Feng Liren steps onto the cracked causeway, each footfall stirring motes of silver ash that swirl like restless spirits. Towering statues flank the path, their weathered features frozen in silent lamentation as if they've witnessed millennia of failures. The air is thick and cold, carrying a faint metallic tang that hints at ancient rituals long since forgotten. In the distance, the gate of blackened iron looms, its surface etched with sigils that pulse in time with some unseen heartbeat. Every instinct in Feng's bones tells him this place remembers every trespasser who ever dared its threshold.
"Won't the elders spot us if we roam so openly in the most treasured place of the sect"
"Just don't lose the seal I gave to you, and nobody would be able to sense here even if you walk by in front of them."
Yan Xue replied in a disgusted tone as if asked what is two times two.
Within the iron-laced chamber, the temperature drops further and the hum of wards grows insistent. Along the vaulted ceiling, interlocking circles of copper and obsidian glint with suppressed power, their lines converging on the massive door at the far end. The ground beneath Feng's feet vibrates with latent energy, a heartbeat of stone bound by magic. Even the torches flicker unevenly, as if unsettled by the force contained beyond the threshold. Here, every breath tastes of potential catastrophe.
"Hey, how much do you know about the ashvault?"
Yan Xue asked in a quiet tone as if sensing the tension building within the walls.
"The vault safeguards relics and scrolls too volatile for the outside world. Items range from spirit-forged chains to elemental ash crystals capable of corrupting entire ley lines. Each artifact rests upon a pedastal circled by sealing runes that suppress its inherent power. The sect's most revered secrets—binding rituals and counter-curses—are penned in books chained to living basalt pillars."
"Hmph... every third person in the world knows that. Why do you think it has never been robbed"
"...."
"Sigh... you know, you are in a very dangerous position within the sect."
"Hmm why is that, I don't think I have offended anyone yet."
"The seal you used in the test outside... where did you learn it."
"Is that seal... forbidden to use?, and I learnt by it myself."
"Well then... I have bad news and good news, what do you want to hear first."
'What is this women talking about'
"What's the bad news"
"There is a fifty-fifty chance that you are going to be a rat lab or you will become the holy son representing our sect"
He stands rooted to the spot, as if the floor beneath him has turned to quicksand. His breath catches in his throat, each inhale shallow, rattling against the walls of his chest. Time stretches—seconds drip like molten metal—while the words hang in the air, jagged and impossible to swallow.
".... and what's the good news"
"That you're a once in a millennium genius able to learn such sophisticated seals that would make a living person into a dying fossil, which in itself is a bad news, as the last such genius was made into a slave with the sole purpose of protecting a vault against its will."
'Where is the good news in all this bullshit you spouted' Feng Liren thought while giving her a deadpan look.
"We drifted off topic, I was asking you what do you know about the vault and you know shit"
Feng liren stared in her eyes as if trying to find even a hint of guilt to sooth his grieving soul but found none and even got a irritated look in return as if thinking 'when is he going back'.
As the heavy stone corridor narrows into silence, the air thickens with the scent of ancient dust and dormant power. The vault door looms before them—etched with celestial glyphs that shimmer faintly, as if aware of their presence.
Xue halts first, her fingers grazing the surface of the seal. "It's reacting," she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. The glyphs pulse once, then again—like a heartbeat. The vault has waited centuries, and now, it recognizes them.
The main character—still reeling from the revelations that led them here—feels a strange pull in their chest. Not fear. Not anticipation. Something deeper. A resonance.
As if the vault isn't just a place, but a mirror.
With a low groan, the stone begins to shift. Dust cascades in ribbons as the door unravels like a puzzle, revealing a chamber bathed in pale, ethereal light.
The chamber's silence fractures the moment Zhenyu steps through. He doesn't walk—he arrives. Like thunder rolling in after a flash of lightning, his presence shifts the air itself.
=====
The moon hangs low over the sanctum, casting silver light through the latticework of ancient stone. Seven elders sit in a circle, robes heavy with dust and memory. At the center, a projection of the main character flickers—his aura unstable, his lineage unknown. The artifact's mark still glows faintly on his chest, defying every record the sect holds.
"There is no record of his birth. No clan seal. No ancestral trace. He appeared at our gates as a child, half-dead.
"And yet the stars bent for him. I've cast his fate a dozen times. Each time, the threads unravel. He is not born of this world—or if he is, he was rewritten."
"The disciples speak of visions. Dreams shared across dormitories. A boy standing in fire. A voice calling him 'heir.' If his past is buried, it is not silent."
"I've seen the northern tribes. Their blood runs cold, but even they fear the name carved into his blade. It's not a name—it's a warning."
"There is one scroll. Sealed in the vault beneath the Lotus Library. It speaks of a child born during the eclipse, marked by the void, destined to either seal it—or become it."
"Origins matter less than intent. But intent can be shaped. Or shattered."
"Then we must decide: do we uncover his past—or bury it deeper? If he is the key to the vault, then his origin is the lock. And someone forged it for a reason."