Chapter 61: Whispers Beneath the Crimson Soil
The moonlight over the Bloodmoon Basin flickered, as though the very sky above trembled with uncertainty. Ashen stood at the mouth of the hollow chamber, the hidden entrance to the sub-temple yawning beneath him like a freshly opened wound. Behind him, the forest of thorns stood eerily still, as if awaiting permission to exhale.
Keyven crouched near the edge, his hand brushing aside loose dirt and charred vines. "The symbols… they weren't just traps. They're binding runes. Ancient ones."
Kaelis hovered nearby, shadows wrapped like a mantle around his form. "This place isn't just sacred. It's cursed. The kind of curse that binds time itself in knots."
Ashen stared into the dark. "Then let's untie it."
He stepped forward.
The descent was sharp and narrow, each step echoing against ancient stone. The walls pulsed faintly with crimson veins, alive with buried memories. Carvings twisted across the surfaces—half-burned scripts, names etched in reverse, scenes of blood rituals and crowned sacrifices beneath a bloodied moon.
As they entered the deeper chamber, the air grew thick, not just with dust but with whispers. Voices layered over each other in tongues too old for translation. Some begged. Others warned. A few simply laughed.
Revyn tightened his grip on his curved blade. "This place has teeth."
"I think we're walking into its mouth," Keyven muttered.
At the heart of the sub-temple was a massive stone basin. It was cracked, half-filled with dried blood that hadn't aged. The surface rippled despite the stillness.
Ashen approached it, his Chaos threads recoiling slightly, like prey before a predator.
Kaelis extended a warding sigil. "There's a presence here. Fused with the remnants of the blood."
Ashen reached into his core, letting the threads of comprehension guide him. The basin wasn't just ceremonial—it was a mirror. Not of the present, but of the forgotten.
With a pulse of Chaos, Ashen activated the seal.
A blinding surge of light erupted from the basin, projecting a scene into the air.
A city stood atop the same soil—but alive. Cultivators in dark crimson robes moved through its streets. Overhead, the moon hung massive, stained red by unnatural gravity. In the city's center, a temple rose like a fang, and at its peak… a ritual.
A figure stood chained.
It was a dragon, humanoid in form but vast in presence. Its scales were mirror-dark and shimmered with echoes of starlight. Its eyes were hollow.
And it bore the crest of the Stellar Chaos Lineage.
Ashen's breath caught.
"They drained it," Kaelis said, his voice shaking. "They didn't worship Chaos. They harvested it."
The vision shifted again—to a rebellion, chaos, flame, and the basin cracking as the blood of the dragon fell into it. Then black.
Revyn stepped back. "They murdered one of your kind. Your ancestors. And buried its remains here."
Ashen clenched his fists. "No. They tried to bury its echo. But it survived."
He felt it now. Beneath the temple. Not a soul. Not a mind. But a memory—a living scar.
Keyven moved to the far wall where a door stood sealed by sigils. "This leads deeper."
Kaelis frowned. "Do we push forward?"
Ashen nodded. "Yes. But not to fight. To listen."
They unsealed the door.
---
The descent now became metaphysical. Each step shifted their perception. Time blurred. They passed through chambers that repeated, mirrored, or reversed. One moment they walked on stone, the next on water, then void.
Finally, they reached the inner sanctum.
A sphere of blood hovered above a dais. Within it was a beating heart. Still alive. Still pulsing.
Kaelis whispered, "That's not possible. The body's gone. But the heart remains."
Ashen approached, feeling his own heartbeat synchronize.
As his hand neared the sphere, a presence awoke.
Not hostile.
Not welcoming.
Just ancient.
"Who… walks with my echo?" the voice echoed inside Ashen's mind.
Ashen closed his eyes. "Ashen Aras. Of Earth. Inheritor of the Stellar Chaos Dragon's soul."
Silence.
Then laughter. Slow. Agonized. Beautiful.
"The line continues… incomplete, but unbroken."
Ashen saw flashes—not visions this time, but memories. A fragment of the dragon that died here. Its name lost. Its purpose denied.
"I was betrayed," it said. "The Bloodmoon Sect once served the Stellar Court. They turned. They wanted eternity without comprehension."
Ashen's body tensed. "What do you want from me?"
The voice faded.
Then returned.
"To remember."
The heart pulsed.
Ashen touched the sphere.
A surge of knowledge struck him—memories of rituals, battles, chaos threads woven into architecture, spells that shaped moons and seeded destruction.
But one stood out.
A technique: the Blood-Echo Mantle.
Ashen's eyes flared open.
This was not power. It was resonance—a form of harmonizing with memories bound in blood. It would let him wield remnants of long-dead entities through sheer will.
Not resurrection.
Not possession.
Memory-infused combat.
As the technique imprinted itself on his core, the heart finally stilled. Its purpose fulfilled.
Kaelis helped Ashen to his feet.
"Did you gain something?"
Ashen nodded, dazed. "A mantle of memory. The ability to… echo a warrior's will."
Revyn whistled. "That's terrifying."
Keyven cracked a grin. "So what do we call it? Bloodmoon Echo?"
Ashen turned to the fading room. "No. This one had a name… but it's forgotten. Let this be its requiem."
They returned through the warped corridors, the temple now empty, its voices silenced. As they emerged into the night, the crimson hue above them finally softened.
A wind blew.
Freeing something.
Ashen stood silent, gazing at the moon. "There are other places like this. Other echoes. Other wrongs."
Kaelis nodded. "We follow the echoes. Until they're whole again."
Ashen's gaze turned south—toward the Jadefront Mountains, where the next ruin awaited. Not a temple.
A battlefield.
The Path of Chaos was no longer just about power. It was remembrance.
And he would remember everything.
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