The road to Broken Moon City was buried in myth and dust.
No map marked its location. No merchant dared speak its name aloud. But those who had once been cast aside—the forgotten, the broken, the slaves—knew it by instinct.
For it was said that deep beneath a ruined crescent temple, behind the veil of abandoned valleys, a city still burned.
A city of furnaces that never died.
Lin Yan and Yan Ruo traveled through desolate lands, crossing forgotten ravines and skeletal forests.
Along the way, signs whispered in code—charcoal marks on stone, crescent sigils etched in trees, and lanterns that burned with inverted flame.
Each was a message.
Each a test.
And each one led them closer.
At the edge of a black river, they met an old man stirring a pot of bones.
His eyes were blind, but when Lin Yan stepped forward, the man smiled.
"Ashes. Ashes in your breath."
"You carry the Queen's scent."
Yan Ruo stepped forward cautiously. "You know of her?"
The old man nodded.
"I cooked for her once. A stew of marrow and rebellion."
He reached into the fire with bare hands and pulled out a charred scroll.
"Give this to the gate. It will not open for blood, only for memory."
Two days later, they arrived.
Broken Moon.
Or rather, what was left of it.
Half the city was buried beneath a landslide. Towers jutted from the rubble like severed limbs. But in the surviving half, lights still flickered. People moved. Not many—but enough.
At the gate, masked guards stood in silence.
Lin Yan handed over the scroll.
One read it. Eyes widened.
"You bear her legacy. You may enter."
And with a groan of ancient gears, the gates parted.
The city wasn't large—but it lived.
Dozens of survivors wandered the streets. Some cultivators, others former slaves, lost disciples, crippled geniuses. All bore scars. All wore brands—faded, burned over, or carved into bone.
Here, scars weren't shame.
They were banners.
Yan Ruo's breath caught. "I never thought it was real."
"It is," Lin Yan whispered. "And maybe… it's our beginning."
They were led to the Ash Throne Hall—a simple stone room built around a pyre that had burned for fifty years without ever dying.
There, an old woman waited.
Her back was bent, her skin like bark, but her eyes…
Her eyes were fire.
She studied Lin Yan for a long time.
"You carry the Codex," she said.
He nodded.
"You walk the Reversed Path."
He nodded again.
"Then listen well, Lin Yan," she said, voice hardening. "You are not the only one rising."
She pointed to the flames.
"Shi Lanyue builds an army."
"Not to rule… but to cleanse. To wipe us out completely."
Lin Yan's jaw tightened.
"I won't let her."
The old woman smiled.
"Good. Then it's time you met the others."
The pyre behind her flared.
And from the side rooms emerged eight figures, cloaked and marked.
Some burned.
Some bled.
All had walked through fire.
And one of them, a girl with mismatched eyes, stepped forward and said:
"We've been waiting for someone to lead."
"Are you him?"