Snow fell in soundless spirals over the Silent Peak, each flake catching faint glimmers from the blood-red moon. The world here was a strange stillness—wind muted, clouds unmoving, as though even time itself feared to trespass.
Mo Lianyin stood at the cliff's edge, his robes whipping faintly despite the air's stillness, the cold biting through every layer. The journey here had cost him two weeks, a shattered talisman, and a fractured rib—but the Silent Peak held the last piece of the Seventh Forbidden Art.
Beneath his feet, the cliff plunged into an abyss so dark it seemed to drink the moonlight. The wind carried a faint copper scent—blood. But there were no corpses, no bones, only silence.
"So you came after all."
The voice rose from behind him, deep and slow, like the grinding of stone. Mo Lianyin didn't turn. "Zhen Yao," he said, each syllable edged with frost.
The towering figure emerged from the shadows, silver hair bound high, eyes the color of molten steel. Zhen Yao's black armor gleamed faintly, his blade—Soul-Devourer—resting against his shoulder.
"You seek the Blood Oath," Zhen Yao said. "But you know its price."
"I know the cost," Lianyin replied. "And I am willing."
Zhen Yao studied him for a long moment, then stepped closer until the space between them was nothing but thin, icy air. "Once you take the oath, you are bound until death. If you break it—your soul will be shredded into dust."
The moonlight turned sharper, throwing Lianyin's pale features into stark relief. "Better my soul be dust than my enemy live."
A faint, dangerous smile touched Zhen Yao's lips. "Very well."
He unsheathed Soul-Devourer with a hiss, its edge humming with a sound too low for mortal ears. "The Blood Oath requires three things—your blood, your true name, and your deepest hatred."
Lianyin pulled a dagger from his sleeve and cut across his palm. Crimson dripped to the snow, each drop sizzling as it sank into the frozen ground.
"My true name," Lianyin said quietly, "was given up long ago." He looked into Zhen Yao's eyes. "But you will hear it tonight—only once."
Zhen Yao waited.
"My name is—" Lianyin's voice softened, almost lost to the wind. The sound curled into the night, and the Silent Peak shuddered.
"Now," Zhen Yao murmured, "your hatred."
Images blazed in Lianyin's mind—faces of those who betrayed him, the warmth of a home burned to ashes, the sound of laughter as his blood spilled on the floor. His jaw clenched until it ached. "My hatred is for Zevian Vale."
At the name, the abyss below seemed to awaken, a low roar rising from its depths.
Zhen Yao drove Soul-Devourer into the ground between them, the blade sinking deep despite the stone. Crimson light spiraled upward, wrapping around Lianyin like chains.
"Repeat after me," Zhen Yao commanded. "Under the moon's shadow, I seal my heart and bind my fate."
Lianyin's voice was steady. "Under the moon's shadow, I seal my heart and bind my fate."
"In blood, in name, and in hatred, I vow—until my enemy's last breath."
"In blood, in name, and in hatred, I vow—until my enemy's last breath."
The light surged, searing his skin, carving runes along his arms. The pain was pure and absolute, but Lianyin did not flinch.
When it was over, the runes faded into faint scars, and Soul-Devourer's glow dimmed.
"It is done," Zhen Yao said. "Your strength will grow—but so will the curse's weight. Fail to kill him, and you will be devoured from within."
Lianyin met his gaze. "I will not fail."
Far below, in the abyss, something laughed.