Far beneath the surface of Central Continent, in the vault-catacombs beneath an ancient sect's ancestor hall, the Ancestor Tablet bled starlight.
Old patriarchs stirred in their tombs, not waking, but rustling in their sleep. A dream passed between them—a dream of forgetting.
The tablet itself wept light down the engraved names of ancestors.
The final name flickered: Fang Yuan.
Then it vanished.
Above ground, those who prayed before the tablet found their thoughts clouded. A girl forgot her master's face. A sect elder forgot his oaths.
And a wandering scholar, seeing the light spill from the cracks, whispered:
"A will that threads nothing. A name that undoes memory."
Even Star Constellation's Immortal Tomb did not remain still.
The land spirit fragment, asleep for so long, stirred within a sealed dream array. It dreamed not of stars, but of steps—one taken, and never recorded.
It dreamed of the Threadless Path.
And in its dream, it feared.