Chapter 16: The Mirror of Mourning
The moon hung low over the Eastern Ridge, casting its pale light onto the ancient stone courtyard nestled between the cliffs. At its center stood a circular platform of obsidian, veined with silver qi veins that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat.
Tham Duong stood at its edge.
Before him loomed the Mirror of Mourning — a ten-foot-tall slab of smoky crystal, sealed for over a hundred years. Only those with permission from the Grandmaster or the Elders' Council could approach it.
Now, as a newly-appointed interim Elder, Duong had that right.
And he intended to use it.
The moment he stepped onto the platform, the air thickened.
Whispers echoed from the edges of the mirror, faint voices murmuring names long forgotten.
As Duong placed his palm against the surface, the mirror flashed once — then turned translucent.
What he saw made him freeze.
A child.
Dressed in rags.
Covered in blood.
Standing in a ruined courtyard... holding the severed head of a beast.
The child's face slowly lifted — and it was his.
Not from this life.
But the one before.
The mirror was showing him the beginning.
The moment it all started.
"I swore I would never return to that place…" he whispered.
But the mirror was not done.
The scene shifted.
Now he stood in the center of a grand battlefield, surrounded by corpses. Celestial beasts, soul cultivators, demonic generals — all dead.
And at the center of it all stood a woman in red.
Eyes closed.
Hair drifting as if underwater.
A crown of thorns above her brow.
The Red Mother.
She opened her eyes and looked straight at him.
"You carry my flame, little spark."
Duong staggered back — but the voice followed.
"Run, if you wish. But your destiny is bound. You are the key, Tham Duong. The last Seal-Bearer. And soon… they will all come for you."
The mirror cracked.
Just a hairline fracture — but enough to send qi surging outward.
Duong clenched his fist, steadying his breath.
"I'm not yours," he said aloud. "Not anymore."
And then he turned and walked away.
Elsewhere – Outer Mountains
A cloaked figure arrived at the outer gates of the Sky Sect. He carried no weapon, but the aura around him was enough to make the guards stumble.
"State your name," one of them said nervously.
The man lowered his hood.
His face was tattooed with flame marks — and his eyes burned crimson.
"I seek Tham Duong," he said. "Tell him… the Embers remember."
Before they could respond, the man vanished.
A moment later, the tower bell tolled thrice.
An Ember of the Void Flame had returned.
And that could mean only one thing.
The past was catching up.
The Next Morning – Grandmaster's Pavilion
Duong sat across from the Grandmaster, who looked weary — as if he'd aged a decade overnight.
"You went to the Mirror," the old man said. "And it showed you the Red Mother."
Duong nodded. "And my first death."
The Grandmaster sipped his tea slowly.
"Then you understand now."
"I understand… that we're out of time."
The Grandmaster slid a scroll across the table.
Duong opened it — and his eyes narrowed.
"The Soul Assembly?" he asked.
"Yes. It convenes in nine days, at Mount Vọng Thiên. All seven sects will be present."
"Let me guess," Duong said. "You want me to represent Sky Sect."
"No," the Grandmaster said quietly. "I want you to survive it."
At the Northern Ice Fields – Secret Stronghold
Mạc Hàn stood before a frozen cavern.
Inside, chained in divine iron, was a creature of pure shadow — its form constantly shifting, never quite real.
It hissed as he approached.
"You smell of him."
"Yes," Hàn replied. "That's the point."
The creature snarled.
"You seek to use me. Foolish mortal."
"No," Hàn said, unsheathing a dagger made of void crystal. "I seek to make a deal."
He slashed his palm and let the blood drop onto the binding circle.
The creature shuddered.
A pact was being formed.
Three Days Later – Inner Training Courtyard
Tham Duong stood atop the ninth pillar of the Heaven-Eye Formation, his body wrapped in qi chains.
Around him hovered nine spheres of elemental energy — each representing a major dao: fire, water, wind, stone, thunder, shadow, light, void, and soul.
He was pushing to break through the Middle Nascent Soul level — an impossible leap in three days.
But Duong was no ordinary cultivator.
He didn't rise through patience or safety.
He rose through fury. Through war.
The first sphere struck — fire.
He clenched his teeth as flames wrapped around him.
Then came wind.
Then stone.
His bones cracked.
Blood flowed from his mouth.
But he didn't fall.
Not this time.
At the end of the ritual, Duong collapsed to his knees, surrounded by smoke and light.
His qi flared — no longer sharp and chaotic, but refined, dense, and… vast.
A silent ripple spread from his body, causing the formation pillars to hum in resonance.
He had done it.
He had broken through.
And the storm was only beginning.