The Path Of Severed Heavens

The Remembrance Flame burned deeper now, not merely within Lin Xue's dantian, but throughout her entire being. Her meridians had become rivers of frozen light, silent and heavy with memory. Her Golden Core, once radiant with celestial clarity, now pulsed like a lantern submerged in still water—dim, cold, and unbearably alive.

But the Bone Lantern was not simply a treasure, nor a forbidden manual.

It was a key.

And her next door stood waiting: the ruins of the Severed Heavens Platform.

Once, the Platform had hovered serenely above the world—its floating stone islands anchored by heavenly decree, its sky-bridges laced with glowing runes, a place where immortal clans and the Celestial Court once spoke as kin. Prayers were cast here into the wind, and mandates fell like meteors in return.

But that was before Yan Zhuo.

Before his refusal.

Before his truth.

Before his defiance shattered the Heavens' mirror and severed all celestial communion.

Now, the platform floated still—but alone. Silent. Broken. Haunted.

Lin Xue arrived at twilight, the sky bleeding bronze and violet as she crossed the jagged sky-bridges. The wind howled like a grieving mother. The runes etched beneath her boots—once sacred inscriptions of Obedience, Sacrifice, and Submission—flared faintly at her presence.

But she did not kneel.

The Bone Lantern flared within her, and the runes flickered—first in warning, then in confusion.

At the shattered center of the main platform, she paused.

The Remembrance Flame ignited of its own will.

The wind stopped.

Time held its breath.

And then—a voice, metallic and cold, rang out:

"You defy the Mandate. Turn back, or be turned to ash."

From the sky descended a celestial guardian, eight-armed, wreathed in divine gold, each arm wielding a blade carved from law itself. His halo shimmered with blinding light. Robes of starlight trailed behind him like comets.

Each of his swords bore the name of a Divine Commandment: Silence, Faith, Order, Sacrifice, Purity, Submission, Judgment, and Obedience.

But Lin Xue stood her ground.

"I seek only truth," she said.

The guardian's eyes narrowed. "Truth has no place here."

"Then I will carve it a place."

The air cracked.

Eight swords descended in a storm of divine decree.

But Lin Xue moved like memory itself—fluid, ungraspable, eternal.

Her Remembrance Flame met divine steel, and the collision did not spark fire. It shattered illusion.

Where a blade struck, phantasms unraveled—revealing the lies woven into history.

And where Lin Xue struck, truths reawakened.

She did not fight with strength. She fought with memory.

Each clash unearthed a scene long buried: Yan Zhuo, standing before this very guardian, voice trembling as he pleaded for balance.

"Mortals do not exist for Heaven's convenience," he had said. "They deserve choice. They deserve memory."

"You dare defy the heavens?" the guardian had once asked.

"I dare to remember them."

With every strike, the guardian faltered—not in body, but in spirit.

The truth bled through.

His form flickered. His grip weakened. One of his arms trembled.

"You dare expose the Heavens?" he roared.

Lin Xue's voice was soft—but unshakable.

"I remember," she said. "He tried to save you."

And then, she opened her palm. Her blood touched the air.

"Second verse," she whispered, and the Bone Lantern responded.

A voice surged through her—Yan Zhuo's own.

"Where Heaven binds, Memory severs."

The Severed Heavens Platform trembled.

The sky cracked like glass.

The Remembrance Flame exploded outward, washing over the guardian—not to consume, but to reveal.

His golden armor peeled away.

His halo fractured.

And beneath it all was a man—mortal, kneeling, weeping.

A memory bound into servitude by celestial force.

He looked up at Lin Xue, wide-eyed, as the last of his divine mask faded.

"He saved me… I had forgotten."

He bowed, tears streaming from now-human eyes.

"Your flame is not wrath," he said as his body dissolved into light. "It is justice."

At the heart of the platform stood a towering monolith, carved with the Heavenly Tenets—immutable laws etched by divine will. They pulsed faintly, as if daring her to speak.

Lin Xue raised her hand.

The Remembrance Flame roared.

And one by one, the Tenets ignited.

Each divine truth burned—and from beneath each lie, a deeper truth emerged:

Heaven is eternal → Heaven is afraid.

The Tyrant betrayed balance → The Tyrant preserved it.

Mortals must obey → Mortals must remember.

The wind howled.

And then—

The sky split.

A colossal eye opened within the heavens—no iris, no pupil. Just blinding, furious light.

"She kindles the second flame," came a voice like thunder.

"She walks the Tyrant's path," another declared in dread.

But Lin Xue did not bow.

She looked upward—unflinching.

"I walk my own."

The eye flared—then vanished.

The platform collapsed.

Stone crumbled, bridges shattered, and the monolith fell into the storm of glowing wind.

But she did not fall.

She remained—suspended by memory, afloat upon the storm she had unleashed.

Elsewhere, beyond mountains and stars, in a realm between breath and silence, a man cloaked in crow feathers turned toward the sudden change in the wind.

He held no weapon.

But his shadow cast three.

He tilted his head, listening to something only he could hear.

"She has begun," he murmured. "The Lantern has chosen."

Behind him, in a chamber of ice and time, a coffin sealed in frost let out a soft crack.

A single shard fell away, revealing a glimpse of ash-white robes and a flame-marked chest.

And far below, in the mortal realms—at the edge of a forgotten village—an old woman stirred from restless slumber.

She rose, tears already wetting her cheeks.

"My disciple..." she whispered. "She has remembered the truth."

And the wind, cold and fragrant with burnt incense, carried her words into the sky.

The Tyrant's Path was not one of rage.

It was memory given fire.

And Lin Xue had only kindled the second flame.

There were seven more to awaken.

And the Heavens were no longer silent.