The bell was silent now.
Jin carried it in his pocket, wrapped in a strip of cloth torn from the robes of the girl who once wore it. Each step away from that battlefield felt like a betrayal. Each breath was heavier than the last.
But there was no time to mourn.
The next trial loomed.
Below them stretched the Forgotten Sea—an inland ocean trapped in the throat of the world, where sunlight never touched and dead gods whispered through tides that had not shifted in eons.
The Crown's path was clear now. They were raising ancient Heralds to intercept him—twisting his past, forging his pain into weapons.
And according to Qilin, the next fragment of the Crown's core lay hidden beneath this sea, guarded by something older than history itself.
Jin stood at the precipice of the Black Cliffs, overlooking the inky waters. No waves. No wind. Just stillness.
And a scent like rust and blood.
"This place was once sacred," Qilin murmured, standing beside him. Her eyes reflected the void. "Now it's a graveyard."
Jin stepped forward.
"Then it's the perfect place for me."
They didn't sail.
There were no boats left that braved this place. Instead, they descended on foot—stone stairs spiraling down the cliffs, slick with salt that had never dried.
Halfway down, the whispers began.
Voices that weren't their own.
"You left her."
"Ten thousand years, and nothing changed."
"You bury the world with every step."
Jin ignored them.
They weren't just illusions. They were echoes—residue from those who had come here before and never returned. Their regrets hung in the air like fog.
At the base, the path ended at a stone pier jutting into the blackness.
Qilin frowned. "No boat. Just water."
Jin stepped onto the pier.
And the water began to recede.
Qilin gasped.
The ocean drained.
Not completely—but the surface split, pulled back like curtains to reveal a sunken spiral staircase descending into the abyss. The stairs were etched in scales, pulsing faintly.
"This isn't natural," she said.
"No," Jin replied. "It's alive."
The descent felt endless.
They spiraled down through flesh and stone, the very air vibrating with ancient heartbeat rhythms. Walls of bone and coral surrounded them. Strange fish with human teeth watched from cracks in the walls.
Then, finally, they reached it.
A cathedral of bone and water.
Massive ribs arched overhead. The floor was a mirror of black glass, beneath which a serpentine shape coiled in restless sleep.
At the center stood a stone altar.
And atop it—a fragment of the Hollow Crown.
Jin stepped forward.
The sea groaned.
The air thickened.
And from the depths below the glass, it opened its eye.
The Leviathan had awakened.
There was no roar.
Only a shift.
The water above trembled.
Then—eruption.
The black glass shattered as a tidal wave of pressure exploded upward. Jin shielded Qilin with a sweep of his cloak as a mouth the size of a city surged toward them, lined with teeth like obsidian towers.
The Leviathan was not a beast.
It was a continent of hunger.
Jin activated Graveheart Flux, drawing power from the bones in the walls. Glyphs spiraled across his arms, condensing his aura.
"Qilin," he said.
"Yes?"
"If I die, bury me in silence."
She smirked despite the rising doom. "You'll have to do better than dying if you want silence from me."
The Leviathan struck.
Jin leapt skyward, dragging its force with him.
His blade, Nihil, flared with ghostlight.
He carved a path through collapsing air, slicing through one of its teeth. The beast recoiled—not from pain, but confusion. Nothing had wounded it in centuries.
It responded with pressure.
Not an attack.
A truth.
Jin gasped, mind flooding with visions:
Planets swallowed whole.
A civilization that worshipped the Leviathan as a god.
Betrayal by the Hollow Crown, binding it to eternal sleep.
And now?
Now it would devour everything to escape that cage.
The fragment on the altar pulsed.
This wasn't just a test.
This was bait.
The Crown wanted him here.
And he had already taken the first bite.
Qilin summoned her storm-kissed glaive, leaping into battle beside him. "Aim for the spine!" she yelled.
"Find it first!"
Together, they danced between fangs and tides, slicing through currents that moved like living razors. The cathedral collapsed around them. Bones cracked. The water boiled.
Jin summoned the Ten Thousand Dead Hands, a forbidden technique he had not used since the tomb-city of Kaeru. Skeletal arms rose from every surface, dragging the beast's head downward.
He flew toward the altar.
His hand closed around the fragment.
A shockwave erupted.
His mind cracked.
He saw her again.
Not Mei.
Not Qilin.
But the one who first taught him to cultivate in the darkness—the Pale Empress.
Her face was stitched with shadow. Her voice echoed in the ruins of his soul.
"You took the first step," she whispered. "Now take the last."
Jin screamed, body convulsing.
The fragment sank into his chest, fusing with his core.
His aura exploded.
When the light cleared, he floated above the Leviathan—eyes glowing, blade transformed again.
It was no longer Nihil.
It was Mourningfang.
A weapon that remembered every death he'd witnessed.
The Leviathan roared, rising for a final attack.
Jin held Mourningfang with both hands.
And spoke a name.
"Lethe Break."
The blade sang.
The sea parted.
The Leviathan's body twisted violently, its spine erupting in spectral fire. It thrashed—then stilled.
Not dead.
But dreaming again.
Jin descended slowly, blood leaking from his eyes.
Qilin caught him. "You're pushing too far."
He nodded.
"I have to."
She hesitated.
"There's something else. In the vision—I saw her."
"The Pale Empress?"
"No," Jin whispered. "The Crown's heart."
Qilin's expression darkened.
"Where?"
He looked up.
And pointed to the stars.