Part I: The Sky That Forgot
The sky cracked, not with fury—but with silence.
At first, no one noticed. Not the sages meditating atop Mount Luoshui, not the cultivators weaving sword dances through the emerald terraces of the Ninefold Valley. Even in the sacred capital of the Jiang Clan, where ancestral qi flowed like molten gold beneath the stones, the heavens split open like a wound—and the world simply… continued.
But Jiang Ye noticed.
Standing alone atop the Celestial Pavilion, the wind whispering through his raven-black robes, he felt it: a thin, invisible tremor crawling down the bones of the sky. The Azure Gate, long considered eternal, immutable—had cracked.
He did not move.
His eyes, pale silver like moonlight trapped in still water, stared into the distant rift overhead. There was no lightning. No roar of thunder. No celestial beast. Only a fracture—so delicate it could have been mistaken for a trick of the light—spreading across the upper dome of the world like a hairline crack in divine porcelain.
The Gate was forgetting.
And soon, so would the world.
Jiang Ye was seventeen.
A prodigy, yes. But more than that—he was the chosen heir of the House of Jiang, guardians of the Cycle of Reincarnation, keepers of the Heavenbinding Record, and the last bloodline entrusted with the memory of realms long extinguished.
He had cultivated since the age of three.Stepped into the Soulbinding Realm at thirteen.Mastered three forbidden arts by fifteen.And now, at seventeen, he stood poised to inherit what no mortal had held in three thousand years: the Wheel of Return.
But none of that mattered.
Not anymore.
Because something beyond fate had awoken. And the heavens, in their cold mercy, had begun to forget.
He turned from the sky.
The Pavilion was silent. The corridors—lined with carved obsidian pillars and inlaid with spirit jade runes—whispered with lingering qi. Below, the Nine Bridges of Echo led toward the inner sanctum, where the elders meditated. He passed no guards. No servants. No noise.
Until—
"Young Master."
A voice like falling ash. He did not need to look to know who it was.
Master Weng Dao, First Archivist of the Jiang Clan, his mentor of twelve years.
The old man bowed as he stepped forward, his bone-white staff thudding softly against the stone. His hair, once jet black, now glistened silver from age and spiritual erosion. His eyes were clouded but deep—like wells filled with forgotten truths.
"You saw it," Jiang Ye said.
Weng nodded. "The Gate has cracked."
"And with it, the sky."
"Not the sky," Weng corrected. "The memory of it."
Jiang Ye's brows furrowed. "Explain."
Weng's face tightened. He stepped to the railing and looked toward the heavens. The fracture was still there—spreading slowly. Barely visible.
"The Azure Gate is not merely a seal," Weng whispered. "It is a ledger. A boundary. A… memory."
"Of what?"
"Of all things."
Jiang Ye felt something chill coil at the edge of his soul.
"Without the Gate," Weng continued, "the threads that bind cause to effect, death to rebirth, thought to name… begin to fray. History fades. Bloodlines blur. And even the heavens forget what they once decreed."
He paused, then glanced toward Jiang Ye.
"Tell me—what was your mother's name?"
Jiang Ye opened his mouth.
And froze.
He knew her face. Her scent. The lullaby she used to hum.
But the name—
Gone.
He looked to Weng in silent horror.
The old man nodded, eyes filled with grief. "I, too, forgot my wife's voice this morning."
Far below, the Bell of Cycles rang once.
It was not supposed to. It only rang during the changing of eras, during world-ending tribulations. The sky did not darken. No meteor fell. No thunder roared.
But the Bell rang.
And the silence that followed was louder than prophecy.
.
.
Part II: The Blood Beneath the Bridge
The Moonwater Pond was still.
Ripples glided across its surface, disturbed only by the soft plucking of a flute—gentle notes that drifted into the early dusk like sighs from a dying dream.
On a stone walkway by the water, Xueyin stood barefoot, her lavender robes fluttering slightly in the breeze. In her hands, the Soulseal Flute shimmered faintly with dormant spirit light.
She played not for others, but for herself. A melody no one taught her. One Jiang Ye had heard before, long ago, in dreams he once believed were real.
He watched from the edge of the pond.
"Still spying on your elders?" she asked without turning.
"Still pretending you're better at music than swordplay?"
Xueyin laughed softly, but the sound was weary, like wind brushing through brittle leaves.
"Even jokes feel distant today," she said.
Jiang Ye stepped forward. "You felt it, too."
She stopped playing. Lowered the flute.
"I don't know what I felt," she said quietly. "But I watched a fish forget how to swim. It just… stopped. As if it no longer remembered water."
Jiang Ye stared at the pond. Dozens of koi drifted under the surface, their colors faded—grey, dull, dim. As if their very identities had thinned.
"The Gate is breaking," he said.
Xueyin nodded.
"And when it does," she added, "we'll be next."
They sat together on the stones, back-to-back. Something they hadn't done in years. As children, they used to climb the Bridge of Names, carving foolish things into the stone: secret techniques, fake cultivation ranks, even imaginary Dao titles.
He remembered his: Emperor of Nothingness. A joke.
But now, it tasted prophetic.
"Father suspects something," Xueyin said suddenly. "He's locked himself in the Hall of Wills. The elders whisper about Heaven's favor shifting."
"To whom?"
"Not us."
Jiang Ye exhaled slowly.
"Do you think we deserve this?" she asked.
"What?"
"Oblivion."
He turned to look at her. But she didn't return the gaze. Her eyes were on the pond, unmoving.
"We're born into a clan that decides who returns and who doesn't. Who remembers. Who fades. We call it balance, but…"
"You think we stole something," he said flatly.
"No," she whispered. "I think we were allowed to keep something… until it was time to give it back."
He didn't answer.
Because part of him agreed.
That night, he dreamt of a bridge bleeding from its seams.
He stood on it alone. No sky. No water. Just a long arch stretching across darkness. At the far end, he saw himself—older, hollow-eyed, smiling without joy.
A thousand faceless figures stood behind the other him.
All of them dead.
"You can't hold memory forever," the older Jiang said."Even gods must forget.""Especially gods."
Jiang Ye woke with a cold gasp.
He was still in the Pavilion.
Still alive.
But something inside him was not.
The next day, the blood came.
Not through war horns. Not with warnings.
It began with a whisper.
Then silence.
Then screams.
Then the sky turned black—without clouds, without sun—just void
.
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Part III: The Nine Who Betrayed
The scream came at dawn.
Not of battle—but of tearing.
A sound Jiang Ye would later fail to describe. Not human, not beast, not spiritual. More like the wail of a name being erased from the world. As if someone, somewhere, remembered a loved one—and that memory was pulled from their skull, strand by strand, until it bled silence.
Then came the fire.
The Jiang Ancestral Grounds, usually protected by seven layers of sealing arrays and the clan's most elite cultivators, were breached in a blink.
One moment, the Spirit Trees shimmered with morning dew. The next, they withered to ash.
Jiang Ye landed on the rooftop of the Echoing Court, qi blazing at his heels. From there, he saw what he should never have seen:
—Nine banners.—Nine forces.—Marching through the inner sanctum like gods reclaiming stolen thrones.
Scarlet Blade Sect.Frostvein Hall.Golden Harmony Domain.And six more—names once written into the Jiang scrolls of alliance, brotherhood, blood-sworn peace.
Now, they carried their flags over burning children.
He dove.
Passed over the body of Elder Mo, half of her skull collapsed, spirit ring shattered. A few paces farther, Guard Captain Tian, bisected mid-technique, his sword still glowing in his dead hand.
And then—
"Xueyin!!"
His voice tore from his throat.
She stood at the Bridge of Names, flute in hand, surrounded by enemies. Her robes stained with blood. Her breath heavy. But her stance—
Unbroken.
She glanced back as Jiang Ye landed beside her.
"They came through the Dream Gate," she gasped. "Without warning. No barrier even flinched."
"How—?"
"Someone let them in."
The battle was a blur.
Jiang Ye's sword—a thin, elegant wraith-forged blade named Silent Sky—sang through flesh and bone. He moved like instinct forged in starfire: one with his weapon, unreadable in motion, as if space warped to his rage.
But they were too many.
And she—
She was weakening.
"Behind you!" he yelled.
She spun, too slow.
The spear struck her side—glancing, but deep. She cried out, blood misting the air.
Jiang Ye surged forward, severing the attacker with a single, wrath-born arc. His hands caught her as she fell.
"Little brother," she murmured.
"Stay with me."
"You… remember my name?"
He froze.
Even here, even now, the Oblivion was working. Eating them from within, while enemies did it from without.
"Of course," he said. "Always."
She smiled—weak, broken.
Then her eyes widened.
shhk—
The spear emerged from her chest.
His arms trembled.
Behind her stood Zeyra.
Zeyra.
His cousin. Childhood rival. The one who used to laugh as she stole his books, only to return them annotated.
Now she stared down at him—emotionless, distant—as she let go of the spear buried in Xueyin's body.
"It's done," she said.
"Why…" Jiang Ye whispered.
"Because remembering is pain," said another voice.
From behind the flames came Grand Elder Quen.
His robes untouched by ash. His hands clasped calmly behind his back. His gaze pitiless.
"You cling to memories as if they grant you power. But memories rot. And you—Jiang Ye—are a rot the heavens seek to cleanse."
Jiang Ye shook with fury.
"You were family…"
"No," Quen said softly. "I was loyal. To the true Cycle. One where the past is ash, and rebirth begins with forgetting."
Jiang Han, Jiang Ye's father, appeared next.
Dragged by four masked cultivators.
His limbs shattered. Qi core leaking.
"Ye…" the man wheezed.
"Father—"
Quen slit his throat.
Like cutting a fruit. Clean. Cold.
Jiang Ye broke.
Something in his mind cracked—like the sky above. A silence deeper than grief. A rage colder than death.
The Bridge of Names beneath him trembled.
His dantian imploded.
The Oblivion had reached him.
He could no longer remember three of his own sword techniques. His meridians flickered. His spirit sea was hollow.
"You cannot win," Quen said."Even Heaven has forgotten you."
"Then I will make it remember," Jiang Ye hissed.
He reached for the altar beneath the bridge.
A hidden slab, etched with glyphs too old to read.
Blood poured from his hands as he carved the Oath.
"Rooted in void… remembered by none…""I sever fate… I shatter heaven…"
The glyphs lit.
Reality warped.
And then—
Everything exploded.
.
.
Part IV: The Oath That Breaks the Wheel
"I sever fate. I shatter heaven."
The glyphs beneath Jiang Ye's feet ignited—not in light, but in absence.
Color bled from the world. Stone turned translucent. Time stalled.
The bridge beneath him—once a monument to memory—began to unravel. Names crumbled into dust. Glyphs reversed. Even the blood trailing from his fingers began to float upward, as if gravity itself was being forgotten.
Quen stepped back.
"You fool—what have you done?!"
Jiang Ye's lips curved. But it was not a smile.
"What you feared most."
The air around him twisted, heavy with old echoes. Every lost name, every forgotten oath, every erased soul began to gather. They spiraled around Jiang Ye like mournful ghosts, whispering in tongues older than any sect scripture.
"You don't have the right—" Zeyra shouted.
"No," he said. "I don't."
"But they do."
He lifted a hand toward the sky—what remained of it.A jagged fracture stretched across the firmament.The Azure Gate, bleeding memory like smoke.
And then, from the depths of his ruined spirit sea, something answered.
[Oblivion System – Soul Anchor Detected][Core Protocol: Rejection of Divine Memory][Fragment 1 of 108 Activated][Warning: Host identity has exceeded limitation of forgotten state][Commencing spiritual detachment…]
Jiang Ye screamed.
But it wasn't pain.
It was unmaking.
His limbs dissolved into memory threads—burning, unraveling, scattering into the dark sky. His eyes dimmed, not from blindness, but from detachment. His heart stopped—not because he died, but because time itself no longer tracked him.
Quen tried to act.
He drew a talisman, conjured a divine chain, whispered an incantation once used to bind Celestial Beasts.
Too late.
The ritual was complete.
And Jiang Ye—
Was gone.
In his final moment, he saw his sister's face again.
Not as she died.
But as she smiled—young, unscarred, by the pond—flute in hand, humming.
He remembered her name.
Xueyin.
And because he remembered, the system did too.
[Name Anchor: "Xueyin" preserved][System Directive: Vengeance Initialized][Next Environment: The Forgotten Realm][Reconstruction in Progress…]
The Nine Clans would record that Jiang Ye died screaming, dragged into madness.
But in truth, he died silent.
Not because he couldn't speak—But because the world had no more language left to hold him.
Somewhere, beyond the edge of reality, a voice echoed in the dark:
"You who are not remembered… are now free."
.
.
Part V: The Void That Remembers
Darkness.
Not blackness, not night—something deeper.
This was a realm unspoken, where time had no skeleton, and even the stars were forgotten dreams. A place outside memory, where the dead didn't rot—they vanished.
And Jiang Ye drifted through it.
Not walking.
Not falling.
Simply... unmoored.
He had no body. No breath. No pulse. Only a name—and even that was faint, like ink on wet silk.
Jiang… Ye.
The system whispered:
[Oblivion System – Core Fragment: 1/108][Status: Broken][Soul Reconstruction: 3%][Warning: Host lacks existence anchor]
[Injecting Memory Seed…]
Suddenly, pain.
Not physical—worse.
He remembered everything.
His sister bleeding through her ribs, whispering his name.
His father's head falling like a fruit.
Zeyra's dead eyes as she drove the spear forward.
The nine banners burning through ancestral soil.
His soul, still forming, convulsed.
He wanted to scream—but had no mouth.
He wanted to cry—but had no form.
And yet, the void… listened.
Something approached.
Not a creature, not a god—but a wound.
It crawled across the void on tendrils of thought, built from shredded names and the remnants of once-divine prayers.
It stopped before him—if "before" had meaning here.
Its voice was not sound, but absence.
"Why do you still… exist?"
Jiang Ye—what was left of him—whispered back:
"Because I remember."
The being reared back.
"You should not. You are not written. You are not recorded. You have no page, no tale, no fate. You are… noise."
He surged.
What little of his spirit had formed burst forward in defiance.
"Then I will be louder than fate itself."
The system pulsed:
[Memory Anchor Strengthened][Name Retention: 12%][Soul Coherence: 17%][Second Fragment Nearby: Searching…]
The being lunged.
Its maw—made of crumbling oaths and cracked prayers—descended.
But something in Jiang Ye answered.
Not qi.Not sword.Not light.
But will.
A single word thundered through the void:
"No."
From the ruins of his being, a shape emerged.
Not a body, not quite.
A shell.
Tattered robes, skeletal limbs wrapped in broken threads of soullight. Eyes that glowed not with power, but with refusal. His aura wasn't cultivation—it was resistance.
He reached into the void and gripped the memory of his own name.
The creature screeched and burst into dust.
[System Core Strengthened – Fragment Count: 2/108][Protocol Unlocked: Persistence in Absence][New Trait: Voidwalker Lv. 1][System Mode: Shadow Genesis][Location: Layer-Null – the Forgotten Realm]
He stood.
Alone.
In a realm where gods had no dominion, and history feared to tread.
His voice rasped—half soul, half will:
"I am not dead."
"I am what you tried to forget."
"And I will return."
From the ashes of oblivion…The last heir rises.
🔚 END OF CHAPTER 1