I – The Sky That Forgot Light
There was no dawn.
No sun, no moon, only a dull, fractured twilight stretching endlessly across a landscape of floating stone and black rivers.
When Shen Wei opened his eyes, he saw the heavens above him—not blue, but a cracked dome of obsidian through which silver lines pulsed like veins.
He lay among the ruins of what had once been Mist Valley. Now, the ground drifted in fragments, as if gravity itself had lost meaning.
Wind moaned through hollow cliffs. The scent of burned earth clung to the air.
Every breath he took carried the taste of iron.
"Still alive?"
The voice came from behind.
Bai Qian limped into view, robes torn, one arm wrapped in blood-soaked cloth. His normally calm expression had hardened into quiet disbelief.
Shen Wei rasped, "Where… is everyone?"
"Gone. The Sects scattered into the rift. Some fell into the Abyss. Others fled toward the Heavenly Divide."
Shen Wei's gaze drifted upward, where fragments of light floated aimlessly—echoes of fallen cultivators turned to motes of spirit dust.
"And Lian Yue?"
Bai Qian hesitated. "She… went after the Eye. Said she must end what began in Heaven's Palace."
A long silence followed. Shen Wei rose slowly, clutching the Sword of Unbeing. Its edge was dull now, the aura around it fractured like cracked glass.
"Then the Eye still lives."
"Barely. But its remnants are hunting the Codex."
At the mention of the book, Shen Wei's expression darkened. The Void Codex floated a few paces away, its pages slowly rotating, faint light bleeding from its core. The sixth page was still open—showing a burning throne, and a man who looked exactly like him sitting upon it.
"That is not me," he muttered.
"No," Bai Qian said softly, "but it was."
II – The Realm Between
The shattered world they stood upon was not the mortal plane. It was the in-between: The Realm of Shattered Heavens—a dimension born from the collision of Heaven's Law and the Codex's Void.
It was a graveyard of gods.
Across the horizon floated enormous silhouettes—remnants of celestial beasts frozen mid-roar, mountains shaped like kneeling figures, rivers that flowed upward into the broken sky.
Bai Qian said, "This place wasn't created. It was remembered."
Shen Wei frowned. "Remembered?"
"The Codex doesn't invent. It recalls what was forgotten. Every destruction, every erased world—this realm collects their echoes."
Shen Wei placed his hand upon a nearby stone and saw visions flood his mind:
Cities of golden spires.
Children praying beneath a crimson sun.
Then, silence as everything dissolved into white dust.
"So this is Heaven's true face," he murmured.
Bai Qian looked away. "And now, it's your prison."
III – The Hunters of Law
Their rest was short-lived.
From the distance, six lights emerged—cold, mechanical, divine. They moved not like men but like thoughts, skipping through space in sudden bursts.
Bai Qian hissed. "Judgment Shades!"
The Shades were remnants of Heaven's Eye—manifestations of divine law that had lost their master. Each one radiated perfect golden light, their faces smooth and blank.
"Target: Vessel of the Codex."
The words echoed in metallic harmony.
They attacked.
Swords of light fell like meteors. Shen Wei spun his blade, meeting the first strike head-on. The clash tore the ground apart.
"We can't fight all six!" Bai Qian shouted.
"Then run!"
But Shen Wei did not move.
He inhaled deeply, drawing the black qi of the realm into his lungs. It burned, but the Codex responded—its pages fluttering violently.
"Formless Law: Reflection of Nothing!"
A sphere of void erupted outward. The incoming blades vanished into silence, erased before impact. The Shades hesitated, their golden bodies flickering.
Bai Qian yelled, "You'll burn yourself alive doing that!"
"Then let me burn!"
He thrust his sword downward, splitting the void itself. A rift opened beneath the Shades, swallowing three instantly. The others retreated, light dimming as they fled into the fractured sky.
When the silence returned, Shen Wei fell to one knee, coughing blood. His veins glowed black beneath his skin.
Bai Qian grabbed him. "You're devouring your own soul each time you use that power!"
"The Codex feeds on memory," Shen Wei said weakly. "And I am full of them."
IV – The Ghost of Lian Yue
That night, if time could still be called night, a cold mist drifted through the ruins. Shen Wei sat alone beside the edge of a floating cliff, staring at the distant horizon where a faint golden beam still glowed—the remnant of Heaven's Eye.
The air trembled, and a familiar scent filled the void—plum blossoms and frost.
When he turned, she was there.
Lian Yue stood upon the air itself, her white robe flowing like a cloud, her flute now whole once more.
"You shouldn't be here," he whispered.
"Neither should you," she replied, her tone soft but distant.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then she asked, "Do you remember what we were before the fall?"
He shook his head slowly. "Fragments. Shadows of a life I can't name."
"You were the Herald of the End," she said. "And I… the Keeper of Beginnings. Together we wove the first Law: Balance. Until you defied the Heavens and sought to erase them."
Her eyes glistened with old grief.
"And now the Codex awakens again, feeding on your despair. It wants to complete what you started."
"Then tell me how to stop it."
"You can't."
The words hung like a blade.
"But you can rewrite it," she added quietly. "The Codex is not only void—it is the ink of creation itself. If you remember differently… the world will follow."
She reached out, touching his chest lightly. "Rewrite your fate, Shen Wei. Before it writes you."
Before he could answer, her image shimmered—and vanished like mist under wind.
V – The Codex Speaks
When she disappeared, the Codex began to hum. Its pages flared open, revealing lines of moving script—living symbols twisting like serpents of light.
A voice echoed from within, neither male nor female:
"You seek to deny me, but I am you. The erasure and the memory are one."
Shen Wei gritted his teeth. "Then show me what I was."
The world around him dissolved.
He stood in a vast black hall, pillars rising into infinity. Upon a throne of shattered stars sat a figure identical to him, but older—eyes hollow, aura infinite.
"Who are you?" Shen Wei demanded.
"I am the page you fear to read."
The figure raised its hand, and thousands of worlds appeared in miniature, orbiting him like motes of dust.
"You once wielded the Codex to erase suffering," the figure said. "But in doing so, you erased joy as well. Heaven called it blasphemy. You called it mercy."
Shen Wei trembled. "I am not that man."
"You will be," the voice replied, "unless you learn to remember pain without surrendering to it."
Then the vision shattered, and he was back in the ruins, gasping. The Codex closed on its own, its surface cracked but calm.
VI – The Journey to the Divide
Days—or perhaps eternities—passed.
Shen Wei and Bai Qian traversed the fractured realm, moving toward the distant golden glow where Heaven's Eye still lingered.
Along the way, they encountered remnants of the Nine Sects—survivors turned half-ghosts, wandering in madness.
Some begged for release.
Some attacked blindly.
And some, remembering the truth, bowed before Shen Wei in reverence or fear.
Bai Qian murmured, "You're becoming what they feared—a god without Heaven."
"No," Shen Wei replied, eyes fixed ahead. "A god who remembers being human."
They reached the edge of the world—a place where the land ended in a vast sea of lightless mist. Beneath it, they could see faint outlines of other realms drifting below—reflections of worlds long gone.
Hovering above it all was the Heavenly Divide—a colossal barrier of light, pulsing like a heart. Beyond it lay the Eye's core.
"Once we cross that," Bai Qian said, "there's no return."
"There never was."
VII – The Last Guardian
As they approached the Divide, a shadow emerged from the mist.
A man clad in tattered celestial armor stepped forward, his once-golden eyes now hollow white.
It was Gu Tian Luo, the Sect Master of the Binding Sigil—one of the Nine.
"You survived," Shen Wei said softly.
"Survived?" Gu Tian Luo laughed bitterly. "No. I was left behind to guard what remains. The Eye commands me still."
He drew a blade forged from divine law, its edge glowing with runes.
"Step no further, Codex-bearer. Beyond lies Heaven's last memory."
Bai Qian raised his staff, but Shen Wei stopped him with a glance.
"He was once a brother. Let me face him."
The duel that followed was wordless.
Each strike tore the world apart.
Gu Tian Luo's sword shattered mountains; Shen Wei's counterstrikes erased them from memory entirely.
When it ended, both men knelt. Gu Tian Luo's blade was broken, his body fading into light.
"Do it," the dying man whispered. "End this cycle. If Heaven cannot remember mercy, let it forget itself."
Shen Wei closed his eyes and struck once. The soul dispersed into peace.
VIII – The Path of Memory
At last, they stood before the Heavenly Divide. Its light pulsed in rhythm with Shen Wei's heartbeat. The Codex trembled in his hand, pages flickering wildly.
"The Codex reacts," Bai Qian said. "It senses the Source."
Shen Wei looked up.
Beyond the barrier lay the Core of Creation—the place where Heaven recorded all laws, all destinies. If the Codex rewrote even a single line there, the universe would change.
Bai Qian stepped forward. "If you do this, you'll erase yourself."
"No," Shen Wei said quietly. "I'll remember differently."
He pressed his palm to the barrier.
Light flooded through him. Every memory—his life, his deaths, Lian Yue's tears, Mist Valley's laughter—flashed before his eyes.
Then came the voice again:
"Rewrite. Or repeat."
And Shen Wei began to write.
Not with ink, but with memory.
He wrote of a Heaven that could forgive.
Of mortals who could ascend without chains.
Of love that could endure beyond Law.
The Codex glowed brighter than the sun.
IX – A World Rewritten
When the light finally dimmed, Shen Wei stood upon solid ground once more.
Mist Valley had returned—untouched, alive, and whole. The orchids swayed in the morning breeze.
Bai Qian was gone.
Lian Yue stood beside the river, flute in hand, watching the sunrise.
"Did it work?" he asked.
She smiled faintly. "Look around you."
Children laughed in the distance. The heavens were whole again.
"You remembered differently," she said. "And the world followed."
He looked down at his hands—no sword, no Codex. Only faint ink stains on his palms.
"Then it's done."
"Not yet," she said softly. "Every story rewritten demands a price."
He met her gaze. "Whose?"
She smiled through her tears. "Yours."
Before he could speak, his body began to fade—turning into motes of silver light.
"Tell them," he whispered, voice breaking. "Tell them not to fear the void… for it only waits to be remembered."
The wind carried his words away.
And as the last light vanished, the orchids bloomed once more, their petals whispering his name.