The snowfall deepened as Mo Lianyin walked away from the Hidden Ash Sect.
His black robes fluttered like torn silk in the wind, the cold clinging to him like memory.
He didn't look back. Not once. Because there was nothing left behind him worth remembering.
Only ashes.
Only silence.
But even silence has a sound.
Each crunch beneath his boots echoed through the valley, through the years of pain he buried beneath his calm.
His sword was sealed once more, vanishing into the jade pendant that hung from his neck—a gift from someone long gone.
His qi pulsed steadily now, more stable than ever. Stronger. Fiercer.
Because he no longer feared himself.
Because now he knew:
He was never cursed.
He was chosen.
---
He arrived at a frozen lake three days later.
It was still. Untouched. The sky was iron-grey, the kind of color that hid sorrow behind its stillness.
Here, the wind spoke in voices.
He kneeled at the lake's edge, dipping his fingers into the cold water beneath the ice.
The water shimmered faintly, and the reflection that stared back at him wasn't his own.
It was a boy with silver eyes and long ink-dark hair, seated in lotus position across the surface.
"You broke the seal."
Lianyin didn't blink. "You knew I would."
The boy in the reflection gave a slight smile. It was strange—beautiful and terrifying, like watching a blade be born.
"You burned the gate, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"And Bohai?"
"Defeated."
The boy leaned forward. "Then you're ready."
A pause.
"…Ready for what?"
"The return." The silver-eyed boy's gaze darkened. "You've walked the path of silence, but now you must walk the path of fire. The ones who wronged you are just the beginning."
Lianyin narrowed his eyes. "Who are you really?"
The reflection smiled, then spoke three words.
"I am you."
The lake shivered. Cracks webbed across the ice. Mo Lianyin's heart skipped once.
Then the image vanished.
---
He stayed by the lake that night, sleeping beneath the frost-covered boughs of an ancient tree.
There were dreams—half-formed visions of temples buried in snow, of voices crying out beneath a blood moon.
Of a phoenix… burning in reverse.
He woke before dawn.
And someone was waiting.
---
A man stood at the edge of the lake, clothed in grey robes, with a wide-brimmed hat hiding most of his face.
But his aura was unmistakable—quiet, restrained, like a dagger sheathed behind silk.
"Mo Lianyin," the man said. "Your name spreads faster than wildfire these days."
Lianyin didn't rise. "Who are you?"
The man tilted his head. "A traveler. A seeker. One who's been waiting for the phoenix child to awaken."
At that, Lianyin did rise.
The man continued, "I bring a message—from someone who once watched over you, from afar."
Lianyin frowned. "No one watched over me."
"Not in the ways you wanted. But in the shadows, we saw. We knew what you were."
He stepped closer, and tossed something toward Lianyin.
It was a seal—round, metallic, old. The sigil of a sect long erased from the records.
Lianyin caught it, examining the symbol.
A crescent moon pierced by seven arrows.
"…The Sect of the Crimson Echo," he said, voice low.
"So you remember."
"That sect was destroyed centuries ago."
The man smiled beneath his hat. "No. It went into hiding. And now… it's ready to rise again."
---
They sat together at the lake's edge as the sun broke through the snow-heavy clouds.
The man spoke softly, telling Lianyin about a gathering—deep in the west, past the broken bridges of Qianzhou, where survivors of exiled bloodlines and forbidden arts were calling themselves The Last Flame.
"The world thinks us scattered," the man said. "But you lit the first spark. And the old ones are watching now."
"What do they want from me?" Lianyin asked.
"They want you to lead."
A beat of silence passed.
"I'm not a leader," Lianyin said.
"You burned a sect to the ground with nothing but truth and a sword."
"That wasn't leadership. That was revenge."
"And yet every exile, every outcast, every child branded cursed will know your name by spring."
Lianyin stared at the rising sun. "And if I refuse?"
The man looked up. "Then the flame will wait. But not forever."
He stood, brushing snow from his robes.
"When the moon turns crimson in the southern sky, find the Forest of Shattered Stars. We'll be waiting."
Then he vanished.
---
Alone again, Mo Lianyin sat beneath the tree, the metal seal still warm in his hand.
For the first time in years, he didn't feel alone.
For the first time in years, the wind didn't feel cruel.
He closed his eyes—and somewhere in his core, he felt it:
A flicker.
A flame.
A future not yet written.