The sun was low when Jinhyuk descended from Fanghill, its golden light spilling across the ruined valley like a soft veil trying to hide the wounds of war. The village lay in tense quiet, survivors cleaning debris, rebuilding walls, and mourning the fallen. But Jinhyuk had no time for stillness. The vision the silver flame had shown him continued to echo in his mind—burning brighter than any nightmare he'd faced before.
The fragments of the Gate. The storm on the horizon. His brother's cryptic warning.
He needed answers.
And there was only one place left that might hold them: the ruins of the Ashen Cloud Sect.
It had been a name whispered during his travels, half-lost in time and memory. An ancient sect said to have been annihilated overnight nearly a hundred years ago. But there were rumors—fragments of stories—claiming they had uncovered forbidden techniques that touched the very fabric of reincarnation and fate. Some called them heretics. Others called them prophets.
To Jinhyuk, they were a possibility. A lead.
And he would chase it.
He gathered his companions outside the village at dawn the next day. Hayeon stood beside him, arms folded, eyes sharp and bright. Jinbi, her younger brother, still sported a bruised cheek but grinned with boundless energy. Behind them stood three members of the Emerald Blossom Sect, sworn to Jinhyuk after he saved them during the Fanghill battle. There was also Seo Nari—formerly from the Moon Lotus Court—who now followed him with something more dangerous than loyalty: curiosity.
"I'm going north," Jinhyuk said. "To find what's left of the Ashen Cloud Sect."
A few glanced at one another, unsure if they heard him correctly.
"Wait," Jinbi piped up, "that's in the haunted province, isn't it? The one surrounded by a miasma and crawling with qi-withered beasts?"
"Yes," Jinhyuk said, already tightening the strap of his sword.
"That's suicide," Nari murmured, clearly interested despite her words.
"It's where I need to go," Jinhyuk replied. "Something about the silver flame… about Yulheon… it's connected. And the Ashen Cloud Sect studied the Gate long before anyone else dared. They might have answers. Or at least, echoes of them."
Hayeon stepped forward. "Then we're coming too."
He looked at her. "This might be a one-way trip."
She smirked faintly. "You said that about the Ghoul Tombs. And the Dusk Bloom Garden. And the Sky Reaper Trial."
He sighed. "Fine. But if it gets bad—"
She tapped his chest lightly. "It's already bad."
Jinbi raised a hand. "Do I still have to come?"
Everyone turned to stare at him.
He dropped his hand. "Fine, fine. Just asking."
They set out by midmorning, traveling through forests scarred by the recent battle. Birds had returned to the trees, and sunlight filtered gently through the leaves, but there was a stillness to the world now. A tension just beneath the surface.
Jinhyuk felt it in his bones.
As they traveled deeper into the province known as Twilight Reach, the environment began to shift. Trees lost their color, their bark turning ashen grey. The wind carried whispers—soft, unintelligible, but persistent. Jinbi covered his ears after the first day, muttering about voices that sounded like old men arguing in a tunnel.
Even Hayeon looked uncomfortable by the second night.
And Jinhyuk… he felt something more. A pull. Like his soul was being gently tugged forward. Toward something ancient. Toward something buried.
On the third day, they crossed a ridge and saw it.
The ruins of the Ashen Cloud Sect.
Sprawled across a plateau of blackened stone, the remains of temples and towers stood like broken teeth jutting from the earth. Columns carved with spiraling glyphs, doors half-open to pitch darkness, staircases that led nowhere. And at the heart of it all—a collapsed dome, partially submerged in the cracked ground, surrounded by stone statues of faceless monks.
Nari whistled low. "This place is cursed."
"No," Jinhyuk said, stepping forward. "It's waiting."
They descended in silence, wary of every shadow. Qi didn't flow normally here—it twisted. Warped. It was as though the air itself resented being breathed.
Jinhyuk's gaze locked on the main temple.
That's where the pull came from.
And it was getting stronger.
As they reached the doors, a sudden howl echoed from the east.
Everyone froze.
From the treeline emerged a creature of smoke and bone, its eyes glowing violet, its form constantly shifting—a guardian made from spiritual rot. A Wraith Guardian.
Jinhyuk drew his sword.
"This is it," he muttered. "The first test."
As the Wraith lunged, he met it head-on.
Steel clashed with darkness, and the wind screamed.
Jinhyuk's blade met the Wraith Guardian with a ringing crack, sparks flying as steel kissed spiritual decay. The creature's form was barely solid—smoke, shadows, and shifting bone swirling around a flickering violet core. Yet it struck with the weight of a mountain, and its scream sent chills crawling down every spine.
The others scattered as the shockwave blasted through the courtyard.
Jinhyuk planted his feet, sliding back only a step before vanishing in a blur. He reappeared behind the Wraith in a single breath, his sword slashing upward in a perfect arc aimed for the exposed ribcage of bone and qi—but the strike passed through like smoke.
"A phasing construct?" Hayeon shouted from the side, hurling a burst of fire infused with her unique Lotus Flame technique.
The flame collided with the Wraith, its violet form twisting and convulsing. It howled and staggered, becoming momentarily more solid.
Jinhyuk's eyes sharpened. "Qi-bound to elemental anchors. Hayeon, again!"
She didn't hesitate. "Flame Bloom!"
A chain of lotus-shaped fireballs launched from her hands, each one a precise, elegant flare of destruction. The creature roared as it was forced to maintain form, and Jinhyuk leapt once more, channeling sword energy into a single thrust.
"Moonpiercer—Second Form: Falling Arc!"
This time, his blade sank into the Wraith's core.
It didn't die.
But it screamed.
Violet light exploded outward, and the impact hurled Jinhyuk across the ruins. He hit a broken column hard, gritting his teeth as blood traced a path down his chin.
The Wraith staggered forward, flickering like a dying flame.
Jinbi tried to rush to his side but froze as the creature turned to him, eyes glowing brighter.
"Don't!" Jinhyuk coughed, pulling himself up. "It's tethered to me! Don't interfere—"
The ground trembled.
From the cracked temple doors, another pulse of energy surged out—this one cold and unnatural. A whisper, carried by the wind, slithered into their minds:
> "You should not have come, Heir of the Gate."
Everyone froze.
Hayeon stepped beside Jinhyuk, helping him up. "That voice…"
"I heard it in the vision," he said softly. "It's part of the silver flame."
The Wraith Guardian stumbled again, now held upright only by the aura emanating from the temple.
It was not a guardian.
It was a prisoner.
"A seal," Jinhyuk murmured. "This whole ruin is a prison."
The air rippled as the Wraith let out one last shriek and collapsed, its body unraveling into violet motes that floated upward and vanished into the temple.
The doors creaked open.
No one moved.
Jinhyuk stepped forward first, his blade still raised, chest rising and falling with fatigue and caution. As he passed the threshold, the world seemed to shift.
They entered a hall untouched by time.
The interior was pristine—stone murals still glowing faintly, a vast open space lined with statues of monks holding staves. The air was thick with memory, like a pressure that bent time itself.
Jinhyuk touched one of the murals.
It came to life.
Colors ignited, and motion played across the stone like a painted story. The others gathered behind him, watching as a tale older than most sects unfolded.
A man stood at the center—a cultivator cloaked in black, his eyes silver, standing atop a Gate split by lightning. Around him swirled spirits of the dead, the living, and those yet to be born. He bore the mark of reincarnation and wielded a flame like the one Jinhyuk had touched in Fanghill.
"The First Heir," Nari whispered.
"No," Jinhyuk said slowly. "That's not an heir. That's the Creator."
The mural changed, now showing a rebellion—sects turning against the Ashen Cloud Sect, banners burning, temples falling. The silver flame vanished from the sky. And then came the sealing.
The last image was clear: the man from before, wounded and kneeling, casting a final spell that buried the Gate beneath the world, splitting his soul into countless shards.
One of those shards now pulsed in Jinhyuk's own core.
Suddenly, his body burned with heat. His vision swam.
He fell to one knee.
"Jinhyuk!" Hayeon shouted, rushing to him.
"I'm fine," he said, panting. "It's… reacting to me."
Then, from the far end of the hall, a soft glow lit the air.
A figure stood there. Not solid—more like a memory given shape. An old man in Ashen Cloud robes, his eyes milky and calm.
"You carry the Gate Fragment," he said, voice deep and echoing. "Then you are not here by chance."
Jinhyuk stood slowly. "You're from the Ashen Cloud Sect?"
"I am the last Keeper of Truth. And I have waited for you… for centuries."
Behind Jinhyuk, everyone tensed.
"What is the Gate?" Jinhyuk asked. "What am I?"
The Keeper smiled.
"You are not just a cultivator. Not just a reincarnated soul. You are a vessel. A lock. And soon, a key."
The glow around him flared.
"You must know what was forgotten. And what must never awaken again."
The walls trembled as runes ignited across the hall.
"Step forward, Heir of the Flame. The Trial of Memory begins."
Jinhyuk stepped forward, the stone floor glowing beneath each step he took as if acknowledging his blood, his soul, or perhaps the piece of eternity that slept within him. The others stayed at the edge of the light, uncertain whether they were meant to follow.
"I go alone," Jinhyuk said without turning. "This trial is mine."
Hayeon frowned. "You don't know what lies ahead."
He paused. "I know enough."
With that, he crossed the threshold.
The world twisted again.
One moment he stood in the ancient temple; the next, he found himself suspended in a vast void. There was no sky, no ground—only floating fragments of memory and light, all circling a great flame that blazed without heat.
The Keeper's voice echoed.
"This is the Heart of the Gate. You stand within your own soul."
"Here, you will face yourself. Your truths, your lies, your past."
Jinhyuk turned as visions flickered around him.
He saw a boy—skinny, trembling in the rain, kneeling before his dying master. A promise made with blood. A sword held too tightly in hands too young.
Another vision: the arena. His first life. The jeers of nobles as he was thrown to monsters for sport. Then silence. And flame.
A third memory: his reincarnation. Awakening in the mortal world. Alone again, but this time, with purpose. With knowledge.
"I remember it all," he said softly. "Why show me this?"
"Because remembering isn't understanding," came the Keeper's answer.
A shape formed before him—his own reflection. But twisted.
This Jinhyuk wore a cruel smirk, his eyes empty of warmth, his blade dripping with unseen blood.
"I am who you could have become," the figure said. "Without the people who softened you. Without your harem of fools. Without weakness."
Jinhyuk narrowed his eyes. "You think compassion is weakness?"
"No," the shade said. "But it is a weight. And it will break you."
The two charged.
Steel clashed in the void, each strike sending ripples through the infinite space. The doppelgänger moved with deadly precision—every motion flawless, every parry brutal.
But Jinhyuk wasn't the same swordsman he'd once been.
He flowed like water, his techniques adapted and forged through battles not only of strength, but of bonds. His strikes weren't just instinct—they were driven by memory.
By Hayeon's fire.
By Jinbi's laughter.
By Nari's stubborn pride.
By all those who walked his path with him.
He caught the reflection's blade mid-swing and twisted, slamming his elbow into its face. The doppelgänger stumbled, and Jinhyuk followed with a surge of silver flame bursting from his palm.
The void blazed.
His darker self screamed as it was consumed, burning in silence until it faded into ash.
Then, stillness.
The Keeper's voice returned, more distant this time.
"You have faced your shadow. You are ready."
From the center of the void, the silver flame dimmed and condensed, forming a seed—a crystal pulsing with ancient power.
Jinhyuk reached for it.
The moment his fingers touched the seed, a flood of knowledge surged into him. Symbols. Maps. Techniques long lost. The true name of the Gate.
The truth of what lay sealed beyond it.
> The End of the Martial World was not war. It was imbalance. When the Gate opened the first time, the mortal plane touched something divine. Too divine. A flame that did not belong here.
The Ashen Cloud Sect sealed it using the lives of ten thousand disciples.
That seal is weakening.
Jinhyuk gasped and clutched his head as images screamed through his skull—beasts beyond understanding, realms collapsing, sects kneeling in despair.
And then, a woman's voice—soft, familiar, and warm.
"You are not alone."
He recognized it. The silver flame. The soul of the Gate. It had a will, and it had chosen him.
When Jinhyuk awoke, he was back in the temple, lying on the cold stone floor. The others surrounded him, worry etched into every face.
"What happened?" Hayeon whispered.
He sat up slowly, eyes glowing faintly silver for a moment.
"We have a problem," he said.
"What kind of problem?" Nari asked.
"The seal…" He clenched his fist. "It's not going to hold."
Silence fell over them like a blade.
Jinbi broke it with a weak laugh. "Of course it's not. You always attract apocalypse-level problems."
But Jinhyuk didn't smile.
Because this time, the apocalypse had a name.
And it was coming.
As they exited the temple, the sky had changed. Clouds churned unnaturally above. The wind carried whispers.
The Gate had stirred.