Beneath the Embergrass Plains, far beyond the Empire's maps, lay the remnants of a place older than dynasties.
A temple without walls.
A library without shelves.
A memory without mercy.
It was called the Sunken Library.
---
The path was treacherous.
A hidden entrance beneath a dried riverbed led them into a narrow cavern where spirit fire flickered faintly from the walls — not summoned, but remembered. The very stones here whispered of ancient scripts, lost pacts, and cursed names.
Shen Liun walked at the front, his flame guiding the way.
Behind him, Ranyi, Yan Wudi, Ning'er, and a few of the surviving disciples followed in silence. Even Yan Wudi, who could laugh in the face of a divine beast, said nothing here.
They all felt it.
The weight of truth.
---
The tunnel opened into a vast underground chamber. Towering statues stood in rows, their faces eroded by time, but their postures — heads bowed, hands raised in supplication — remained intact.
Each one held a single inscription.
Not of glory.
But of apology.
Ranyi walked past the nearest and read aloud:
> "Forgive us, for we chose silence over suffering."
She looked to Liun.
"What is this place?"
Liun answered quietly, "A monument… to cowards who later became heroes in history books."
---
At the center of the chamber stood a massive door, carved entirely from obsidian and veined with glowing threads of ember-light. No handles. No lock. No inscription.
Only flame.
Shen Liun stepped forward and reached into his robe, pulling out the fifth chain fragment. As it neared the door, the veins pulsed — not violently, but like a heartbeat.
He placed the fragment against the stone.
A pulse.
Then another.
The ground shook softly, and the door began to fold inward.
No creaking. No scream of stone.
Just the sound of wind stirring dust that hadn't moved in centuries.
---
They stepped into a vast archive of floating embers.
There were no scrolls here. No paper. No ink.
Instead, glowing flames hovered in rows — tens of thousands, each one a soul's story, burned into memory and preserved in heat.
"Are they… alive?" Ning'er whispered.
"No," said Wudi. "But they remember."
Ranyi reached out toward one. The ember shifted closer, gently warming her palm. It pulsed and whispered in a voice only she could hear.
Then it wept.
She pulled back.
"These aren't books. They're confessions."
---
Shen Liun walked forward, flames parting before him.
And then… one flame drifted down from the ceiling and settled into his palm.
It burned white.
Pain bloomed in his mind — not his own.
Visions flooded in.
> An old man kneeling in front of the Emperor, begging for mercy for his sect.
A child watching as her village was devoured by divine flame for refusing conscription.
A former general writing down the Emperor's crimes, only to vanish the next day.
Thousands of stories.
All erased from the world above.
But not from here.
---
Aoshen's voice whispered inside him.
> "This… this is where I was born."
> "This is where the Ashen Verdict was first written — not in rebellion, but in grief."
Liun trembled.
"I see it now."
---
He turned to the others.
"Every time the Emperor wins a war, he doesn't just kill bodies. He kills truth. He rewrites it. Every time a city falls, its history is burned. Its names are unmade. And no one questions it, because they think silence is safety."
He looked at the embers.
"They survived. Not because they fought. But because they were too painful to carry."
> "We are not a rebellion."
> "We are a record."
---
As they explored deeper, they found a sealed dais. Upon it, a single ember hovered — dark crimson, rimmed in black.
Unlike the others, this one whispered aloud.
Its voice was familiar.
A woman's voice.
> "Shen… my Liun…"
Liun's eyes widened.
"No."
He reached forward — and the ember exploded with heat.
The image formed above them like a vision caught in a flame:
Ruya.
But not the Ruya who called him trash. Not the cold heiress who once broke his heart.
This Ruya was younger, sobbing, blood smeared across her hands.
> "Forgive me… I said what I had to say. They threatened your family. I thought they'd spare them if I—"
The vision distorted.
> "I never stopped loving you. I never wanted—"
The ember dimmed.
Shen Liun dropped to one knee, breath ragged.
"She knew," he whispered. "She sacrificed me. To save them…"
Yan Wudi stepped forward, face dark. "This… this changes everything."
Ranyi nodded. "She might not be the villain you remember."
---
Liun stood slowly.
"No," he said. "She's not a villain."
> "She's a prisoner. Just like me. Just like all of us."
He looked up at the rest of the archive.
"I will free her. I will free everyone the Empire chained in silence."
---
As they turned to leave, the ember-wall behind them pulsed violently.
A new presence entered the chamber.
Seven figures in shadow, draped in blood-colored robes, blades unsheathed without sound.
Each one wore a porcelain mask of grief.
Yan Wudi stepped forward, face pale.
"…The Seven Shrouded Blades."
Shen Liun clenched his fists.
"So they've found us."
Ranyi smiled coldly, frost rising from her palms.
"Good."
---