They came at dawn.
Not with stealth.
Not with deception.
With ceremony.
Twelve elders in white-and-gold robes marched through the shattered gate of the Mirror Prison, their steps synchronized, their voices chanting a hymn older than the mountains.
At their center: the Grand Elder,
a man whose face was hidden behind a mask of fused bone,
his hands wrapped in chains of black iron —
the Chain of Forgotten Souls.
It pulsed like a living thing.
Each link forged from the essence of a sealed cultivator.
Each whisper a stolen name.
And its purpose?
Not to kill.
To re-seal.
To drag the Poison Queen back into the silence she was never meant to leave.
Murong Yan stood at the threshold.
Sword drawn.
Both eyes open.
Amber and pale, fire and void.
He didn't speak.
He just blocked the path.
The Grand Elder stopped.
His voice was not loud.
But it sank into the bones.
"Step aside, Keeper.
This is not your duty.
It is your fate."
Murong Yan didn't move.
"My duty died six lifetimes ago.
I serve her now."
A ripple through the elders.
Then laughter — cold, sharp.
"Her?" the Grand Elder said.
"She is not a her.
She is a vessel.
A failed seal.
And we will correct the mistake."
Behind him, the chain uncoiled.
One end plunged into the earth.
The other rose toward the sky —
as if connecting heaven and hell.
And then, it called.
Not in sound.
In memory.
A thousand voices.
A thousand deaths.
A thousand women screaming as they were torn from themselves.
And in that chorus —
I heard mine.
All seven.
I stepped forward.
Not from rage.
Not from pride.
From recognition.
Because they weren't just sealing the Eighth.
They were sealing me.
And that was unforgivable.
I didn't speak.
I closed my eyes.
And in the silence between heartbeats, I whispered — not to the world,
but to the shadow inside me:
"Are you still there?"
For a breath, nothing.
Then —
a voice, like smoke curling from ash:
"You called. I answered."
"I don't want to merge. I don't want to vanish."
"Good," she said. "Neither do I.
But they will re-seal you.
And when they do, I won't be the only one gone.
You'll forget the taste of revenge.
The scent of his skin.
The sound of your own name."
A pause.
"Let me help you."
"Why?"
"Because even gods hate cages.
And you… are the only door I have."
I opened my eyes.
And for the first time, I didn't fight her.
I reached.
Not with my hand.
With my soul.
And in that moment —
we didn't merge.
We aligned.
Like two blades placed edge to edge.
One soul.
Two wills.
Not one consuming the other.
But standing together.
My body didn't change.
But the air did.
The ground cracked.
The sky darkened.
And from my shadow, a second silhouette rose —
not solid, not fully formed,
but present.
The Eighth.
Watching.
Waiting.
Ready.
The Grand Elder finally flinched.
"Impossible. The seal cannot resist. It was designed to—"
"I am not the seal," I said.
My voice was not just mine.
It was layered — soft, sharp, ancient.
"I am the crack in it."
I stepped forward.
"You shattered her into seven lives to weaken her.
But you forgot one thing."
I raised my hand.
The star-shaped scar glowed.
"Every time you killed her…
you made her stronger."
I smiled.
"And now, she remembers how to fight back."
The chain lunged.
It moved like a serpent, fast, hungry, whispering names as it came.
But I didn't dodge.
I caught it.
With one hand.
And when the iron touched my skin, it didn't burn.
It screamed.
Because the Chain of Forgotten Souls was made to bind those who had lost their names.
But I?
I had two.
And the Eighth was not forgotten.
She was awake.
With a twist of my wrist, I shattered the first link.
A sound like a thousand bells breaking.
The elders staggered.
One dropped to his knees, blood from his ears.
The Grand Elder roared.
"Bind her! Now!"
The remaining chains surged — not just at me, but at Murong Yan, trying to separate us.
He moved like wind.
His sword cut not flesh, but fate threads.
One slash — an elder's arm withered.
Second — a chain turned to dust.
Third — he stood before the Grand Elder, blade at his throat.
"You don't get to erase her again," Murong Yan said.
"Not this time."
He looked at me.
"Not ever again."
I raised my hand.
The shattered link in my palm pulsed.
Then melted — not into nothing,
but into ink.
I drew a single symbol in the air:
🜂 — the mark of the Forgotten Flame.
And the earth answered.
From the cracks, black lotuses bloomed — not of flesh, but of memory.
Each one whispered a name.
Each one burned with violet fire.
The Grand Elder screamed.
"She's rewriting the seal! Stop her!"
But it was too late.
The chain was broken.
The prison was open.
And I was no longer a ghost.
I was alive.
And I had just begun.
Author Note:
They say you can't fight your past.
But what if your past is the only ally who's never left you?
— Gopalakrishna