The wind shifted across the Eastern Reaches.
Somewhere between night and prophecy, the world noticed.
In temples long forgotten, candles flared without fire. In the mountains of the north, frozen rivers cracked open. And in the cities ruled by silence and fear, the old seers fell to their knees—murmuring a name no longer sealed.
Wuji had awakened.
And so had Li Shenhai.
Crimson Moon Sect – Inner Sanctum
The air inside the Blood Chamber curdled. A single candle burned black and upside down, casting shadows that moved against the stone.
Five figures in crimson stood in a circle around a basin of memory water. It boiled violently.
"The blade is no longer rusted," said the First Acolyte. "The seal is broken."
"No," rasped the Eighth Voice, whose face was made of layered wax. "It was renamed. That is far worse."
The council fell silent. Only the heartbeat of the Bloodmother echoed from the chamber walls.
"He has chosen the path of defiance," the Tenth Voice said. "We cannot control him now. Not through the Names. Not through bloodlines."
The First Acolyte turned to the obsidian mirror behind the altar.
"Then we send the Hollow Saint."
The mirror groaned open, revealing a chained figure suspended in liquid sorrow—no face, no mouth, only a halo of bleeding scripture circling its skull.
"Release him," whispered all thirteen voices in unison.
"Let him harvest the broken."
Xiao Lan – Temple of the First Marked
Xiao Lan awoke beneath shattered stars.
Her hands burned where they touched the fragments of the crystal man—the First Bearer of the Crimson Soul. His last words echoed in her veins.
"You must be willing… to see what even she could not face."
The prophecy had entered her mind like a river through a cracked dam. Visions of what once was—of the original pact, before the Bloodmother's rise, before the gods fell silent.
She saw Shenhai standing before a broken gate, not alone—but surrounded by warriors of ash, fire, and sorrow. Seven of them.
One bore a blade of sky. Another a staff made from bone. One bled stars when he wept.
"The Gathering will come," she whispered. "And I must lead them to it."
She descended the mountain.
Wu Feiyan – The Flower Begins to Bleed
Feiyan had walked for seven days without sleep.
The flower left behind by the mirror-eyed child had begun to pulse with heat. It bled onto her fingers, staining her skin with crimson rings. And in her dreams, the voice returned.
"You are not his shield," it whispered. "You are the lock. The gate. The forgotten key."
She had thought Shenhai was the one fated to face the Bloodmother.
But now… she wasn't so sure.
"Why me?" she asked the wind.
The wind didn't answer. But the trees bent back, revealing a path of white stones—one only the condemned could walk.
Feiyan stepped forward.
Li Shenhai – The Circle is Formed
The fortress of Broken Sky was not built for council, but it now held one.
Within its cracked halls stood thirty-five warriors, cultivators, mystics, and nomads—people drawn to Shenhai by story, oath, and desperation.
Yun'er stood at his right, arms folded, quiet but alert.
Kael leaned against a pillar, his sigil faintly glowing.
Xiao Lan entered, hood drawn, her eyes wild with revelation. Wu Feiyan stood at the edge, distant but present, the bleeding flower tucked behind her ear like a secret.
"You all know what's coming," Shenhai said. His voice did not shout, but it filled the stone.
"The Crimson Moon Sect has ruled by fear and memory. But memory has returned to us now. And it does not favor them."
He drew Wuji.
No longer rusted. It sang without sound. A sword of storms and sorrow.
"This is not a rebellion," he continued. "It's a reckoning."
A woman in scholar's robes stepped forward. "You mean to lead a war with outcasts, children, and ghosts?"
"No," Shenhai said calmly. "I mean to awaken those the world gave up on. Because only the broken know how to fight monsters that were once gods."
He looked at them all—one by one.
"You've all lost something. But here, in this circle, we gain something else."
"Each other."
Xiao Lan bowed low. "Then let this be the Pact of Ash and Storm."
The room held its breath.
Then Kael stepped forward and placed his blade on the ground.
"By ash," he said, "I remember."
Feiyan followed. "By storm, I rise."
Yun'er. "By fire, I will follow you into it."
One by one, they came forward.
Not sects. Not soldiers. Not saints.
Just survivors.
Just the broken.
But they had a name now.
Elsewhere – The Hollow Saint Awakens
Chains snapped.
A scream like a dying universe filled the void.
The Hollow Saint stepped forward, robes billowing like torn scripture. His eyes were empty. His mouth was stitched. His chest bore the Five Names burned into flesh.
And in his hands, he carried a blade not forged—but written.
He did not speak.
But the ground died where he walked.
He turned toward the east.
Toward Shenhai.
Toward the Gathering