52. Echoes of a Forgotten Past
The sky above the battlefield was painted in hues of dying embers. The scent of scorched earth lingered in the air, yet Ling Tian stood unmoved, his dual-colored azure-gold aura flickering violently.
His mind was not on the battle he had just fought.
It was on the words Xu Qing'er had spoken.
"The Vanquished Throne… The Myriad Worlds… The fate of your Ling Clan… It's all connected."
A storm brewed within him. He had spent years growing stronger, facing death countless times, but there was one thing he had never been able to conquer—the void left behind by his vanished clan.
Why had they disappeared so suddenly?
Why did the world act as if the Ling Clan had never existed?
As these thoughts consumed him, Xu Qing'er watched from a distance, her silver eyes filled with unreadable emotions. She knew something he didn't—something she wasn't ready to tell him.
Not yet.
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A Glimpse of the Past
As Ling Tian's party made their way through the desolate wastelands, a sudden shift in space made him halt.
A cold whisper echoed in the wind.
"Return… return to where it all began…"
Ling Tian narrowed his eyes. This wasn't an illusion. This was something else.
Before he could react, a ripple in reality engulfed him.
Darkness swallowed his vision.
And when he opened his eyes again… he was no longer in the wastelands.
He stood in a familiar courtyard, surrounded by towering trees and the faint scent of plum blossoms.
A place he had not seen in years.
The Ling Clan's ancestral home.
His heart pounded as he took a slow step forward. The ground felt real beneath his feet, yet… something was wrong.
There were no voices.
No laughter.
No warmth.
Only silence.
And then, the silence was shattered by the soft laughter of a child.
Ling Tian turned sharply.
At the far end of the courtyard, he saw a boy no older than six, practicing swordplay under the guidance of an older man dressed in traditional robes.
Ling Tian's breath caught in his throat.
That boy… was him.
And the man beside him—his father.
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A Fragmented Truth
Ling Tian watched the scene unfold, unable to move.
His younger self swung his wooden sword, his small face filled with determination. His father's voice was gentle yet firm.
"A sword is not merely a weapon, Tian'er. It is an extension of your will. One day, you will understand its true purpose."
The child nodded, sweat dripping down his brow. "I'll become strong, Father! Strong enough to protect everything!"
His father's lips curled into a faint smile. But just as he was about to speak…
The scene began to blur.
The sky darkened. The trees withered into ash.
And in the blink of an eye, the once-peaceful courtyard became a scene of utter devastation.
Fire. Blood. Screams.
The Ling Clan's ancestral home was in ruins.
Ling Tian's father stood in the middle of the chaos, wielding his sword against an unseen enemy. His robes were drenched in blood, yet his stance remained unyielding.
"Tian'er… you must survive."
A golden seal formed in his palm—an ancient symbol of power.
And before Ling Tian could fully grasp what was happening…
His father's figure vanished.
The world around him collapsed.
And he was back in the wastelands, gasping for breath.
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The Ling Clan's Final Secret
Xu Qing'er was at his side instantly, steadying him. "You saw something, didn't you?"
Ling Tian clenched his fists. "It wasn't just a vision… It was real."
The Ling Clan's disappearance…
It hadn't been erased.
It had been sealed away.
And the key to unlocking the truth lay in the Vanquished Throne.
His father's last words echoed in his mind.
"Tian'er… you must survive."
His heart turned cold.
Surviving was no longer enough.
He would reclaim what was lost.
Even if it meant shattering the heavens themselves.
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