The Vale of Hollow Bones stretched out like a graveyard of forgotten gods, a place where the air itself seemed steeped in sorrow. The wind, cold and unyielding, whispered through the skeletal trees, their twisted branches like the fingers of the dead reaching for something they could never hold. The ground beneath Rin Xie's feet was soft, unnaturally so, as though it held the weight of every soul that had perished here. The land wept in silence, its very essence mourning the lost hopes of those who had failed in their pursuit of immortality.
Rin walked slowly, each step a reminder of his own brokenness. His body was weary from the battles at the Tower of Echoes, his muscles aching with exhaustion, yet it was not his body that felt heavy. His soul was crushed under the weight of something far darker, something intangible that lingered at the edges of his mind. It was as though the Keeper's gaze still held him in its unyielding grip, pulling him toward something he could not yet understand.
The Vale, however, was not a place for understanding. It was a place for the broken, the forgotten, the remnants of those who had tried to defy the natural order and failed. And now, their pain was etched into the very earth, an indelible scar in the fabric of existence.
The landscape before him was littered with the remains of fallen cultivators. Corpses, their faces frozen in expressions of horror, lay half-buried in the soft earth, their bodies twisted in unnatural contortions. The stench of death was suffocating, a thick, cloying fog that seemed to seep into his lungs with every breath. Yet it was not the scent of death that made his heart heavy—it was the sense of despair that hung in the air, thick and palpable, like an oppressive fog that refused to lift.
Rin stopped before one of the mass graves, his heart pounding in his chest. The earth here was scarred, as though something had torn through it, leaving behind only the hollow remnants of those who had perished. His eyes scanned the site, and for a brief moment, he felt as though something was watching him—a presence lingering just beyond the edge of his perception. It was faint, like a whisper carried on the wind, but it was enough to send a shiver down his spine.
As he knelt down to inspect the grave, a strange sensation washed over him. The bones of the dead seemed to tremble, as though they were alive with some twisted form of regret. He reached out, his fingers brushing the fragments of bone, and felt a surge of cold seep into his skin, crawling through his veins like a poison.
Then, he heard it.
A voice, faint but unmistakable, echoed through the silence. It was not a voice of flesh, but of the soul—an intangible wail of sorrow that seemed to reverberate through the very fabric of reality. The sound was both distant and near, a cruel reminder of what had been lost. And then, as if guided by some unseen force, Rin reached into the grave, his fingers curling around a shard of bone that seemed to pulse with the weight of the spirit bound within it.
For a moment, nothing happened. The grave was still, the wind ceased, and Rin's breath came in shallow gasps. But then, it was as though the earth itself began to shift. The bone he held began to vibrate, and with it, the very air around him trembled. A pulse of energy, cold and sharp, surged through his body, and for the briefest of moments, Rin felt as though he was drowning in the pain of the dead. It was the pain of lives lost too soon, of aspirations crushed under the weight of failure, of dreams that had shattered into nothingness.
His Death Core trembled in his chest, reacting to the surge of energy. It was as if the very essence of death itself had reached out to touch him, and for a moment, Rin could not tell where the corpse's pain ended and his own began.
And then, he understood.
The Keeper had shown him this place, for a reason. The dead here were not merely forgotten—they were echoes, whispers of lives that had not yet found peace. The Vale of Hollow Bones was not just a graveyard; it was a repository of unfinished deaths. Cultivators who had failed in their quest for immortality had left behind not just their corpses, but their regrets, their sorrows, their very essence. This place was not just a grave—it was a wellspring of emotional death.
Rin's mind raced. He could feel the resonance of these lost souls in the marrow of his bones, could sense their lingering anguish. There was power here, untapped and raw. Power that could fuel his cultivation.
With a sudden surge of clarity, Rin closed his eyes and focused inward. The grief, the sorrow, the pain—it all swirled around him, each emotion a dark current that threatened to consume him. But he did not shy away. He did not retreat. Instead, he embraced it.
Grief Reclamation.
He whispered the words in his mind, the name of the technique he had just unlocked. It was an ability born not of flesh, but of spirit—a technique that allowed him to absorb the emotional death that lingered in the world around him, to refine it into power. His Death Core thrummed violently in his chest, and for a moment, it felt as though his very heart would explode from the force of the surge.
But Rin did not falter. He drew the grief of the dead into himself, channeling it into his core. He felt it twist and writhe, a chaotic force that sought to overwhelm him. Yet, he remained resolute. With every breath, he refined the sorrow, distilled it into something he could control, something that would make him stronger.
The world around him seemed to fade away as he concentrated, each moment stretching into infinity as he poured the grief of the dead into his core. His body burned, his spirit strained under the weight of the emotions he was absorbing, but it was not a pain that would break him. It was a pain that would make him.
The core trembled again, this time with more force, and Rin felt something shift within him. It was subtle, like the soft crack of a bone breaking, but it was there—his core had evolved, had absorbed the grief, and had transformed it into power.
Rin opened his eyes, his body slick with sweat, his breath shallow. But there was no longer any doubt in his mind. He had gained something new. Something dangerous.
Grief Reclamation.
He could now absorb the emotional deaths of others, channel their sorrow, their regrets, their unfulfilled desires, into his own being. And through this, he could grow stronger. More powerful.
But the price of this ability was not lost on him. Every emotion he consumed would leave a mark on his soul. Every bit of grief, every ounce of sorrow, would be etched into the very fabric of his being. And once he started down this path, there would be no turning back.
Rin's thoughts flickered, and for a brief moment, a memory—distant, buried deep within his mind—began to surface. A woman's voice, soft and sweet, singing a lullaby. The image of a cradle, not of wood, but of bone, rocking gently in the wind.
He shook his head, trying to dispel the memory. There was no time for such distractions. Not now. Not when he was so close to understanding the true nature of death.
But still, it lingered at the edges of his mind, a whispering echo he could not quite reach.
With a final glance at the mass grave, Rin turned away, the weight of the dead still pressing on his soul. He had refined their grief, but he knew that his journey was far from over. The Vale had shown him one path, but there were many more ahead—each fraught with its own trials, its own pain. And each would bring him closer to his ultimate goal: the destruction of the heavens and the breaking of the cycle of immortality.
The echoes of the dead followed him, their sorrow woven into the very fabric of his being. But Rin Xie was no longer just a man. He was something more—something forged in the fire of grief, something that would never stop refining.
And the end was coming.
To be continued…