The journey south wasn't long by distance, but by silence.
Not an awkward silence—an intentional one.
Wushen didn't speak much. Yiran didn't press him. Bai, as usual, only offered commentary when it mattered. Between them, the only consistent sound was the low whistle of the wind… and the occasional note that slipped from Wushen's flute when he wasn't paying attention.
It wasn't a melody. More like his soul muttering under its breath.
As if it already knew what waited at the destination.
Echospire.
Once the Sanctuary of Resonance.
Now a ruin swallowed by time, fear, and Sect shame.
They crested a ridge by dusk.
And there it was.
Or what was left of it.
Massive stone arches jutted from the hillside like broken ribs. Collapsed towers rested sideways in the overgrown field, their windows empty, their halls long looted or buried. Moss covered most of the outer walls, but in places, carvings remained—curves shaped like waves, crescents like plucked strings, runes humming with a music no one had played in centuries.
And at the heart of it all, half-swallowed by a collapsed garden, stood a tall spiral spire.
Cracked in two.
Its tip now a tombstone in the earth.
Wushen stared at it, unmoving.
"I dreamed of this place," he murmured. "Years ago."
Yiran glanced at him. "What did it look like in your dream?"
"…Intact."
Ding! Location Reached: Ruins of Echospire.Legacy Field Detected: "Unheard Resonance."System Connection: Weak. Distorted by ancient formation backlash.Unique Reaction: Wushen's Hollow-Echo Physique attuning.
Effect: Memories may manifest physically.Warning: Do not allow emotions to spiral unchecked. Territory responds to intent.
Bai read the notification aloud, then muttered, "So, if we panic, the ruin might kill us with a sad song."
Wushen nodded grimly. "Pretty much."
They entered the outer garden cautiously.
No beasts.
No birds.
Not even insects.
Only memory—and the weight of silence that felt too intentional to be natural.
A ruined fountain greeted them at the courtyard, shaped like a coiled harp. Yiran ran her hand along the mossy edge.
"I can feel the harmony," she whispered. "It's like the notes are sleeping in the stone."
"Then let's not wake them," Bai said. "Yet."
They made camp inside a half-intact meditation hall, placing formation stones around the perimeter. No fire—they didn't want to attract attention. Instead, Bai conjured a small cold-glow orb that hovered near the ceiling, casting faint bluish light.
Wushen couldn't sleep.
He wandered toward the garden again, flute in hand.
Not to play.
To listen.
And the ruins listened back.
As he stepped into the moonlight, the wind picked up—and with it, a vibration.
Faint.
Familiar.
He stopped walking.
Then slowly, he raised the flute and played one note.
It echoed off the cracked walls.
Not once.
Not twice.
Thrice.
And then, impossibly, another note responded.
From deep within the spire's lower half.
His hand tightened.
"Xuan…?"
He turned back toward camp—but Yiran was already standing behind him.
"You heard it too," she said.
He nodded.
"Then we go," Bai said, appearing beside them like a wraith.
"Now?"
"Before the place forgets again."
The spire's base had long since collapsed into itself, but Yiran found a side passage—narrow, spiral-shaped, half-buried under time and fear.
They descended slowly.
Each step hummed.
Not metaphorically—literally. The stone beneath their feet vibrated softly, reacting to the presence of Wushen's soul.
"Careful," he whispered. "The deeper we go, the more real the echoes will get."
"What do you mean?" Yiran asked.
"I mean… this place remembers."
The hallway ended at a small chamber.
Circular. Windowless.
In the center, a stone pedestal.
And floating above it—
A music box.
Carved of glass and silver and… bone.
Wushen stepped forward.
"This is it."
Yiran put a hand on his arm. "Wait."
The air changed.
It grew heavy.
And from the walls, light bled—runes flaring awake after centuries of dormancy.
Then—
"Hello again, little brother."
The voice was real.
The figure that stepped from the wall was less so.
A silhouette.
Transparent.
Flickering.
But him.
Lin Xuan.
Older. Taller. Dressed in full Songblade Sect robes, with a single tattoo across his throat—the mark of sealed sound.
Wushen froze.
"Xuan…"
The figure smiled sadly.
"This isn't me," he said. "Only what's left. A memory carved into the spire when I triggered the Mourning Song."
Bai drew her saber halfway. "Is it hostile?"
"No," Wushen said. "It's… it's a final message."
Xuan's shade continued.
"I sang the truth. And they feared it. So they sealed the spire. Buried the past. Said I died."
He looked directly at Wushen.
"But I didn't. Not all of me."
The music box hovered higher.
"This holds the first verse of the Forbidden Chord. Play it, and the path to the Deep Harmony will open."
Wushen stepped forward.
But Xuan's voice hardened.
"But beware. Playing it here will awaken the listening spirits. Echo-guardians. Designed to silence all unregistered resonance."
"Which includes us," Bai muttered.
Yiran looked at Wushen. "Can you play it and live?"
He looked down at the flute in his hand.
Then back at his brother's fading image.
"…We're about to find out."
He reached out.
Touched the music box.
And it opened.
Ding! Forbidden Melody Acquired: Verse 1 – "The Note That Mourns Itself"Status: Active.Warning: Echo-Guardians Awakened.Combat Imminent.
The chamber shuddered.
Walls split.
From the cracks emerged shadowy shapes—humanoid outlines made of threads and strings, each holding invisible instruments that shimmered like smoke.
"Unauthorized sound. Purge initiated."
Yiran raised her hands, eyes glowing with formation light.
"Circle defense, now!"
Bai dropped an ice dome over Wushen's back.
He sat.
Closed his eyes.
And played.
The first note.
Then the second.
And then—
The third.
The echo exploded outward.
Not in sound—but in emotion.
Sadness.
Love.
Loss.
Longing.
The Echo-Guardians faltered.
Yiran struck the first.
Bai shattered the second.
Wushen hit the final note—and the guardians screamed before dissolving into golden mist.
Silence returned.
He collapsed forward.
Yiran caught him.
Bai retrieved the music box.
"It's only the beginning," Wushen muttered. "There are more verses."
Yiran's grip tightened.
"We'll find them all."