The star did not fall.
It descended.
Like a god arriving late to its own funeral.
Ren Zhe watched from the broken steps of the Monastery of Falling Stars, eyes narrowed as the burning mass tore through the clouds, dragging its chains like celestial serpents. Each link glowed with ancient runes. Each rune screamed in languages no longer spoken.
Meimei dropped to her knees. "What the hell is that?"
The Echo answered quietly. "A prison."
"A prison for what?"
"For someone like us."
The chained star struck the far side of the mountain.
The earth wept.
Not cracked. Not trembled.
Wept.
The wind carried a single, long moan through the dead monastery. The echo of something that should have never been set free.
Ren Zhe didn't wait.
He ran toward it.
They reached the crater in minutes—Ren Zhe's feet barely touched the ground, gliding across rock and ice. Meimei followed, staggering behind. The Echo stayed silent, walking as if gravity meant nothing to him.
The chained star still burned in the crater.
Only now… it was opening.
Like a flower.
Petals of flame peeled away, revealing a sphere of black stone. Its surface was etched with seals so old they predated the first cultivation scripts. Some flickered. Some blinked out.
One by one.
Ren Zhe raised a hand.
The moment he did, the last seal shattered.
A shadow stepped forward.
Tall. Humanoid. No face. Just a smooth obsidian mask, carved with vertical lines like tears. It wore no robes, but its body was draped in mourning silks that danced without wind.
And in its hand—
A mirror.
Cracked. Reflective. Alive.
Meimei gasped.
The Echo stepped back.
Ren Zhe didn't move.
The figure lifted its mirror.
Spoke a single word.
And the world shuddered.
Meanwhile, in the Imperial Capital...
The Empress stood before her dragon-throned dais, head bowed. Her court remained silent as the sky cracked open above them.
A minister spoke hesitantly. "My Lady… the stars are bleeding."
"They always do," she whispered. "When the Black Mirrors awaken."
Another voice entered the chamber—cold, serpentine.
"It saw him, didn't it?"
A man entered, his robes black with green trim, his skin translucent like oil over water.
The Empress nodded.
"He's awakened too many echoes. Stirred too much silence. The chainborn responded."
The man chuckled. "Then we must act."
The Empress turned, and for the first time, her mask slipped—revealing ancient eyes that remembered the grave.
"Unleash the Ashen Choir."
Back at the Crater...
The figure with the mirror walked toward Ren Zhe.
It didn't fly. It didn't flash step.
It simply was.
Here. Then there. Then closer.
Ren Zhe felt every part of his body scream at once.
Not pain.
Recognition.
"I know you," he said.
The Echo whispered, "You should. It judged you once."
The figure lifted the mirror again.
This time, it reflected Ren Zhe's grave.
The ten thousand years.
The rot. The silence. The madness.
Then the image changed.
It showed a city burning.
A tower falling.
A child weeping—Meimei—dragged through the streets.
And Ren Zhe's body, twisted with black vines, standing atop a mountain of corpses.
"Lies," he snarled.
The figure tilted its head.
"No," the Echo said. "Possibilities."
Suddenly, the figure moved.
The mirror struck Ren Zhe.
It didn't cut.
It didn't burn.
It peeled.
His soul split.
For one impossible second, Ren Zhe was two people.
The man who had suffered.
And the man who had caused suffering.
He screamed—and the monastery behind him echoed the cry.
Stone shattered. The pillars exploded.
Meimei rushed forward.
"ZHE!"
She grabbed his hand.
And the light broke.
Time stopped.
Ren Zhe stood in a white void.
Alone.
Except he wasn't.
Across from him stood another Ren Zhe—one with cold eyes, a golden crown of bone, and chains wrapped around his forearms.
"You're the monster," he said.
"I'm the truth," the figure replied.
They clashed.
Blade against blade—though neither carried a sword.
Every strike was made of memory.
Of guilt.
Of rage.
Ren Zhe was thrown back—again and again. He remembered burying his own master. Slaughtering men who had once called him brother. Choosing silence over salvation.
"I'm not him," he said.
The figure walked toward him.
"You were always him."
And then—
A whisper in the void.
Meimei's voice.
You're more than your pain. You're more than their betrayal.
He stood.
And he fought.
Back in the crater, Ren Zhe's body convulsed.
Then stilled.
He opened his eyes.
They were not silver.
They were void-black—like the grave.
The chainborn stepped back.
The Echo smiled.
"Now you see."
Ren Zhe rose.
His voice echoed across the mountains.
"I was never just the buried. I was the keeper of the buried. I am the silence beneath your prayers."
He reached out.
And shattered the mirror.
The chainborn howled—for the first time.
Not in rage.
In fear.
Far away, in a monastery hidden beneath a desert of salt, a bell rang for the first time in ten thousand years.
A blind monk opened his eyes.
"He has awakened."
Ren Zhe turned to Meimei.
She stared, stunned.
"You…"
"I'm still me," he said. "But more."
The Echo tilted its head. "You've reclaimed your first shard. There are five more."
Ren Zhe nodded.
"And the Empress?"
"She knows."
"Then let her send everything."
He looked at the sky, where stars now flickered with unease.
"I will show them what the grave taught me."