When The Sky Remembers Blood (Updated)

Beneath the vaults of the Celestial Archive, where even the winds whispered in restraint, a forgotten chamber stirred. Its walls, untouched by time or mortal memory, had been carved by those who once defied heaven. At the very heart of it, suspended in a time-worn stasis seal, floated a single quill—a crimson feather plucked from the fabled Crimson Sky Roc, once dipped in the blood of Yan Zhuo during his trial at Wanyu Ridge.

For centuries, the seal held.

Until now.

The first crack was silent, a shimmer of golden light bleeding from the stasis rune. Then came another—audible, like thunder muffled behind thick silk. In moments, the entire chamber hummed with residual power.

Lines of glowing scripture etched themselves across the walls, one by one.

"Return... the vow... the flame... the betrayal... the fifth shall awaken."

Ten Years AgoAzure Blossom Sect Pavilion.

Petals drifted lazily through the twilight air, glimmering with residual qi. Lanterns shaped like lotus blooms hovered above the five figures who stood at the Pavilion's heart, casting long shadows on the polished jade floor.

Yan Zhuo stood at the center, robed in twilight blue, eyes like still water—calm on the surface, yet hiding depthless storms. He appeared only in his early thirties, yet the fatigue of countless battles sagged his shoulders. His gaze swept across the others.

To his left stood Yu Meilan, Sect Matron of the Azure Blossom Sect. Her silver moon robes shimmered like mist, and the qi around her was gentle enough to lull a spirit beast into slumber. She did not smile often, but when she did, it felt like spring had returned.

Beside her, Shen Wu, the blind Lotus Envoy, stood silently, his hands folded over the flute strapped across his back. Though he could not see, it was said he could hear the emotions in a person's breath, and the intentions within a heartbeat.

Next came Xu Feiyan, robed in black streaked with fire-red sigils, once the enforcer of southern justice. She bore the look of a woman who had seen too much blood spilled in the name of law—and who now preferred flame to false ideals.

Last stood Lu Chengwei, the famed Saint of the Gentle Hand. Once a healer of renown, now a man marked by quiet sorrow. His presence alone felt like a prayer for forgiveness, never spoken aloud.

Yan Zhuo held up a lotus forged from translucent spirit jade. Each petal bore their names, etched in runes of flame and frost.

"This is the Heartswept Pact," he said, voice heavy with solemnity. "We vow:

To never raise arms for self-glory,

To protect the unguarded,

To bear the sins others will not,

To vanish when the work is done."

One by one, they each placed a single drop of blood on the lotus.

Flames leapt from its petals. The stars above flickered in response, as if bearing witness to the vow.

And thus, a pact was sealed beneath heaven's gaze.

Now

In the ruins of the same Pavilion, time had turned beauty to ash. Wind blew through crumbled stone, carrying petals not of blossom but of dust.

Yan Zhuo walked alone beneath the shattered arches. His steps were slow, each one an echo of a memory.

He reached the center—the very place they had made their vow. Nothing remained but scorched outlines on the floor and the faint scent of forgotten incense.

Only ash remained of the spirit jade lotus.

His hand trembled as he knelt.

"Am I the only one left?" he whispered.

The wind answered with a rustle—ghostly, grieving.

Mirror Shell Isle – Tomb Depths

Yue Lian and Shen Wu descended into the ancient tomb beneath the Isle, the walls alive with shifting light. Arrays sparked like lightning trapped in stone. This was no grave. It was a prison.

At the end of the long spiral descent, they reached the sealed gate.

Engraved upon it: "Fire unrepentant. Blade unbending."

Yue Lian pressed her palm to the formation. Shen Wu raised his flute, releasing a single resonant note.

The gate burst open.

Flames surged out, singing the air with phoenix heat. A silhouette stepped forward, draped in ash and defiance.

Xu Feiyan.

Her eyes burned like dying suns. "I was wondering which ghost would come first."

Yue Lian bowed. "The pact is stirring. We need you."

Feiyan tilted her head. "And Yan Zhuo?"

"Alive."

Feiyan laughed bitterly. "Then heaven help us all."

Frostvale Citadel

General Yun paced the halls of the Sky-Forged Palace. Murmurs of Yan Zhuo's return filled every corridor. His officers brought reports: the sick healed in villages with no medicine, beasts kneeling to a man shrouded in flame, children waking with visions of a name long forgotten.

One advisor shouted, "He's becoming a symbol. Crush the sentiment before it becomes belief!"

Yun said nothing.

Later that night, alone beneath the citadel's frozen towers, he unwrapped a broken jade flute hidden in his private shrine. His hand trembled. Once, long ago, he had played it beside four others beneath a waterfall.

And once, he had shattered it.

He pressed it to his forehead now, eyes closed.

Verdant Radiance City

The Imperial Oracle stood before the Silver Judges. Her robes were streaked with ink, her hands trembling with prophecy.

"Do you remember what you did, Tian Mu?"

Tian Mu said nothing.

She raised a shattered mirror, its shards glowing faintly. "This once showed his truth. You broke it. Now the shards are returning to the world."

Tian Mu's eyes remained cold.

But his grip tightened on Heaven's Verdict.

City of Lianhua – Central Heavens

Yan Zhuo walked quietly through the streets, veiled beneath a traveler's cloak. The city bustled with spirit merchants and cultivators, yet few looked his way.

Only one man—a priest with silver in his beard—recognized him.

The priest fell to one knee.

"I saw you as a child," he whispered. "You burned down the heavens to protect one village. They called it madness. I called it mercy."

Yan Zhuo lowered his eyes. "I failed."

"No," said the priest. "You chose the world over the laws. Now, we begin to understand what that means."

Edge of the Sea Oracle's Circle

Lu Chengwei stood before endless waves, a sea that shimmered like polished opal. He had remained in hiding, healing where he could, always haunted.

Now, he felt it—the shift in the wind, the fire in his veins.

The fourth would awaken soon.

And with him, the memories of the betrayal none had dared speak aloud.

Far North – Coffin Spiral

In a region where even spirits feared to tread, the earth trembled. The Coffin Spiral, a maze of soul-devouring ice, pulsed once.

Beneath it, a presence stirred.

Not man.

Not beast.

But the pact's final guardian.

Neither dead nor truly alive.

Waiting.

Watching.

And above it all, the sky, long silent, now remembered the taste of blood.

The heavens stirred.

The fifth flame would burn soon.

And this time, no oath would go unnoticed.