---
The day had dimmed into evening, but the underwater cavern glowed faintly from natural luminescent minerals embedded in the walls. Strange flora waved with the silent current, and the glowing inscriptions on the cave's inner sanctum pulsed in rhythmic beats—like the quiet breathing of something asleep, or perhaps merely waiting.
Ash sat cross-legged, his robes torn and damp, but his posture was upright. Before him, the old man known as Master Nirvak was finally done carving a set of intricate runes into the stone floor. The master's thin fingers trembled slightly, though not from weakness—rather, from the sheer spiritual strain of channeling energy from a forgotten era.
"You said you wanted to understand cultivation," Master Nirvak said, not looking up. "Not just to become strong. That's rare in this age."
Ash nodded. "Strength is meaningless if I don't know what I'm standing on."
The old man chuckled dryly. "Good. You're finally starting to see it."
He gestured to the runes. "Look closely. These are not ordinary formations. They are Soul-Mirroring Runes, created to awaken a cultivator's essence without altering their path by force."
Ash leaned forward. The runes were unfamiliar—curved lines intersected at odd angles, symbols that shimmered one moment and faded the next. They were like memories half-remembered.
"Where did these come from?" Ash asked.
"From before kingdoms ruled the continent," Nirvak said, his voice quieter. "Before the Dao was formalized, when cultivators still feared what they could become."
Ash narrowed his eyes. "Then why teach me something so old…so buried?"
"Because your path will not follow what this world considers correct," Nirvak said. "You do not belong to the paths of heaven-blessed bloodlines, sect doctrines, or divine inheritance. Your body resists it."
Ash frowned. "What does that mean?"
Nirvak turned to him at last, the dim glow catching the worn edges of his aged face. "You do not have roots in the celestial system. Not completely. There is something inside you—older, more primal. It resists definition. That's why your spiritual veins rejected the spirit tests of the academy. Why no sect seal stayed on you."
Ash blinked. He remembered those tests—the way the other children's names lit up, the way his own mark dissolved like smoke.
"You said I was…like a mirror," Ash whispered.
"Precisely. And mirrors do not choose what they reflect. They only reveal."
Nirvak drew a shallow breath and gestured for Ash to enter the formation.
The youth stepped into the circle, feeling an invisible veil fall over him. Instantly, his skin prickled with cold, and a buzzing began in the back of his mind. The light from the runes rose and pulsed in tandem with his heartbeat.
Master Nirvak took out a tiny shard of obsidian. He crushed it in his palm, releasing a fine black mist that hovered above Ash's head, swirling.
"Close your eyes," the master said. "And when the mist enters, do not resist."
Ash obeyed.
The mist slid down like water, seeping into his nose, ears, and pores. At once, his mind shattered into fragments—
He was a child, standing before his burning home, smoke rising from the thatched roof. Screams in the distance. A woman's voice calling his name.
He was a boy, curled behind the temple wall, clutching his knees while bandits looted the village. The body of his father lay in the street, the old cultivator badge snapped in two.
He was a youth, burying shallow graves alone while carrion crows circled above.
And then…he was standing in the palace courtyard again, looking up at the man who had become his closest friend—Zeran.
Zeran, with silver hair and a regal bearing. Zeran, who called himself no more than a wandering cultivator. Zeran, whose kindness seemed boundless—until the moment it wasn't.
The memories collided.
The betrayal. The duel that split valleys. The moment Zeran—avatar of something beyond comprehension—had sealed him away beneath the sea, after calling him "brother" for the last time.
The pain of that seal echoed through his bones even now.
Ash gasped, falling to one knee. The runes flared, now drawing lines of blood from his skin.
"This is your burden," Nirvak whispered. "But also your path."
Ash screamed as his body convulsed. His spirit surged upward, breaking into three fragmented shapes:
—A boy surrounded by flame.
—A youth fighting through snow.
—A man shackled by golden chains under the sea.
The runes pulsed again, and those three spirits coalesced, fusing into one image—a silhouette with no face, but glowing eyes of deep violet and red. The figure turned to Ash and whispered:
"You are not the echo. You are the start."
The runes shattered.
Ash collapsed.
Silence returned to the cavern, broken only by the sound of Ash's shallow breathing.
Master Nirvak knelt beside him, placing two fingers on Ash's neck.
"Still alive," he murmured, relief in his voice. "And more than that…something woke."
Ash's eyelids fluttered open. His eyes, once dark brown, now had faint flecks of violet near the iris.
"I saw it," he said hoarsely. "The chains. The seal. I wasn't just sealed physically. My spirit…"
"Yes," Nirvak said, standing slowly. "You were sealed in every layer. Whoever did it wasn't just strong—they were merciful. They gave you the chance to grow."
Ash sat up with effort. "Then I have to break it. Piece by piece."
"Not too fast," Nirvak warned. "What you carry is dangerous, not just to others—but to yourself. The wrong path could make you the very monster you swore to fight."
Ash's fists clenched. "I won't let that happen."
Nirvak gave a slow nod. "Then your cultivation must begin anew—from your soul outward. No sect. No borrowed manuals. You will learn directly from the world."
Ash looked around. "Where do I begin?"
The old master smiled faintly. "With the continent itself."
He unrolled a map etched into hide, ancient and brittle. "This is the kingdom of Suran, on the continent of Aetheris. You are in its southeastern reach—once ruled by noble clans that vanished during the War of Shattered Thrones. What lies here now are ghosts, forgotten temples, and a land overrun with false cultivators."
Ash studied the names on the map: Velinmar, Hollow Cliff, Sunken Root, Cradle of Storms.
Each whispered promises.
"I'll start with what was lost," Ash said, his voice steady.
Nirvak nodded. "And with each step, you'll reclaim what was sealed."
The cave dimmed once more, but the light in Ash's eyes had only begun to rise.