The Ascendant Tower stood motionless, its jagged silhouette cutting into the twilight sky. The heirs stumbled out one by one, their faces pale, robes torn, and eyes hollow. The elders waited at the base, their expressions a curated blend of pride and indifference. No one mentioned the tremors, the blood-red runes, or the howls that had echoed through the tower's depths moments before. To speak of it would be to admit fear—and in the Murim world, fear was a stain no sect could afford.
Ling Guo of the Flame Phoenix Sect emerged first, his crimson robes singed at the hem. His grandfather, Elder Guo, clapped him on the shoulder, the gesture too forceful to be affectionate. "Fourth tier in a day! The Phoenix's fire burns bright indeed!"
Ling opened his mouth—to speak of the black ice that had crawled up his ankles, perhaps, or the whispers that had followed him out—but swallowed the words. "Thank you, Grandfather."
Xue Mei of the Silent Moon Sect followed, her silver hair matted with sweat. Her aunt, Elder Mei, flicked a speck of dust off Xue's collar. "The Veil of Tranquil Shadows held, I trust?"
Xue's hands trembled. The shadows in the tower had spoken, their voices her own. "Of course, Auntie."
Last came Wei Kang of the Iron Fist Sect, limping, his fists raw and bleeding. His father, Elder Kang, snorted. "Still standing? Good. Pain is weakness leaving the body."
Wei said nothing. The stone creature's laughter still rang in his skull.
The sects retired to the Jade Reflection Pavilion, a sprawling complex of heated halls and lotus ponds where alliances were brokered over plum wine and lies. Servants presented dishes of braised peacock and snow lotus soup, but the heirs picked at their plates, their appetites stolen by the tower's lingering chill.
Elder Guo raised his cup. "To the future of the Murim Alliance—may it rise on the shoulders of these promising youths!"
The toast was met with hollow cheers.
Elder Jiao of the Shadowed Lotus Sect sipped her wine, her gaze lingering on Wei's bandaged hands. "The tower's trials grow harsher each year. One might wonder… why?"
Elder Kang slammed his cup down. "To forge stronger warriors! Or would you coddle your disciples like infants?"
Jiao smiled. "Strength is worthless without wisdom. Wouldn't you agree, Elder Shen?"
Elder Shen of the Thundering River Sect stiffened. His heir had died in the tower last winter. "Wisdom didn't save the Mu-Ryong."
The table froze.
Elder Guo laughed, too loud. "Let's not dwell on the fallen! The Mu-Ryong's arrogance blinded them. Our heirs"—he gestured broadly—"are humble."
Ling stared at his reflection in the soup. Humble. The tower had shown him his corpse frozen in black ice.
As night fell, the heirs dispersed to their quarters. Wei Kang lingered in the moonlit garden, a scroll hidden in his sleeve. His father's words gnawed at him: "Find something useful, or don't return."
Elder Kang emerged from the shadows. "Well?"
Wei handed him the scroll. "From the tower's third tier. The guards didn't see."
The elder unrolled it, his eyes narrowing at the archaic script. Diagrams of qi pathways twisted like serpents, intersecting at a core marked by a black sun. "What is this?"
"A cultivation manual. The runes… they're unfamiliar, but—"
"But nothing." Elder Kang rolled the scroll. "You've done well."
Wei hesitated. "Father, the tower… it felt alive. The lower levels—"
"Are forbidden," Elder Kang snapped. "Focus on what's before you, not fairy tales."
As his father left, Wei's fingertips brushed the bandages on his hands. The stone creature's voice echoed: "You'll be back."
In the privacy of his chambers, Elder Kang spread the scroll across his desk. The text defied translation, but the diagrams…
He traced a qi pathway with his finger. "Reverse the flow… here. And here."
His own qi stirred, sluggish from decades of stagnation. But as he mimicked the scroll's pattern, warmth flooded his meridians—a sensation he hadn't felt since youth.
Memory Fragment:
A younger Kang, kneeling before his master. "Your progress is too slow," the old man sneered. "The Iron Fist Sect rewards strength, not mediocrity."
The scroll's qi surged, sharp and sweet.
Power.
By dawn, Elder Kang had memorized the diagram. He burned the scroll, its ashes swirling like dead stars.
The heirs gathered at the pavilion's edge, watching the tower.
"Did you see it too?" Xue whispered. "The… shadows."
Ling flexed his scorched hand. "Mine were cold. So cold."
Wei unwrapped his bandages, revealing blackened cracks in his skin. "The manual I took—it's not right. My father doesn't understand."
Xue gripped his wrist. "Tell him."
"And be disowned?" Wei laughed bitterly. "The tower's just a training ground, right? Nothing sealed. Nothing wrong."
The heirs fell silent. Above them, the tower's shadow stretched, longer and darker than the night itself.
Elder Kang stood before his sect's ancestral altar, the scroll's qi pathways burning behind his eyes.
"Ancestors, guide me," he murmured, striking a pose from the diagram.
His qi surged—violent, euphoric. The altar candles flared blue, then black.
When the fit passed, his fists were sheathed in jagged stone.
No—not stone. Ice. Black ice.
He smiled.
At the same time, far across the plains,
The Imperial Palace of the Great Jin Empire was never silent. Even at the deepest hour of night, the clatter of armored patrols, the whispers of scribes, and the hum of distant music from the pleasure quarters filled its labyrinthine halls. But tonight, the palace held its breath.
A mark stained the sky above the central courtyard—a circle of faint, pulsating light, its edges etched with runes that twisted like serpents in moonlight. It had appeared moments after the Mu-Ryong heir's disappearance, lingering like a scar on the heavens. The guards avoided looking at it directly. The servants swept the floors beneath it with trembling hands. Even the Emperor's famed golden koi huddled at the bottom of their pond, as if the water could shield them from its gaze.
In the Hall of Celestial Accord, two imperial scholars stood beneath the open archways, their debate a fragile mask for their fear.
Minister Luo, a gaunt man with ink-stained fingers, squinted at the mark. "The astrological charts show no record of this… phenomenon. It defies the Canon of Heavenly Signs entirely."
Advisor Wen, younger and bolder, gripped his jade pendant of office. "Defies? Or transcends? The Canon is six centuries old. What if this is a new omen? A message from the heavens themselves."
Luo's laugh was dry as parchment. "The heavens do not speak in circles, Wen. They speak in comets, in eclipses, in falling stars. This—" He gestured sharply. "—is sorcery. The work of whatever remnants cling to the Mu-Ryong's corpse."
Wen stepped closer, lowering his voice. "And if it is? The Emperor's decree declared the Mu-Ryong line extinct. To suggest otherwise is to question his divine judgment."
Luo's gaze flickered to the Black Tide Division guards stationed along the hall—silent, armored, and ever-watchful. "I suggest nothing. I merely… observe."
In the training grounds, General Rong, commander of the Black Tide Division, drilled his soldiers with unnatural ferocity. His sword cracked against a recruit's shield, the force knocking the boy to his knees.
"Pathetic!" Rong snarled. "The Mu-Ryong whelps slipped through our fingers, and you falter at basic drills?"
The recruit stammered, "T-the mark in the sky, General! The men say it's a curse—"
Rong's blade halted an inch from the boy's throat. "The only curse here is cowardice. The next man to speak of omens will join the Mu-Ryong in hell."
Yet as the general turned, his eyes flicked upward. The mark pulsed, its light reflecting in his polished armor like a second pair of eyes.
Deep within the inner palace, the Empress Dowager sat in her moonlit garden, her fingers crushing petals of night-blooming jasmine. Her spy, a shadow-cloaked figure, knelt before her.
"Well?" she demanded.
"The Black Tide found no trace of the Mu-Ryong heirs," the spy murmured. "But the Crimson Teeth's annihilation… General Rong hides the reports. Their bodies were not just dead—they were erased. Shadows burned into stone."
The Empress stilled. "And the mark?"
"The astrologers are useless. The archivists whisper of ancient texts, but the relevant scrolls are… missing."
"Find them." She scattered the jasmine petals, her voice icy. "Before the Emperor decides we are the threat."
The Emperor had not left his chambers since the mark appeared. His physicians claimed he was meditating. His concubines heard him pacing, muttering in a language that cracked the air like frost.
Only Chancellor Xue, his oldest advisor, dared approach.
"Divine Majesty," Xue began, bowing low. "The court grows restless. The mark—they seek your wisdom."
The Emperor stood at the window, his golden robes dull in the strange light. "Do you know what the Mu-Ryong patriarch's last words were, Xue? 'A dragon does not kneel.'" He turned, his eyes hollow. "But he knelt. They all kneel in the end."
Xue hesitated. "And the heir who vanished…?"
The Emperor's smile was a razor. "Let the heavens have him. Let them choke on him."
Beneath the palace, in the vault known as the Chamber of Whispers, an elderly archivist named Fei lit a stolen lantern. Dust swirled around her as she pulled a forbidden text from the shadows: "The Eclipse Concordance." Its pages, banned by the Emperor's grandfather, spoke of a "Devourer of Realms" sealed by a forgotten dynasty.
Illustration: A black sun devouring a mountain, surrounded by faceless figures.
Text: "When the seal weakens, the gatekeeper's blood shall call the Devourer forth. Its mark is the circle unbroken, its herald the silence of kings."
Fei's hands trembled. She had seen the Emperor's ancestors purge entire libraries to erase this truth. But now—
A sound echoed in the vault. Footsteps.
She doused the lantern, clutching the text to her chest.
In a secluded pavilion, far from the Emperor's spies, three figures met in secret:
General Rong, still in his armor.
Advisor Wen, his jade pendant tucked beneath his robes.
Lady Li, a concubine with ties to the merchant underworld.
Lady Li spoke first. "The Empress Dowager's spies are hunting the truth. She'll tear the court apart to find it."
Wen nodded. "The Eclipse Concordance is the key. If we find it first—"
"We?" Rong interrupted. "This mark—this Devourer—threatens the empire. Our duty is to destroy it, not play scholar."
Lady Li's smile was cold. "The Emperor hides in his chambers. The Empress schemes. The Black Tide's loyalty is to the throne, Rong—not the man who sits on it. Who will you kneel to when the sky falls?"
The mark pulsed above them, its light bleeding through the pavilion's roof.
Beyond the palace walls, the commoners whispered:
"Heaven's wrath!" cried a fruit seller, slashing prices on pomegranates (a symbol of damnation).
"The Mu-Ryong's vengeful ghosts," argued a storyteller, his audience clutching amulets.
In the slums, a blind monk sang an old ballad:
"The dragon sleeps beneath the ice,
Its dreams a storm, its breath a curse.
The black sun rises, paid in blood,
To drown the world in ash and hearse."
A child tossed a coin into his bowl. "What happens when the sun rises?"
The monk's empty eyes turned skyward. "Pray it doesn't."