Chapter 2 – The Blade Sent by Heaven

"Fate is not gentle. When it sees an error, it draws its sword."

The swamp was breathing.

Not in the way wind moves through leaves, or how frogs croak in the dark.

No — this was deeper. Like the land itself was holding its breath.

Beneath the lonely willow, the child slept in the cradle of its roots. Wrapped in shadows, warmed by nothing but silence.

The fan rested beside him, folded shut.

Still. Waiting.

Above, the stars stirred.

A single point in the sky blinked — then widened. Not light, but absence.

A rift.

From it, descended a being.

He wore no armor. No robes of silk or chains of spirit.

His body was wrapped in a plain black burial cloth, marked with one glowing brand:

天裁 — Heaven's Judgment.

He was not sent to judge.

He was sent to erase.

This was a Heavenblade — not born, not cultivated. Forged by the Heavenly Mandate itself, with one order:

"Destroy the child that holds no star."

The executioner landed in silence.

His feet touched the swamp water, but made no ripple.

The moss beneath him shriveled into ash.

He approached the child with no hesitation. No pity.

Then, he saw it.

The fan.

It pulsed once — a low metallic sound, like a breath through bone.

"Impossible," the Heavenblade murmured.

His voice had no warmth. Only certainty.

"That fan was sealed after the First Sundering. It chose no wielder. It hates fate."

He stepped forward. Raised a pale hand glowing with Heavenlight.

A lance of divine energy formed above his palm — white, flawless, absolute.

"You were not written in the Book of Fate. You are a fracture. A danger to Heaven's weave."

The child stirred.

His eyes opened.

Not golden. Not glowing.

But black. Reflective. As if his soul was not empty — but mirror-like.

Reflecting everything. Absorbing everything.

"...He's looking at me," whispered the Heavenblade

The child was hours old. But those eyes… they knew.

The fan unfolded. Just slightly.

A gust of spiritual wind whipped through the swamp — silent, invisible, yet heavy with age.

The Heavenblade hesitated.

"This pressure… This… doesn't belong to this era."

The fan's edge shimmered. One sigil appeared on its surface — ancient, circular, broken.

Then, the swamp… reversed.

For a single heartbeat, the air moved backwards.

Water rippled in reverse.

Leaves flew upward.

The Heavenblade fell to one knee.

"This is… anti-time resonance… The Fan of Ruin."

He looked up, eyes wide for the first time in eternity.

"You… are not an accident."

He tried to rise — but his body turned gray.

Stone.

Ash.

Dust.

The Heavenblade disintegrated. Not burned. Not slain.

Erased.

And the fan folded shut.

The child blinked.

The moment passed.

He fell asleep again.

Far above, the stars flickered — dozens of them — as if startled.

In the Eternal Mandate Palace, high in the skies of the Celestial Realm, an Oracle whispered to the Heavenly Tribunal:

"The Fan has awakened."

"The Starless One lives."

"Heaven… has failed."