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The forest outside the Mistwood Sect's outer boundary was a quiet refuge, cloaked in mist and age-old silence. Towering trees arched overhead like the ribs of a slumbering beast, their branches shielding the stars. Beneath this green cathedral, Ash sat alone, legs crossed atop a moss-covered rock, eyes closed as his breath drew slow and deep.
But his heart wasn't calm.
It had been a week since he was admitted to the sect, and yet the air here felt no lighter than the streets of Faltrain. The whispers among disciples, the lingering stares, the tension in the air—he knew it well. The cruelty of humans wore many masks: the scorn of noble bloodlines, the condescension of false mentors, and the silence of secrets kept just out of reach.
His fingers tightened over the old stone pendant around his neck. It was cracked and weathered, dull compared to the refined jade tokens the other disciples flaunted. But this—this was his only link to a forgotten past. He had no memories of his parents' faces, no names, no graves. Only blood. Only fire.
A rustle in the underbrush stirred him from his thoughts.
"You always pick the coldest rocks to sit on," said Yara, stepping into view. Her voice was casual, but her eyes were sharp. A faint sheen of sweat lined her brow—she'd been training.
Ash gave a half-smile. "Better cold than surrounded."
Yara folded her arms and leaned against a tree. "You're not wrong. Some of those disciples would rather spit on your food than share a seat."
"They're just angry I didn't die during the spirit trial."
"Maybe," she said. "But it's more than that. Something changed when you came out of that vision."
Ash's expression turned guarded. "What do you mean?"
"I mean the way Elder Lin looks at you now. The way the formation stones flickered when you walked past the altar. You were asleep, but I was there. You didn't just survive the trial. You resisted something. Something... ancient."
Ash hesitated. The dreams hadn't stopped. In them, he was drowning—not in water, but in shadows. Something beneath the sea had called to him. Not with words, but memory. And pain.
"I keep seeing a claw," he admitted softly. "A black hand, chained beneath the ocean floor."
Yara's face paled slightly. "That matches what I read."
"You read about it?"
She nodded, pulling a folded parchment from her sleeve. "In the oldest archives, hidden beneath dust and cobwebs. It mentioned a forbidden formation—The Ten-Thousand Chains of Judgment. Said to have been laid by ancient cultivators to bind a being who had defied the heavenly Dao itself."
Ash looked up sharply. "Why would someone do that?"
"Because not everyone agrees with the heavens," Yara said. "Some believe the Dao interferes too much. That fate itself should not be a chain."
The words struck something inside him.
"Who was sealed?" he asked.
"The scroll didn't say. Only that he was once a man… before something broke within him. A mortal who became more, then less. A devil not born, but made."
Ash stared at the trees in silence. The pendant on his chest pulsed again, warm and faintly glowing.
"I think... I've felt him," he whispered. "Not in the dream. In me."
---
Later That Night — Ash's Quarters
Ash sat cross-legged in his stone chamber. The single candle at his bedside had long since melted to a stub, but he couldn't sleep.
He traced the cracks in the ceiling absently with his eyes, then looked down at the scroll Yara had given him. Her trust was unexpected—but appreciated. No one had ever looked at him without suspicion before. And yet, she had.
Suddenly, the pendant throbbed. Heat burst across his chest. His vision blurred—and he was no longer in his room.
The scent of salt and blood filled his lungs. He stood on the edge of a vast ocean, but the sea was black, and the sky red. Storms circled overhead, and somewhere far beneath the waves, something struggled.
"You are not yet ready," a voice echoed, vast and layered. "But the seal weakens with every breath you take."
Ash reached for the pendant—
And woke with a start.
His chest was damp with sweat, and the pendant had burned a perfect circle into his skin.
---
Dawn — Spirit Grove
The Spirit Grove of the Mistwood Sect was reserved for specialized trials, most of which involved manipulating natural qi through calm and control. Ten disciples stood in a circle, each marked with faint talismans painted in spirit ink.
Ash stood near the edge, next to Yara. She whispered, "Watch them. None of these disciples are as simple as they look."
A senior elder began the incantation, and blue light spread across the grove in a circular wave. The trial was underway. It required the disciples to merge with the rhythm of the grove, syncing their qi to the natural life pulse of the forest.
For most, it was a test of harmony.
For Ash, it was a battlefield.
The moment he sat, the pendant activated again. His qi spiraled violently, uncontrolled. The trees shook. The talismans surrounding him trembled.
Disciples began to glance toward him. Even the elder frowned.
Ash closed his eyes, forcing his breath to still.
"I will not lose control," he murmured.
But the sea returned.
The clawed hand beneath the ocean.
The broken chain.
And then—something else.
A figure standing between him and the seal. A man, tall and cloaked in flowing black and white robes. Not the being from before. Someone human. With eyes like stars and a voice like judgment.
"Why do you seek the truth?" the figure asked. "Do you wish to free what is bound… or bind what was never meant to be free?"
Ash reached forward—just as the trial formation collapsed around him.
The grove erupted in chaos.
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