Chapter Seventeen – Return of the Voidborn
The mist over the Obsidian Bone Forest had thinned to a ghostly veil, but the silence that followed the storm was worse than any roar.
All across the sect ridge, disciples stared wide-eyed at the charred valley below. The black pillar of light that had torn through the heavens minutes before was gone, leaving behind only the faint shimmer of energy that refused to disperse.
Whispers rippled through the crowd like wildfire.
"What happened in there?"
"Did the forest explode?"
"No one's ever lasted this long. He's… he's still alive, isn't he?"
Fear and disbelief mingled in their voices. Even the proud scions of major families—disciples who had mocked Jesse Jordan just days ago—found their laughter hollow. They could feel it: something in the forest had changed. Something ancient had stirred.
At the front, Elder Morris stood motionless, his eyes closed, his spirit sense extended deep into the valley. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, heavy with meaning.
"The heart of the forest has fallen silent," he murmured. "And yet… something new breathes in its place."
Beside him, Elder Ryn scoffed, though the tremor in his voice betrayed unease. "A trick of death qi. That boy is long dead. No mortal body could withstand such force."
Morris didn't respond. He only stared at the forest with an expression that hovered between awe and dread.
---
Below, deep within the dying mist, a single figure stirred.
Jesse Jordan rose from the cracked soil like a revenant. His robes were torn beyond repair, his flesh streaked with blood and ash, but his eyes burned with twin lights—one jade, one black. They flickered faintly as he drew breath, the glow fading with every heartbeat until his gaze returned to normal.
He had returned to himself. Barely.
The fractured sword floated beside him, now half-sheathed in an aura of shadow and light. When he reached out, it settled into his palm as if it belonged there. Voidfang hummed low, a steady rhythm that matched the beat of his heart.
The temple behind him collapsed into dust. Chains broke, runes faded, and the ground swallowed the ruins whole. The Obsidian Bone Forest began to crumble around him, the death qi dispersing like smoke before the wind.
The trial was over.
But Jesse knew this was only the first of many.
He turned his gaze skyward, where faint rays of dawn cut through the lingering mist. "Forward," he whispered.
The sword pulsed once in agreement.
And then, step by step, Jesse began the long walk back toward the sect.
---
Hours later, the forest edge stirred.
A rustle of leaves announced him before his figure emerged through the mist. His pace was slow, deliberate, but every step carried a subtle weight that made the air tremble.
The first disciple to spot him froze mid-sentence. "I–is that…?"
The others turned. When they saw him, the chatter died instantly.
Jesse Jordan, who had entered the Obsidian Bone Forest three days ago—a death sentence disguised as trial—was walking back alive.
His robes hung in tatters, his skin smeared with soot, and his eyes dark with exhaustion. Yet his presence pressed against the onlookers like invisible gravity. The faint hum of qi around him was thicker, denser, darker than anything an outer disciple should possess.
He passed them in silence. No swagger. No arrogance. Just quiet certainty.
The disciples shrank back instinctively, none daring to block his path.
"He… survived…" one whispered.
"That's impossible."
"The forest's curse should've—"
Their voices trailed off as Jesse's gaze brushed them, cold and unreadable. For the first time, they saw not the orphan they used to mock—but something else entirely.
Something becoming.
---
At the ridge, the elders gathered as Jesse reached the clearing.
Elder Ryn's face twisted with disbelief. "Impossible! His qi… it's changed."
Elder Morris stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "So you return from the forest of bones, boy. Speak—what did you find within?"
Jesse met the elder's eyes. "Death," he said simply. "And what comes after it."
Murmurs rippled through the assembly. The elders exchanged wary glances. Even the Sect Master, who had remained silent until now, leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening.
"You survived ten days within the Obsidian Bone Forest," the Sect Master said. "Few in this generation could claim such. Do you understand what this means?"
Jesse bowed slightly. "That I live when others should not."
The Sect Master studied him for a long, tense moment. "And what of the forest's disturbance? The black flame that reached the heavens?"
"I faced its source," Jesse replied. "A beast born of death qi. It fell. The forest's corruption died with it."
"Convenient," Elder Ryn muttered. "And the relics you carry—this sword—"
He reached forward, extending a hand toward Voidfang. The blade twitched, releasing a faint pulse of warning. The air around Ryn warped, and the elder flinched, his outstretched hand recoiling as if burned.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Elder Morris's lips curved faintly. "It does not tolerate unworthy hands. Perhaps leave it be."
Ryn scowled. "That weapon is dangerous. It hums with demonic qi!"
"It hums with balance," Morris corrected. "Death and life intertwined. A resonance not seen since the Emperor's age."
The Sect Master's eyes lingered on Jesse for a long moment before he spoke again. "The forest trial was meant to judge you. Instead, it has awakened something greater. Whether that proves curse or blessing remains to be seen."
He turned slightly, his tone shifting from command to decree. "Henceforth, Jesse Jordan shall no longer be counted among the outer disciples. From this day forward, he will train under Elder Morris as an initiate of the Inner Court."
The words struck like lightning.
The crowd erupted.
"What?! He's just an orphan!"
"This is favoritism!"
"He defied the elders' will!"
But none dared say it too loudly. The Sect Master's gaze silenced them one by one.
Jesse bowed, the motion sharp and precise. "I accept."
Morris placed a hand on his shoulder, his tone unreadable. "Then let us see how long you can endure the light you've awakened."
---
That night, the sect buzzed with rumors.
In the disciples' dormitories, conversations turned fevered and fearful. Some called Jesse a monster. Others whispered that he had made a pact with devils. None dared confront him directly.
And in the quiet of the infirmary, Ken Miles sat bandaged and pale, staring out at the distant mountains where the black pillar had vanished. His wounds had healed, but his pride had not.
"He returned," he whispered, voice raw. "They call him a hero now."
Den Miles, standing nearby, hesitated. "Brother, the elders named him Inner Court. Even the Sect Master—"
Ken's hand shot out, gripping Den's collar with terrifying strength. His eyes burned with madness. "I don't care if the heavens crown him! I'll bury him myself."
He shoved Den aside, breathing hard. "No one humiliates me before her eyes and walks away. I'll drag him from his pedestal, even if it kills me."
Outside, thunder rumbled.
---
In another corner of the sect, Elder Morris stood within his private hall, facing Jesse. A single lantern burned between them, its flame casting long shadows across the walls.
"You've changed," Morris said finally. "Even your shadow feels heavier."
Jesse sat cross-legged, silent, the fractured sword resting across his lap. Its glow was faint now, subdued, but alive.
"I saw things in the forest," he said quietly. "Memories that weren't mine. A temple of bone, a woman made of stars, and… the Emperor's voice."
Morris's eyes narrowed. "The Void Emperor?"
Jesse nodded. "He said the Sutra isn't ascension—it's descent."
The elder exhaled slowly. "Then it is true. You walk a path older than the sect itself. The Ninefold Void Sutra was thought lost for ten millennia. If you have seen its master… the heavens will not stay silent."
"I don't care about the heavens," Jesse said flatly. "I only care about never kneeling again."
Morris's lips curved in a faint, grim smile. "Then prepare yourself. The higher you rise, the more the world will demand you bow."
He turned away, his robe whispering softly as he approached the lantern. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow, we begin your training anew. The power you wield now is not yours yet—it's still deciding whether you deserve it."
Jesse glanced at Voidfang. The blade pulsed once, faintly, as if in agreement.
---
Dawn came with cold rain.
Jesse stood alone in the courtyard where he had first found the jade slip. The cracked tiles were slick beneath his boots, and every drop of rain that struck Voidfang hissed softly, steaming away in a faint wisp of mist.
He closed his eyes, letting the storm wash over him. Beneath the sound of rain, he could feel the pulse of the void deep within his core—dark, steady, waiting.
He raised the sword. "Show me," he whispered.
The jade crack glowed faintly, releasing threads of black light that spiraled around his arm. The energy didn't burn or freeze; it balanced. Life and death, light and darkness, merging in perfect rhythm.
The Ninefold Void Sutra stirred in his mind, its second layer unfolding—a formation of stars spinning around an abyss. He began to move, each motion precise, guided by instinct rather than thought. His sword traced arcs through the rain, leaving behind afterimages that flickered between jade and shadow.
The air rippled.
Lightning flashed.
And for an instant, the storm bent around him, raindrops halting midair as though the world itself hesitated to touch his blade.
Then the moment passed.
Jesse exhaled, lowering the sword. The rain resumed, heavier than before. His breath fogged, his limbs trembled, but his eyes burned with quiet fire.
"Second Thread," he murmured. "Complete."
The forest beyond the sect shuddered as if acknowledging his words.
---
High in the Grand Elder Hall, unseen by the disciples below, the Sect Master gazed out the window, his hands clasped behind his back.
"The void stirs again," he said softly. "And this time, it wears the face of a boy."
Elder Ryn scowled. "Then we must crush it before it becomes a threat."
But the Sect Master's gaze remained calm, unreadable. "Perhaps. Or perhaps we will witness the birth of something greater. Either way… the heavens are watching."
Lightning flashed across the peaks, briefly illuminating his face.
"Let them."
---
Far below, Jesse sheathed his sword, the echo of thunder rolling over him. He looked toward the mountains, the rain soaking through his tattered robes.
His body was mortal. His will was not.
And though the path ahead was drenched in shadow, Jesse Jordan walked it without fear—one step closer to the truth buried in the void.