For days the survivors had lived beneath a sky of shattered shadows, where air cut like glass and every breath reeked of blood and sulphur. Now, stepping once more onto the slopes of the Providence Mountains, the clean wind should have been a blessing. Yet to Ruoxue, the sunlight stabbed her eyes and the silence screamed louder than the Rift's chaos.
She tightened her hold on the Relic of Emberlight. It was not large—an orb no wider than her palm—yet the way it pulsed, deep red and gold like a living ember, made it feel heavier than stone. Within it, faint lines curled like the veins of a lotus, glowing and dimming as though the relic itself were breathing. Its warmth bled into her chest, steady and constant, as though her heartbeat now echoed its rhythm.
"Keep it hidden," Yinxiu's voice was low but sharp, slicing through the quiet. He walked beside her, the long hem of his dark robe only he had managed to change, dragged against the rock. "The relic's aura leaks, and it calls too loudly. Not all things that hear will be human."
Ruoxue adjusted the wrappings around it, sliding the relic beneath layers of cloth. Still, its faint glow seeped through, like firelight behind paper.
The others trailed behind, their silence heavier than the relic itself. Qiao Feiyan's sleeves were torn and spattered with blood, yet her posture was upright, each step measured. Lian Huiming carried Shen Yucheng, whose injured leg had not fully healed, but the young man bore it without complaint. Mo Xueran walked some paces apart, her eyes lingering on Ruoxue's hands as if weighing unspoken thoughts. Feng Yulan, quiet as ever, traced small wards into the air with trembling fingers, as though afraid the Rift's horrors might still bleed through the mountain stones.
Seven remained. Out of nine.
**********
By a ridge overlooking the cloud sea, they stopped.
There, with what little incense Feng Yulan carried, they marked the ground. The scent of sandalwood rose faintly, mixing with the sharp smell of pine and rock.
"Tian Lei, Hua Qing," Shen Yucheng's voice cracked despite his effort to steady it. "Brothers, may the heavens guide you where we could not. May your spirits walk beyond the Rift, unchained by the horrors we leave behind."
They placed stones, each one carved with a stroke of sword qi, rough and uneven but bound with sincerity.
Ruoxue knelt last. She pressed her palm to the earth, letting a strand of her qi flow into the soil. The grass around the stones bent, forming a circle, as if the mountain itself bowed to honor the fallen. Her throat tightened, words caught behind her teeth.
"We will carry you," she whispered, though only Yinxiu, standing near, seemed to hear.
When they rose again, the silence felt different. Not emptier, but sharper—like a promise etched into the air.
**********
That night, as campfires burned low, the relic stirred.
Ruoxue sat apart, the orb wrapped and hidden, yet it pulsed more insistently than before. The warmth bled up her arms, threading into her veins, and with it came a whisper—not sound, but a presence—like breath against the back of her neck.
Then light unfurled.
From the relic seeped faint petals of fire, curling upward like smoke but glowing with a dim, sorrowful red. They floated above the camp, scattering in the air like fragments of a broken lotus.
One by one, the survivors froze.
Qiao Feiyan stared as the petals brushed past her, and in their glow she heard a voice she could not mistake—Hua Qing's laughter, faint and fleeting, as if carried from far across water. Her eyes widened, and for the first time since leaving the Rift, her composure cracked.
Shen Yucheng gripped his chest, hearing Tian Lei's boisterous shout echo faintly in the petals. Mo Xueran's lips pressed thin as the firelight coiled around her, whispering her name.
Each survivor heard someone. Someone lost.
And Ruoxue—
She heard nothing.
The petals curled around her, warm and bright, yet they carried only silence. The absence cut deeper than sound, an emptiness so vast she almost dropped the relic.
Then a flicker.
A voice not of the dead, but of the Rift itself. "The relic is not yours—you are its."
Ruoxue gasped, clutching the orb tighter.
*********
When the petals faded, Yinxiu stepped close, his shadow long in the firelight. His eyes, pale as moonlit steel, lingered on the relic.
"It chooses," he murmured. "It feeds on memory, on grief, on desire. The Rift may have closed, but the relic is no mere prize. You carry both key and chain."
Ruoxue met his gaze. "And if I refuse it?"
He tilted his head, as though the question were naive. "Then it will find another. Or consume you whole before it lets go."
The words lingered long after the fire dimmed.
***********
Far above, in a realm where mortal eyes could not reach, the Nine Courts stirred.
Meihua Jing's eyes softened as she gazed upon Ruoxue. "Providence follows her steps. The Relic of Emberlight has awakened after centuries. Surely this is the will of the heavens."
But Huo'an's voice burned hot with disdain. "Or it is the will of the Rift. That thing is tainted. You would place our trust in a girl touched by such corruption?"
Zhichen folded his arms. "If the relic bends her, balance falters. If she bends it, power beyond measure falls into mortal hands. Either path invites ruin."
Shihua, said nothing. But her eyes lingered longest upon Ruoxue, unreadable.
And so the heavens quarreled, while the girl below slept beneath the burden of their judgment.
:-*:-*:-*:-*:-
By the third day, whispers had already spread across the mortal realm.
Travelers passing through mountain villages spoke of seven survivors bearing fire in their hands. Wandering cultivators glimpsed lotus-like flames curling against the night sky. Sect spies carried messages to their masters: The Rift has closed. A relic has been seized. Seek it, or be left behind.
The world stirred, unseen yet inevitable.
;-*;-*;-*:-*:-*
On the fourth night, Ruoxue dreamed.
She stood in an endless field of lotus blossoms, each one aflame, burning without ash. They opened and opened, one after another, until the horizon was nothing but fire.
At the center rose a single lotus, vast as a mountain, petals black and dripping molten gold.
It unfurled slowly, and within it—nothing. Not light, not voice. Only abyss.
Then the whisper returned. "The relic is not yours—you are its."
Ruoxue woke with the relic burning hot against her skin, its pulse racing like a second heartbeat, too fast, too alive.
And dawn broke on a world already shifting toward storm.