Demas_Richardson

Beneath a crimson moon’s silent glow,
A river murmurs secrets long ago.
A boy with sword and scroll in hand,
Born to walk a shadowed land.

Fate’s threads unravel, tight and thin—
Will he break free, or be drawn in?
From whispered legends, storms will rise,
An empire’s fall beneath dark skies.

Step softly now, the tale begins—
Where broken swords cut deepest sins.

Li Shenhai and the Eternal Empire

Li Shenhai's grip tightened on his sword as the chanting deepened, but then—it stopped. Just as suddenly as it had begun, the voices ceased, and the forest returned to its ghostly silence.

The masked figures knelt in unison, lowering their heads before the stone gate.

Xiao Lan stepped back instinctively. "What are they doing…?"

Shenhai didn't answer. His heartbeat had slowed—not from calm, but from the deep, ancient sensation blooming in his chest. Something was calling him forward. The rusted blade, once warm with hidden power, now burned like fire in his hand.

The sigil on the gate—the seven-petaled lotus—began to glow with a deep crimson light.

And then, with a sound like mountains grinding together, the stone gate cracked down the middle and began to part. Dust and time fell from its seams like dying embers.

A voice echoed from within—not a chant, not a whisper, but a memory.

"He who carries the Stormblade, step into the bloodlight. All others will be judged."

Before Xiao Lan could speak, Shenhai stepped forward. The masked figures did not move.

As his foot crossed the threshold, the light flared.

The air was thick with incense and memory. Shenhai found himself standing in a massive underground hall, lit by countless crimson lanterns suspended from invisible rafters. The walls were etched with murals—depictions of wars fought under crimson moons, of immortals torn asunder by blades wreathed in shadow, of one man standing alone on a blood-soaked mountain.

At the center of the chamber stood a colossal statue—a warrior cloaked in tattered robes, a sword raised toward the heavens, lightning wrapped around its edge. His face was worn and noble… and unmistakably familiar.

Beneath the statue was a stone altar, and upon it, something pulsed with a low, humming resonance—a heart, blackened and still, encased in glass and runes. Surrounding it were four sealed scrolls, glowing faintly with restrained energy. Each bore a different symbol: Flame, Wind, Blood, and Void.

A figure stepped from the shadows behind the altar. She wore no mask. Her eyes were silver, her voice calm.

"Welcome, heir of the Stormblade. We've waited seventeen years for you to return."

"Who are you?" Shenhai asked, his sword half-raised.

"I am what remains of your father's oath… and your first trial lies ahead."

As she raised her hand, the four scrolls lifted into the air, circling the altar. The blackened heart began to beat.

The statue's eyes lit up with red fire.

And the gate behind him slammed shut.

Chapter 11 (Continued) – Shadows Beneath the Azure Pines