that hadn't been there before the cave-in.
The dragon's scales rippled in alarm. "The descent is too soon! You lack three keys and two wardens!"
A'Qing wiped her metallic tears. "The prison isn't just breaking. Something's climbing up."
Ye Qingxiao approached the fissure. Heat radiated from its depths, carrying a scent that made his dagger vibrate in warning—ozone and rotting parchment, the signature stench of disintegrating reality.
Then he heard it.
From impossibly far below came the sound of something massive dragging itself upward. And beneath that, a noise that froze his blood:
A child's laughter.
The same laughter from the Seventh Heavenly Demon Smithy.
The Taiyi Sword Treasury displayed one phrase in burning letters before shutting down completely:
ABYSSAL BREACH IMMINENT
Ye Qingxiao turned to his companions. "We go down. Now."
As they descended into the fissure, the ruins above them began to twist—pillars bent like taffy, charred bones reassembling into impossible shapes. The last thing Ye Qingxiao saw before darkness swallowed them was the shattered jade floor reforming into a perfect circle, its surface reflecting not the sky, but a single gigantic eye staring up from below.
Elsewhere: The Blind Monks' Monastery
The eldest monk's head snapped up from his meditation.
All around the courtyard, his brothers collapsed simultaneously—blood streaming from their eyes, ears, and noses as their skulls imploded one by one. The death wave reached him last, shattering his decades-old blindfold to reveal empty sockets that wept liquid silver.
"The cradle is broken," he whispered with his last breath.
Outside, the monastery's famed sword-shaped wind chimes began ringing on their own.
Present: The Descent
The fissure walls pulsed with bioluminescent fungus that reacted to their presence—stretching toward A'Qing like worshippers to a saint, recoiling from the dragon's fire. Ye Qingxiao led with Frostmourn's Echo held aloft, its dim glow revealing stair-like protrusions in the stone—too regular to be natural.
"These are the same steps from the prison cavern," he realized. "Just older."
A'Qing touched the wall, her fingers coming away sticky with metallic sap. "We're inside the dragon. The original dragon."
Ye Qingxiao's dagger flared in confirmation. The Taiyi Sword Treasury managed a fragmented transmission:
Location: Xuanlong Zhenjian's CarcassStatus: Partially Revived
The dragon behind them growled deep in its throat. "This is no corpse. It is a cocoon."
Deeper they climbed. The air grew thick with static that made their hair stand on end. Strange mirages flickered at the edges of vision—flashes of a city built from swords, a throne of fused skeletons, and always that echoing childish laughter.
Then the stairs ended at a ledge overlooking an impossible sight:
A massive spherical chamber, its walls composed of interlocked swords spanning every era of human history. At its center floated a seven-year-old boy clad in robes of living shadow, his outstretched hands unraveling the sword-lattice like a child picking at a scab. Where his fingers touched, reality itself frayed—revealing glimpses of a void beyond that hurt to look upon.
The child turned. His eyes were perfect mirrors, reflecting not the intruders, but their deepest shames.
"You're late," he said with a smile too wide for his face.
Frostmourn's Echo vibrated so violently it nearly leapt from Ye Qingxiao's grip. The Taiyi Sword Treasury rebooted with a scream of agony:
ALERT: PROGENITOR DETECTEDENTITY CLASS: ABYSSAL HEIR
The child giggled as the last sword in the lattice dissolved. Behind him, the void yawned open.