The stone staircase swallowed light as Tian Rui stepped downward, each footfall echoing like the toll of a forgotten bell. The air grew colder, denser, touched by an energy that coiled around his skin like vines from another realm.
Lyen followed silently, steps measured. She hadn't spoken since the duel. He glanced at her more than once, trying to guess if her quiet was respect… or resentment.
Behind them, Veylan's voice carried in a whisper, though they were far ahead.
"Tell me what you feel, Tian Rui."
Tian Rui stopped. His fingers brushed the wall—bone-white stone marked with runes so old they wept faint light.
"It's like… something down here is alive."
"Good," Veylan said, now visible once more, robes unruffled despite the descent. "Your relic responds not just to power, but to truth. And truth always bleeds in places the clans sealed away."
Tian Rui continued down.
The stairway opened into a vast underground chamber—so massive it felt like a canyon carved into the bones of the earth. Glowing roots burst through cracks in the stone, pulsing in rhythm with his relic. In the center stood an altar, made of obsidian and silver, etched with a spiral crest he'd never seen before.
But something inside him had.
He took a step toward it—and froze.
Voices.
Hundreds of them. Not whispers, not madness. Memories.
Falling. Fire. Chains. Screams.
He clutched his head, breath ragged. The relic throbbed like a second heart.
"Tian Rui!" Lyen caught him before he collapsed. "You're syncing too deep. Pull back!"
"I... can't," he choked. "It's showing me—"
Images flashed in his mind: a war in the skies, roots rising to strangle cities, figures with burning eyes holding blades made from living crystal. Then a boy—him—alone, holding a dying woman in his arms. Her face blurred, but familiar.
He gasped, shoving it all away.
Veylan stood at the altar, calm.
"That was a glimpse," he said softly. "Of what once was. And what may come again."
"What the hell was that?" Tian Rui demanded, staggering upright.
Veylan turned to face him. "That was a memory carved into your bloodline. The Fallen Root didn't begin with you—but it may end with you."
Lyen stared. "You think he's the heir?"
"No," Veylan said. "I know he is."
Tian Rui shook his head. "I'm not anyone's heir. I'm not some prophecy."
"No. You're worse," Veylan said darkly. "You're free. And that's what terrifies the clans."
He stepped back, motioning to the altar.
"Place your hand. Let the Accord test your worth. If it rejects you, it will consume your mind and leave you a husk. If it accepts you... you'll awaken the First Gate."
Lyen stepped forward. "You can't ask him to risk that now—he's still recovering!"
"He's already chosen," Veylan said.
And he had.
Tian Rui didn't hesitate.
He stepped up and placed his palm on the altar.
The chamber howled.
Runes lit up in a thousand directions. The roots pulsed violently. The altar pulled his energy, his mind, his very spirit downward—until he wasn't in the chamber anymore.
He stood in an endless forest of bone-white trees, skies bleeding fire, shadows moving just beyond sight.
A voice spoke from nowhere and everywhere:
"The world was broken long before you, child of ash. Do you wish to break it further… or forge it anew?"
Tian Rui's eyes burned.
"I'll forge it."
The voice laughed—low, ancient, and satisfied.
"Then bleed, Tian Rui. And rise."