The spectral warriors of the Broken Sect Sanctuary lunged from the shadows, their forms woven from faded aura and lingering spirit essence—ghostly echoes of martial masters long dead. Jhon's clumsy tumble had triggered every ward, and now translucent blades hummed toward him and Liora, slicing through the night air with precision honed over centuries. "Not again!" Jhon yelped, rolling aside as an aura lance grazed his shoulder, singeing his robes. His body responded instinctively, spirit essence flaring to form a haphazard shield that deflected the next strike—but shattered it spectacularly, raining ethereal shards like confetti. ��Liora danced through the fray, her spirit blade a whirlwind of wind essence that severed spectral limbs. "Stay down, idiot! You're making it worse!" she shouted, her half-elven agility turning the tide. One ghost—a towering figure clad in cracked armor—locked eyes with Jhon, its voice a hollow rasp: "Intruders... defilers of the hybrid path... perish!" It channeled a forbidden technique, merging mana threads with aura fists, creating explosive orbs that cratered the ground. Jhon scrambled backward, aura leaking wildly from his meridians. Hybrid essence? That's what got this place nuked? In a panic, he punched the air—pure flailing—and a rogue burst of his inner mana fused with spirit wisps, blasting the ghost into mist. The remaining specters halted, murmuring in ancient tongues. "The Sealbearer's echo... he returns?" ��Panting, Liora sheathed her blade as the wards dimmed. From the central pagoda emerged living guardians: three elders of the remnant Broken Sect, their bodies etched with glowing runes—scars from essence backlash. The leader, Elder Varyn, a wizened human with draconian-scale tattoos, eyed Jhon warily. "Rai'on the Fallen. Or whatever soul wears his flesh now. The spirits named you Sealbearer. Enter... but speak truth, or the ruins claim you." Liora bristled. "He's no ally of mine—just a fugitive drawing death. But the Ashen Spirits guard him. That's no small feat." Jhon nodded meekly, the gray orb bobbing innocently overhead like a guilty pet. Great, now I'm a walking prophecy magnet. ��Inside the pagoda's heart, under flickering mana lanterns, the elders revealed the sect's fall. "We sought to mend the Sundering," Varyn explained, tracing a holographic mural of glowing essences. "Aura for the body, mana for the mind, spirit for the soul—fused into Triune Harmony. But the Eight Orders and Thirteen Circles banned it, fearing it echoed the gods' hubris. Our experiments tore open rifts; backlash birthed the Ashen Spirits. Your vessel, Rai'on, aided us once—sealing the worst with his demi-god core. Then he vanished, blamed for all." Jhon's visions from Seris aligned: fragmented memories of channeling Triune energy to plug a cosmic wound, only for allies to turn. Not a traitor—a scapegoat. But when he touched the mural, his powers resonated violently. Aura cycled faster, mana cores stabilized, and spirit essence hummed in sync. Pain ripped through him as Seris whispered: "The first fracture mends in you, mortal. But shadows hunt the Keys." ��The elders tested him cautiously. "Circulate your essences," Varyn commanded. Jhon tried, sweat beading—focusing aura into his fists (they glowed weakly), drawing mana for a spell (it fizzled into sparks), invoking spirits (the orb sneezed gray mist). Liora smirked. "Pathetic. The 'Fallen One' can't even light a candle." But Varyn's eyes widened. "No—raw potential unbound. Hybrids like you are volatile; control comes slow, but peaks rival gods." Comedic disaster struck when Jhon overchanneled: a Triune burst launched him into a relic shelf, toppling aura crystals that exploded in harmless fireworks. The elders chuckled despite themselves. "Rai'on's fury was legend. This... is comedy gold." Jhon groaned from the rubble. "Laugh it up. I'm one bad meridian away from imploding." ��As dawn crept over the sanctuary, warnings darkened the mood. "A shadow stirs," murmured Elder Mira, an elven survivor with vine-woven robes. "Whispers of the Voidstalker—a being born from Sundering backlash, seeking the divine Keys to unmake Eryndor. Your resonance draws it." Liora gripped her blade. "Then we move. The sanctuary's lore points to the Veiled Ruins—first Key's cradle." Jhon, bandaged and bruised, felt Seris stir stronger: "Go. Restore what was broken." But outside, draconian scouts prowled closer, mana flares lighting the horizon. The Broken Sect gifted him a scarred jade amulet—"Stabilizes hybrids, barely"—and bid farewell.Fleeing into the mist-shrouded wilds, Jhon and Liora bantered amid tension. "You're no monster," she admitted grudgingly. "Just a walking catastrophe." Jhon grinned weakly. "High praise. But if this Voidstalker wants me, it'll choke on my aura farts." Liora rolled her eyes, but a genuine smile cracked her facade—their bond deepening in the ruins' shadow. Yet as they vanished into the Graymarch depths, unseen eyes gleamed from afar: a cloaked figure, aura veiled in void essence, murmuring, "The Sealbearer awakens... too soon."
