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The sun dipped low on the horizon, staining the clouds with golden crimson as Ash sat cross-legged beside the silent lake, his fingers brushing the dew-laced petals of a purple lotus floating gently on the water. The breeze was calm, almost reverent, as if even the heavens waited for the moment to pass.
A subtle ripple in the water. Not caused by wind—no. It came from beneath.
Ash opened his eyes slowly, his inner senses having long since become sharper than most outer disciples of the sect. A faint pressure stirred in the depths below, an ancient echo that tugged at the edges of his spirit. It wasn't dangerous—not yet. But it felt familiar, and more than that, it felt old.
Still, he remained still.
Ever since his acceptance into the Verdant Sky Pavilion, his cultivation path had begun to shift in unpredictable ways. He trained, yes—but the elders called him "unmolded," as if sensing something unaligned in his Dao. In truth, Ash had begun to notice it too. His spirit reacted differently to some cultivation techniques. Where others drew strength from harmony and elemental balance, Ash sometimes resonated more deeply with remnants of ruin, pain… and something else—something buried.
It was no coincidence that the lotus lake was where he always returned. Here, he often found clarity—not from meditation, but from memories. His mother had loved lotus flowers. Before she was taken. Before his village was reduced to ash and smoke.
A sudden voice shattered his thoughts.
"You sit here again, dreaming while others temper their qi. You'll fall behind."
It was Zanab.
Ash turned, meeting her gaze. Her tone was sharp, but her eyes were not. She stood in her usual black-and-blue robes, arms folded, the gentle glow of an early-stage Nascent Soul cultivator flickering around her aura. She had progressed fast—faster than most. And yet, she still sought him out.
"Sometimes answers come when the blade is sheathed," Ash replied quietly. "Not all battles are fought in sparring arenas."
Zanab raised a brow but said nothing. She sat beside him after a moment, legs crossed, her fingers weaving a small qi formation unconsciously.
"You feel it too?" she asked. "The pull under the lake?"
Ash nodded slowly.
"I don't know what it is," he said. "But it calls to something in me."
"You should report it. This land is layered with formations even elders don't understand. Rumors say this lake was once part of an ancient battlefield—some even say a god fell here."
Ash gave a small smile. "And others say ghosts of the fallen cultivators still train in the mist."
They both chuckled. But only briefly. There was truth buried in jokes, and both of them knew better than to treat spiritual anomalies lightly.
As twilight thickened, the stillness grew heavier. The ripple returned—stronger this time—and the lotus petals around them began to glow faintly. Ash leaned forward instinctively, his gaze sharpening.
That's when he heard it—a whisper.
Not a voice through the air, but a vibration in the core of his being.
Ash…
He stiffened. Zanab noticed instantly.
"You heard it?" she asked.
Ash didn't reply right away. He was scanning, not the lake, but within himself. That voice—it wasn't a hallucination. It touched his spiritual root. It was a summoning, vague but persistent, like an echo waiting for a response.
Ash… find me…
He stood abruptly, startling the lotus blossoms that recoiled at his sudden motion.
"I need to go," he said, brushing past Zanab.
"To where?" she asked, rising after him. "You can't follow strange voices, Ash. You've done this before."
"I won't go far. But I need answers." His tone was firm.
Zanab sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder. "At least let me come with you."
Ash looked back at her, hesitating. He wanted to say yes. But this call—it wasn't meant for anyone else. It was meant for him. He knew that in his bones.
"No," he said, more softly this time. "I think this path… I must walk alone."
She didn't argue. But worry etched itself onto her expression.
---
Ash moved silently through the lower gardens of the pavilion, slipping past the patrols and silencing his qi signature. The Sect had strict rules about venturing too deep into sealed regions without permission. But curiosity—and something else—drove him.
At the base of the lotus lake, hidden behind a thicket of spirit grass and moss-laced stone, was an older path—one barely used, half-swallowed by vines. He found it easily, as if guided.
He entered.
The tunnel was narrow, damp, and laced with flickering remnants of failed formations. Glyphs lined the walls in faded gold, long since inactive. The air here buzzed with static pressure—like a heartbeat that had once been strong but now slumbered.
As he walked deeper, the whisper returned.
Ash… forgotten child… bearer of the broken light…
"Who are you?" Ash murmured aloud.
No answer came. But the tunnel opened into a vast underground cavern, and his question was replaced by awe.
A crystal lake stretched before him, untouched by time. At its center stood a massive stone platform carved in concentric circles—a sealing array.
And on that platform… a figure.
Not alive. Not fully. Suspended in layers of transparent light was a humanoid form. Cloaked in shadowy armor, his body scarred by thousands of battles. But his face was youthful—almost serene.
Ash stepped forward slowly, his breath catching in his throat.
The man's presence was… wrong.
Not evil. Not good.
Just—overwhelming.
Then he saw it—an ancient talisman embedded in the man's chest, pulsing faintly. The same rune appeared, faintly etched, on Ash's right palm.
He hadn't noticed it before.
Suddenly, everything clicked.
This man… this was no ordinary cultivator. He was a sealed entity—perhaps even a practitioner of the forbidden paths, as spoken of in sect legends. The elders often told tales of ancient beings who cultivated using methods that defied Heaven's Dao. Methods that drew power from pain, hatred, and the inverse of balance.
Ash's body trembled.
The voice returned—stronger now.
You came…
"Who are you?" Ash asked again, his voice louder this time.
The sealed figure did not move. But his consciousness brushed Ash's. An ancient memory. A battlefield drowned in blood. A throne of bone and lotus. A world split by a single blade strike.
I am the one who failed to rise beyond the sky. The one who fell before Heaven's gaze. I am… what you may become.
Ash staggered back. The sealing formation pulsed once.
Then, silence.
But something inside Ash had changed.
The seal on the man remained intact, but now… part of it had acknowledged him.
And for the first time, Ash felt like he was no longer just a spectator in this world's saga. He was part of a prophecy long buried, a piece of a puzzle older than kingdoms and sects.
He turned and left in silence.
---
Outside, beneath the stars, Zanab waited. She said nothing as Ash emerged from the thicket, his robes dusted with cave ash, his eyes darker than before.
"You found something," she said.
Ash nodded. "But I don't understand it yet."
She placed a hand over her heart. "Then I'll stay by your side… until you do."
And in the silent lotus garden, where no elder dared disturb the night, two fates quietly entwined—one tied to mystery, and one tied to choice.
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