Time and memories

Floating in the void of time, Song Luoxu tapped into the power of the Time Bead. It rejuvenated his memories, pulling him back to his past, to the moments when he was innocent—before he abandoned everything for the sake of revenge. As he drifted through the echoes of time, the realization struck him: despite all his efforts, he had achieved nothing, ultimately meeting his end at the hands of those who destroyed everything he held dear.

Song's memories...

A small village in Shuangxue, the Land of Dark Snow.

"Grandfather, what are you doing? Why do you always swing that blade of yours?" asked a little boy with bright red eyes, sitting on the black snow, watching his grandfather perform deliberate movements with a dark sword.

The boy was none other than young Song Luoxu, known back then as Xiaoxue.

His grandfather, a stern but kind man, paused in his practice. "Oh, little Xiaoxue," he said with a gentle smile. "This is our village's traditional way of the sword. It must be performed every day, for all our lives, to ensure the prosperity of our village."

As a child, Song admired his grandfather deeply. Every day, he watched the old man swing his sword, believing it to be a ceremonial act to purify the karma of their village. Yet, a question always lingered in his mind: why did his grandfather bear the burden of others? Why didn't he live for himself?

Seeing the distressed expression on Song's face, his grandfather, dressed in a white robe with a faint red hue, sat beside him in the snow. He pulled out a small sword and placed it gently in his grandson's hands.

"Little Xiaoxue, this is our clan's greatest treasure—the Dark Meteor Sword. It harnesses the power of chaos, one of the primordial forces. Legend says that it's the only sword that grows stronger with its wielder and can cut through any existence with ease. If you ever reach the pinnacle, this sword will be your greatest asset."

He spoke in a solemn tone, stroking Song's head tenderly.

But that memory of warmth didn't last long...

The next day

The morning sun rose sluggishly over the horizon, its pale light struggling to penetrate the thick, ashen clouds that hung over the village. The once pristine snow was now a muddied, crimson landscape, a grim reminder of the devastation that had unfolded the night before. Song Xiaoxue stirred, his small body shivering from the cold, though the warmth of his mother's qi still lingered faintly in his heart. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he simply lay there, gazing up at the colorless sky, unaware of the horrors that awaited him.

But as he sat up, confusion clouded his young mind. The familiar sights of his village—the laughter, the warmth, the people—were gone. Replaced by silence. A silence so thick it suffocated him. He stumbled to his feet, his breath coming out in short, panicked bursts as he called out, "Mother? Grandfather?"

There was no answer.

His small, bare feet crunched through the snow as he wandered through the ruins of his village, his heart pounding with a growing sense of dread. The air was thick with the scent of iron and smoke, stinging his nose and making his eyes water. He blinked furiously, hoping it was all just a terrible dream, but the sight before him only grew clearer, more horrifying.

Bodies lay strewn across the ground, twisted and broken. Faces he had known all his life, now frozen in expressions of terror and pain. He swallowed hard, his small hands trembling as he reached out to touch the arm of a villager, only to recoil when he felt the cold, lifeless flesh. His chest tightened, and a sob escaped his throat as he whispered, "Why… why is this happening?"

"Grandfather!" Xiaoxue cried

But there was no one to answer him. No strong arms to lift him up, no comforting words to soothe his fears. Only the biting cold and the unyielding silence.

Suddenly, a movement in the distance caught his eye. He looked up, his heart skipping a beat as he saw his grandfather, staggering towards him, his robes stained with blood. "Grandfather!" Xiaoxue screamed, scrambling to his feet and running towards him, his small legs barely able to carry him fast enough.

But when he reached him, his grandfather's face was ashen, his eyes clouded with pain. "Xiaoxue… my little Xiaoxue…" he murmured, his voice weak and rasping. He reached out with a trembling hand, gently cupping Xiaoxue's cheek. "I'm sorry… I couldn't protect them… I couldn't protect you…"

Xiaoxue shook his head furiously, tears streaming down his face. "No! You did protect me! You… you always did!"

But his grandfather's eyes, once filled with wisdom and warmth, now held only sorrow. "You must be strong, Xiaoxue… you must live on… even if I cannot…"

Before Xiaoxue could respond, he felt a pair of arms wrap around him, pulling him back. "Mother?" he gasped, turning to see her face, her black hair matted with snow, her red eyes filled with an emotion he didn't understand—something between fear and love.

"Xia… we have to go," she whispered, her voice barely holding together. "We have to leave, now."

"But… but Grandfather—" Xiaoxue's voice was cut off as his mother pulled him close, holding him so tightly he could hardly breathe.

"He'll catch up… but we need to go… please, Xia…" Her voice was breaking, and she didn't look back, didn't dare to, as she started running with him in her arms, away from the only home he had ever known.

As she ran, Xiaoxue buried his face in her shoulder, his small hands clutching at her robes. He wanted to scream, to cry out for his grandfather, for his village, for the life that had been ripped away from him. But all he could do was hold on, hold on and hope that somehow, some way, everything would be okay again.

In the next heartbeat, young Song Luoxu's world was torn apart. Cultivators from the ancient clans descended like a storm upon his village, their merciless attacks turning the peaceful settlement into a scene of bloodshed and chaos. The once serene snow was stained crimson, as those he loved were struck down before his innocent eyes.

"Xia, close your eyes," his mother's voice, trembling yet resolute, cut through the chaos. She scooped him up, clutching him tightly to her chest as she fled towards the mountains. Her long black hair, so much like his own, streamed behind her, and her red eyes, mirrors of his, burned with a fierce determination. A skilled cultivator herself, she moved with the speed and grace of a martial artist who knew the land intimately, her every step calculated to shield her son from the horrors they were leaving behind.

The cold bit at them as they ascended, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the warmth of the small body in her arms. Her heart ached with every beat, knowing that these might be the last moments she would ever hold him. When they reached a secluded, snow-covered clearing, she knelt in the snow, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

She looked down at Song, his wide eyes filled with confusion and fear. Her heart broke at the sight—he was so young, too young to understand why his world was being torn apart.

With trembling hands, she wrapped her coat around him, pressing his small body close to hers. "You must be strong, Xia," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Live your life properly, no matter what happens. Don't seek revenge… promise me." Her words were a desperate plea, born from the knowledge of what seeking revenge could turn her sweet child into—a fate she couldn't bear to imagine.

As she spoke, she channeled every last ounce of her qi into his small heart, her energy flowing into him like a final gift of love. The warmth spread through his tiny frame, a protection against the unforgiving cold that surrounded them.

She stroked his head gently, her fingers lingering in his soft black hair, and placed a tender kiss on his forehead. Tears welled up in her red eyes, but she blinked them back, forcing herself to stay strong for him. She knew she had to leave him, to draw the enemies away, but the thought of abandoning her son, her precious Xiaoxue, tore at her soul.

"Remember, I love you," she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of all the unspoken words she wished she had time to say.

And then, with one last, lingering look, she turned and raced back down the mountain, her heart shattering with every step that took her further away from him.

When she returned to the village, it was a vision of devastation. The snow, once pure and white, was now soaked with blood, the bodies of her friends and family strewn across the ground like broken dolls. The air was thick with the stench of death, and the bitter cold gnawed at her exposed skin. But she pushed all that aside, steeling herself for what she had to do.

"There she is!" a voice shouted, and she knew her time was up.

The remaining enemies, their faces twisted with cruel satisfaction, closed in on her. Her hands were bound behind her, but she refused to let them see her fear. With a swift, defiant motion, she drew her sword with her teeth, her every movement filled with the desperate strength of a mother protecting her child.

As she marched towards the cultivators, her heart was heavy with sorrow but resolute. She knew she would not survive, but if she could buy her son even a moment more of safety, it would be worth it. Her thoughts, even in these final moments, were not of herself, but of Xiaoxue—her sweet, innocent boy, whom she had shielded from the world's cruelty for as long as she could.

The moment was still—time itself seemed to pause as Song Xiaoxue, now an older, colder man known as Song Luoxu, watched the image of his mother shatter before his eyes. Her form, once whole and filled with warmth, fragmented into countless pieces, each shard reflecting the boy he had once been, the innocent child who had clung to hope. The pieces hung in the air, catching the dim light of the void before slowly drifting down like broken snowflakes.

But Song Luoxu's expression remained unchanged, his eyes dark and devoid of the pain such a sight might have evoked in others. The softness of youth, the warmth of love—it was all a distant memory, buried under layers of ice. He had long since accepted the truth of this world, a truth that had been etched into his very soul that fateful day.

The weak perish. The powerless are crushed. Only those with strength, only those who are willing to sacrifice everything, can carve their place in this brutal world.

His mother's final moments—her desperate attempt to protect him, her selfless love—had once been the anchor to his humanity. But now, they were nothing more than fading echoes, lost in the void. The pieces of the mirrors that once reflected warmth and sorrow now represented his acceptance of the harsh reality he had embraced.

He felt nothing as the fragments of his mother's memory drifted to the ground, shattering once more upon contact. His heart, once vulnerable to the pain of loss, had hardened into an unyielding fortress of ice and darkness.

"This… is how it should be," he murmured to himself, his voice as cold and empty as the void around him. There was no room for weakness, no place for sentimentality. To survive, to conquer, he had to let go of the past, sever all ties to the warmth that had once defined him.

He stared at the remnants of his mother's image, the shattered pieces of her final act of love scattered at his feet. But there was no sadness in his gaze, only a cold resolve. The boy who had once cried for his lost family was gone, replaced by a man who understood the cruel truth of the world.

"Only the weak end up in the ground," he whispered, his words a silent vow. "And I refuse to be among them."

With that, Song Luoxu turned away from the broken shards, leaving them behind as he stepped deeper into the darkness. He had a path to walk, a destiny to fulfill, and there was no room for the remnants of his past. The warmth was gone, the light had faded, and all that remained was the cold, unforgiving void.

And in that void, Song Luoxu found his true self—a heartless existence, forged in the fires of loss and tempered in the icy depths of his unyielding will.