---
The dawn bled slowly across the skies, painting the misty cliffs of the Jade Serpent Branch in pale gold.
Lian Yu hadn't slept. She had returned from the cliffside meditation hours ago, yet rest had refused her. Her thoughts tangled and twisted, replaying the strange pulse she had felt in the sea—the name she had whispered without understanding.
Ash.
She sat on the edge of her bed, boots still on, hair uncombed, eyes haunted.
The sect bell rang for morning duties.
She flinched.
> I should say nothing. This is probably nothing.
But her heart told her otherwise.
---
Summoned by the Elder
As she stepped into the courtyard, she found Elder Ning already waiting under the peach tree.
He did not speak immediately. His gaze lingered on the sea beyond the cliffs, as though he, too, had felt something stir.
"You did not return to your quarters on time," he said at last.
"I stayed by the sea, cultivating," she replied, trying to keep her voice even.
The elder studied her face.
"Did you… feel anything strange?"
Lian Yu's hands clenched slightly.
"A ripple. A sense that something was… waking. I thought I was imagining it."
Elder Ning's lips thinned.
"Come. You will speak the rest inside."
---
[The Hall of Tranquil Flames]
They descended deeper into the sect's restricted grounds—an area Lian Yu had only glimpsed once from afar.
The Hall of Tranquil Flames was a chamber older than the sect itself, carved from obsidian-black jade, pulsing faintly with spiritual light. The air was dense with sealing formations—ancient, interlocking, undisturbed for generations.
In the center stood a single altar, upon which rested a cracked stone tablet.
Hairline, almost invisible—but present.
"Do you know what this is?" the elder asked.
Lian Yu shook her head, gaze drawn to the crack.
"It records disturbances in a seal beneath the Southern Trident Sea," Elder Ning said grimly. "A seal laid by hands lost to time. Even our sect is not permitted to speak its origins. We only guard its echoes."
She swallowed. "And it cracked?"
"Only a ripple. Barely a breath. But that is still more than it should be."
He turned to her fully now.
"And you. You felt something before this crack appeared?"
"Yes. I… spoke a name. It came to me, unbidden. Ash."
The elder stiffened.
"Do not speak it again," he said sharply. "Names are power. Especially names tied to places the heavens have tried to forget."
---
[Tale of the Drowned Flame]
Lian Yu hesitated. "But who—what—was he?"
The elder's eyes remained distant.
"Once, there were cultivators who tried to climb beyond the heavens—not by harmony, but through defiance. One of them bore a flame that mourned the heavens themselves—a Dao that wept, and raged, and refused to submit."
He stepped closer to the altar.
"They say he burned entire teachings away. That the very laws bent before his fury. But in the end, even he was bound—not by men, but by a collective will. It took every continent's ancestors to seal him beneath the sea."
Lian Yu's breath caught. "And now he stirs again?"
"No. He is gone," Ning replied, but his voice lacked conviction. "The seal remains. The crack is nothing more than… a memory surfacing."
Lian Yu didn't believe him. And she could tell he didn't believe himself either.
---
Elsewhere, Below
The sea stirred.
Not violently. Not yet.
But the bones of long-dead beasts shifted against the sand. Algae bloomed where no sunlight should reach. A pearl, trapped beneath coral, glowed faintly in the dark.
From the center of the formation meant to bury history—a faint hum answered the ripple.
The Mourning Flame had remembered.
And it would not sleep forever.
---
[The Mirror's Message]
Later that evening, Lian Yu returned to her quarters. The wind outside had risen, rustling the lanterns and making the peach blossoms tremble.
She poured water into her basin, ready to wash her face—but paused.
The bronze mirror on her wall… was not as she left it.
Its surface shimmered. Light refracted oddly, bending like liquid.
And then words appeared—not carved, not painted, but reflected in blood-red glow.
> Do not forget him.
Her hand trembled.
The message burned into her eyes, yet when she blinked, it vanished.
Gone. As if never there.
But her heart now raced—not in confusion, but in recognition.
---
A Whisper in the Wind
She sat by the window, trying to steady her breath. But the world outside felt changed.
She could no longer pretend.
Something was awakening.
And for reasons she couldn't name, it wanted her to remember.
---