The Shattered Echoes of the Past
The central district of the Aureate Citadel was cloaked in an unnatural hush. Its ancient spires, grander and more imposing than any other part of the city, seemed to guard a terrible secret. Long Hu felt it immediately as they entered: a pervasive, spiritual permafrost, a cold, unyielding knot of sorrow so deeply buried it formed the very bedrock of the district's spiritual foundation. This was not the general despair of the outer quarters; this was the monumental weight of unacknowledged horror, the heart of the schism's true trauma.
He moved to the core of the Imperial Purifying Arrays, his hands trembling slightly with apprehension. He knew this would be different. This wasn't merely guiding emotions; it was digging into a grave. He extended his unique essence, preparing to confront the ancient wound.
The moment his senses made contact, the world exploded. Not with sound, but with an overwhelming torrent of images and sensations that tore through his consciousness. He was no longer in the Citadel; he was *there*. He saw it all: the brutal, methodical liquidation of a dissenting faction, their desperate pleas swallowed by the righteous zeal of their executioners. He felt the sharp, bitter sting of betrayal as ancient oaths shattered. He heard the final, desperate whispers of countless souls, condemned by a belief in absolute, unyielding unity. The acrid scent of burning incense, meant to purify, filled his nostrils, yet it only served to mask the reek of blood and fear. He was reliving a massacre, a collective trauma buried so deeply it had become a spiritual anchor for the Devourers.
Long Hu screamed, a silent, internal shriek of pure, empathetic agony. His body convulsed violently, his silver essence flickering, threatening to extinguish under the immense pressure. He felt the cold touch of the Devourers' true presence, not just feeding, but *gorging* on this raw, explosive release of historical pain, trying to re-suppress it, to force it back into the ground for later consumption.
Xianxia was there, a blazing inferno of power and concern. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him tightly against her, anchoring him with the boundless might of her Qi. Her own face was etched with raw desperation, her imperial composure momentarily shattered by her profound fear for him. "Hold, Apprentice!" she commanded, her voice sharp with desperation, channeling her power directly into his core, battling the overwhelming spiritual toxicity that threatened to overwhelm him. "Do not let it consume you! Guide it! Guide the truth!"
From the shadows, the Devourers reacted with unprecedented aggression. Not mere tendrils, but fleeting, nightmarish apparitions of the past conflict materialized—spectral warriors clashing, phantom screams echoing, all attempting to overwhelm Long Hu and re-seal the exposed trauma. Xianxia's sword materialized, a blur of starlight and fury, cutting through the spectral assault with merciless precision. She moved like a storm of light, a formidable shield protecting her vulnerable vanguard, her gaze fixed on his tormented face. *He must endure. He must see this through.*
Fueled by her unwavering anchor and his own fierce refusal to yield, Long Hu pushed back. He could not erase the memory, but he could transmute its essence. He channeled the raw pain, the profound injustice, forcing it to transform, not into despair, but into a mournful understanding, a somber acknowledgment of the past. The screams became echoes, the fury transformed into a quiet, determined resolve for justice.
With a final, shattering mental surge, the knot of trauma unwound. The spiritual echoes of the massacre receded, leaving the district purified. The citizens here reacted uniquely. Many sank to their knees, clutching their heads, not from chaos, but from the sudden, profound burden of truth. They murmured names long forgotten, names of the purged faction, and brief, fading echoes of ancient battles resonated in the air, a spiritual phenomenon confirming the historical release. They were dazed, horrified, but fundamentally, truly awakened.
Long Hu collapsed against Xianxia, utterly spent, his body trembling, his breath ragged. She held him tightly, her own form subtly shaking with the aftermath of the intense battle. She looked down at his pale, beautiful face, ravaged by the experience, and felt a profound, almost overwhelming mixture of relief, admiration, and fierce, protective love. He had just lived through the historical trauma of an entire realm.
"Master Tian," Xianxia's voice cut through the stunned silence, her gaze fixed on the dazed populace. "Find any records of the 'Great Silencing' during their schism. Seek out the oldest living citizens, any who might remember the truth of those who were... 'transcended.' We need to understand the depth of this buried history." She turned her gaze to Long Hu, her eyes, filled with an unyielding resolve and a terrifying understanding, locked with his. "Apprentice," she murmured, "we are not just battling despair. We are battling memory itself. We must unearth all their scars."
Long Hu met her gaze, exhausted but resolute. The Devourers were far more insidious than they had imagined, feeding on the very hidden fabric of a realm's history. Their bond, forged in mutual peril, was now bound by the heavy weight of a shared, historical truth they were destined to unveil. The immense task of liberating the Aureate Citadel had just unveiled a new, terrifying dimension to their war.