Chapter 17 — The Tomb of Echoes

Two days had passed since the Reclaimers were driven back, yet the land itself had not healed.

Where the battle had scorched the earth, no birds returned to sing. The sky remained bruised, painted in dull reds and purples as if the heavens themselves feared what had awakened.

Wang Lin stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking a vast gorge — the Whispering Divide, named for the way the wind moaned through the canyons like a chorus of mourning spirits. Beneath the mist, carved into the mountain's base, were ancient glyphs half-erased by time.

"This is it," he said, clutching the sealed scroll tight. "The Tomb of Echoes."

Jin Tao huffed behind him, lugging a satchel of provisions. "I don't see a tomb. I see a death trap."

Lian Hua stepped forward, her finger tracing a symbol etched into a jagged boulder. "The sigils are from the Age of Sealing. My ancestors used them to hide forbidden knowledge. Only those marked by stolen fate can pass."

Wang Lin nodded. The Ninth Seal had changed him — not just in strength, but in perception. He could now read the glyphs effortlessly, as if they whispered their secrets to him in a forgotten tongue.

He raised his palm and pressed it to the stone.

The mountain responded.

With a deep groan, the earth trembled and the cliffside split, revealing a narrow stairway descending into gloom. Cold wind rushed from the opening, carrying whispers — not echoes of sound, but of memory.

As they stepped into the tomb, torches along the walls flared to life one by one. The walls were lined with murals: depictions of titanic battles in the sky, immortals tearing the stars from their orbits, and a single figure standing alone at the center — a man with hollow eyes and a staff that bled light.

Wang Lin paused before one mural. "That's the First Abductor."

Lian Hua's voice was barely a whisper. "The one who defied the Celestial Order and survived."

"No," Wang Lin murmured, eyes locked on the painting. "He didn't survive. He became something else."

As they delved deeper, the tomb opened into a circular chamber. In the center was a dais, and on it lay a stone coffin sealed with twelve golden chains.

Each chain bore a name in ancient celestial script — names of Divine Clans long erased from history.

The moment Wang Lin stepped near, the chains rattled.

Then the voices began.

> "So young… yet already touched by ruin…"

> "Another one dares walk our path…"

> "He is not ready…"

> "He is the storm we tried to bury…"

Lian Hua clutched her blade. "What is this place?"

"A prison," Jin Tao guessed. "Or a warning."

Wang Lin didn't flinch. He stepped onto the dais and held up the Ninth Seal.

The coffin pulsed.

One chain shattered — then another. Blinding light burst forth, nearly driving them to their knees. Then a ghostly figure rose from the coffin — not flesh, not spirit, but memory given form.

He wore robes of shattered starlight, and his eyes burned like suns collapsing.

The figure spoke in a voice like thunder muffled through time:

> "Wang Lin. Bearer of the Tenth Cycle. You awaken what must never rise."

Wang Lin didn't back down. "Then teach me how to stop it."

The memory cocked its head, curious. "You would risk becoming me?"

"I'll risk anything to stop the Temple… and what lies behind it."

A long silence followed.

Then the figure extended a hand — and from its palm flowed a stream of knowledge, pure and ancient, burning with forbidden essence.

> The Tenth Cycle.

> The Echo of Heaven's Fall.

Wang Lin absorbed it all — visions of gods chained to stars, of techniques that could bend fate, of bloodlines born from betrayal.

And at the heart of it all… the name of the one who created the Temple:

> Mo Xie.

Wang Lin staggered back as the knowledge seared into his mind.

Jin Tao caught him. "What did you see?"

"Everything," Wang Lin whispered, his eyes burning with light and sorrow. "The truth. The origin. And the end."

He looked up.

"The Temple isn't trying to stop the Abduction Path. They're trying to complete it."

The chamber trembled.

Above, somewhere far away in the sky, a trumpet sounded — long, deep, and mournful.

The hunt had begun again.

And this time, the Temple would send more than Reclaimers.

They would send Heralds.