The air didn't change.
No wind.
No flash of energy.
No dramatic music from the heavens.
Just silence.
And the soft click of a mask hitting stone.
Lin Tao stood in the center of the battlefield, rain slicing through the smoke like silver needles.
His assassin's mask rolled to a stop at my feet.
And I saw his face.
Not twisted.
Not triumphant.
Empty.
Like a vessel that had long since forgotten its purpose.
Behind him, the eleven other assassins lay broken — some dead, some paralyzed, some weeping.
Murong Yan stood at my side, sword still drawn, breath steady.
But I didn't look at him.
I looked at Tao.
And for the first time, I didn't see the hunter.
I saw the boy who once gave me a paper lotus on my seventh birthday.
The one who cried when our mother called me "useless."
The one who whispered, "One day, I'll protect you."
Now, he held a vial.
Not a weapon.
Not a pill.
A vial of blood — deep red, but pulsing with a faint, unnatural glow.
I knew that blood.
Because it was mine.
From my third life.
When I was executed in the imperial square, my body burned, my soul erased.
But they had harvested my core essence — a drop of blood preserved in cursed ice.
And now, Tao held it.
"You don't understand," he said, voice hollow.
"This isn't about killing you."
He raised the vial.
"It's about awakening you."
I didn't move.
"Awakening me to what?"
"To who you really are."
He stepped forward.
"The Poison Queen isn't just a title.
It's a curse.
A chain.
And the Azure Sect didn't create it to destroy you."
His eyes locked onto mine.
"They created it to control you."
Silence.
Even the rain seemed to pause.
Murong Yan tensed.
"I've heard this lie before.
The sect erased her to protect the world."
Tao laughed — short, bitter.
"Then why keep her blood?
Why preserve her ashes?
Why train me — from birth — to find her, bind her, and trigger the Awakening?"
He looked at me.
"They don't fear your revenge.
They fear your true form.
The one that rose 3,000 years ago.
The one that devoured a god."
I felt it — a tremor in my chest.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Memories that weren't mine flickered —
a woman with eyes like dying stars,
standing over a mountain of bones,
whispering a name: "Mei Lianhua."
And then —
a seal.
A vow.
A fragmentation of the soul.
Seven pieces.
Seven lives.
To contain the Eighth.
Tao stepped closer.
"The first six times you returned, you were weak.
You remembered betrayal.
You sought revenge.
But you never reached the core."
He opened his palm.
The vial trembled.
"This blood… it's not just yours.
It's a key.
Touch it… and you'll remember everything."
His voice dropped.
"But you'll also become what they fear.
What I was trained to kill."
I stared at the vial.
Not with desire.
With dread.
Because now I understood.
The Azure Sect didn't erase the Poison Queen.
They cultivated her.
Let her rise.
Let her burn.
Let her die.
Over and over.
So the true monster — the one who once devoured a god — would never awaken.
And I wasn't the rebellion.
I was the cage.
Murong Yan moved.
In a flash, his sword was at Tao's throat.
"Drop it," he said.
"That blood is a trap.
It doesn't awaken memory.
It summons her."
He looked at me.
"And if the Eighth rises…
there's no guarantee it's still you."
Tao didn't flinch.
"Then let her choose.
Let her decide if she'd rather be a prisoner of revenge…
or a queen of truth."
He extended the vial.
Rain fell around it like a curtain.
I didn't reach for it.
I looked at Murong Yan.
At the man who had buried me six times.
Who had loved me across lifetimes.
Who now stood between me and my own soul.
And I whispered:
"What if I'm already not me?"
He didn't answer.
But his sword trembled.
That night, I didn't sleep.
I sat in the ruins of the prison, the vial in my palm.
Not touching it.
Not fearing it.
Feeling it.
Because it wasn't just blood.
It was a heartbeat.
And it was calling my name.
From the wall, a whisper — Mei Lianhua's voice, softer than before:
"You think the curse is rebirth?
No.
The curse is remembering who you were…
and realizing you miss her."
I closed my fingers around the vial.
And made my choice.
Author Note:
They say identity is memory.
But what if your memories are a prison?
What if the person you're avenging…
is the one you were always meant to become?
— Gopalakrishna