Chapter 3 — Beneath Ash and Silence
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> "Sometimes, it's not hatred that cuts the deepest — it's being forgotten."
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The infirmary stank of crushed herbs and dried blood.
It wasn't the stench that bothered Jin Sol — it was the quiet.
The kind of quiet that meant no one was coming.
He sat upright now, propped against the wall. His ribs were bandaged, the pain a dull throb that pulsed with each breath. Faint sunlight filtered through a narrow window, dancing over rows of empty cots.
Empty — because the others had long been healed and dismissed.
Only he remained.
Not because he was injured beyond saving.
But because no one remembered he was still here.
No one bothered to check.
No one asked if he could walk.
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He rose slowly, every movement dragging pain across his side like a blade. No disciple came to help. No attendant offered a hand. The infirmary door creaked open as he stepped into the corridor, his shadow long and thin under the afternoon light.
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The main courtyard was alive with movement.
Young cultivators trained under the open sky, their swords gleaming with spiritual light. Others chattered near the koi ponds or clustered around bulletin boards. Laughter rang out, easy and unbothered.
Jin Sol passed through it all like a ghost.
Eyes glanced his way.
Then looked past him.
Words dropped into the air like falling needles.
> "He's still alive?"
"That useless one who failed the pressure stone?"
"Can't believe Elder Jin Mo let him step into the arena at all."
"Maybe they pity him."
He ignored them.
He had grown used to being pitied.
What stung was being dismissed — as if he had no weight, no presence, no name.
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A group of junior disciples blocked the path ahead. Jin Sol paused.
None of them moved.
One boy — smug, short, with a hawkish nose — tilted his head.
> "You're in the way."
Jin Sol stepped aside silently. The boy bumped his shoulder hard as he passed.
No apology.
Just smirks.
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The Hall of Progress stood tall near the western edge of the sect — its obsidian roof curved like a blade slicing the sky. Disciples crowded around a scroll newly nailed to the wooden post outside.
Names shimmered on the parchment, ink laced with faint spiritual glow.
Selected Disciples for Elite Path Evaluation
Each name meant prestige. Opportunity. Access to core cultivation techniques and personalized guidance from respected elders.
Jin Sol stood at the edge of the crowd. Not close enough to read. Not far enough to pretend he wasn't looking.
> Jin Ren.
Jin Lian.
Jin Zhou.
Jin Yung.
Jin Chai.
Names filled the list like a drumbeat of worth. Jin Sol's wasn't there.
He hadn't expected it to be.
But as his gaze drifted to the bottom — a strange thing happened.
There was a line, smudged and faint.
Sol... Jin?
His breath caught.
He blinked. Stepped forward. Looked again.
The ink had vanished. Like dew touched by morning light.
Gone.
"Move aside," a disciple snapped, brushing past. "You don't belong in front."
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That night, he didn't go to the grove.
He returned instead to the cliff behind the shrine — where the wind howled like wolves and the stars were hidden behind thick mist.
Here, the world felt honest.
Brutal. Cold. But honest.
He sat on the ledge, legs folded beneath him, and watched the distant lights of the sect flicker like dying fireflies.
His breath misted in the air.
His fingers found the pendant resting against his chest.
Still.
Dormant.
But not cold.
He closed his eyes.
> "Even if I vanish from their eyes…"
"…I won't vanish from myself."
Somewhere within, something stirred.
Not strength. Not cultivation.
But resolve.
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And far above — in the hidden veins of the heavens — something shifted.
Faint.
But certain.
Like the slow awakening of an ancient beast.
Waiting.
Watching.
And remembering a name the world had almost forgotten.
Jin Sol.
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The wind curled around him like a whisper. Not cruel this time, not cold — but curious. As if it, too, had heard the name and paused in recognition.
Jin Sol opened his eyes slowly. The mist hadn't lifted, but something beneath it had changed. The silence no longer pressed in on him; it listened.
He looked down at the pendant again.
Still.
Dormant.
Yet in the deep quiet, he thought he heard it…
A faint hum. Barely more than the memory of a sound.
But real.
His fingers tightened around it.
Far below, the sect pulsed with light, laughter, and cultivation dreams not meant for someone like him.
Or so they believed.
> "They cast their gaze upward — toward stars they chase with borrowed wings."
> "Let them."
> "I'll carve my path through the stone beneath their feet."
The wind shifted.
And in the distance, thunder rumbled.
Not from a storm.
From something older.
Something deeper.
And in the heavens — in a place unseen by mortal eyes — a thread began to glow.
It connected to nothing.
And to everything.
And at its center, a forgotten boy sat alone on a cliff's edge.
Eyes closed.
Heart steady.
Remembered.
Jin Sol.