Chapter 13: The Secrets Beneath
When the Crimson Revenant fell, its death released more than just corrupted mist.
It released memories.
Fragments of dreams, soaked in blood and fear, now drifted in the spiritual air around Silent Valley. Tham Duong alone could hear them—whispers buried in the soil, mourning names he had forgotten but once held close.
"You swore you would protect us, Prince of Ashes…"
The fire crackled louder.
Duong's hand clenched tighter around his sword.
No one else heard the voices.
No one else remembered that he once led armies under a different sky.
As dawn broke, the Crimson Watch continued their sweep of the valley. They discovered what remained of the merchant convoy—shattered wagons, spilled herbs, and desiccated corpses. The guardian elders had been drained of life, not by blade, but by soul siphoning.
A forbidden technique. One known only to two types of beings:
Cultivators of the Blood Shadow Path, long exiled.
Or the Heralds of the Red Mother.
Duong inspected the ground and narrowed his eyes.
A ritual circle lay beneath the dirt, etched in bone dust and lotus petals.
At its center was a symbol.
A broken chain.
"It's a calling mark," Duong said aloud.
Lan Yên approached, frowning. "Calling what?"
Duong stood and shook his head.
"Not what. Who."
Back at the Heavenly Sky Sect, Elder Xích Văn summoned Duong privately.
The elder looked pale, as though he hadn't slept in days.
"You've done well, Captain," he said.
Duong bowed slightly. "It wasn't without cost."
"There will be more. Much more," Văn replied gravely.
Then, after a long pause: "It's time you saw the Sealed Archive."
Duong blinked.
Only sect leaders and imperial envoys were allowed entry.
"Why me?"
"Because the mist knows your name," Văn said. "And because we believe the Red Mother is no longer sleeping."
The Sealed Archive lay beneath the Sect's central mountain, protected by nine spirit-lock formations and a barrier fueled by the life essence of past Sect Masters.
As they descended, Duong felt the temperature drop.
Each step was like walking back through time itself.
At the end of the final corridor, there was a massive jade door inscribed with a single phrase:
"Here lie the sins we dared not forget."
Elder Văn pressed his palm against the door, channeling pure spiritual energy.
The jade shimmered—and opened.
Inside was a room of floating scrolls, crystalline memory orbs, and stone tablets carved in ancient tongues.
Duong's eyes were drawn to the center, where a single pedestal stood, wrapped in red silk.
Upon it rested a mirror.
Or rather… what was left of one.
Cracked.
Blackened.
Yet still humming with dormant power.
"This," said Văn, "is the Mirror of Mourning. It was once used by the Celestial Dynasty to pierce the veil between fate and reality."
Duong stepped forward.
"I've seen it before… in dreams."
Văn looked at him sharply. "That confirms it."
"Confirms what?"
"That you're not just any cultivator."
Văn took a breath.
"You are the Heir of Ashes—a soul reborn from the last dynasty's bloodline."
Duong stared.
"I don't even know what that means."
"You will," Văn said. "Soon."
That night, Duong dreamed.
He stood again on a battlefield.
Beneath a blood-red sky.
War drums echoed. Banners burned.
Before him stood a woman, her hair a cascade of crimson, her smile like a dying sun.
She reached toward him.
"You could have ruled the heavens with me… but you chose chains."
Duong looked down.
Chains wrapped around his arms.
He had forged them himself.
And now they burned.
He awoke gasping.
The mark on his chest—the ancient seal—was glowing faintly.
But not with pain.
With remembrance.
Elsewhere, far from the Heavenly Sky Sect, a figure cloaked in shadow knelt before a blood-stained altar.
Dozens of red-robed cultists circled, chanting in forgotten tongues.
From the center of the altar, a lotus bloomed—black and pulsing.
The figure smiled.
"The Watch has stirred," she whispered.
"And the Prince walks again."