The morning after the Grand Pavilion's fire, the capital stirred with fear veiled beneath order. Rumors crawled through alleys and banquet halls alike—talk of assassins, curses, and unspeakable omens. But beneath it all, a single name passed from mouth to mouth like a forbidden prayer:
Kael.
Kael sat alone on a high terrace overlooking the imperial gardens, where jade lotuses shimmered over ink-black ponds. A scroll lay open before him, filled with arcane symbols he'd copied from the vault visions. His mind was quiet—but not still. Within him, the shard pulsed, whispering… beckoning.
The world was changing.
And the veil between it and something far older was thinning.
He didn't turn when Lin approached. Her steps were soft—habitual now. Their silence, familiar. Comfortable.
"They've buried the disciple by the Temple of Echoes," she said. "The one with the feather."
Kael nodded. "No wounds, no poisons."
"No traces of qi either. It's as if something devoured his soul."
She sat beside him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Kael… have you heard of the Night Reapers?"
His eyes flicked to her, sharp.
"I've read whispers. They were myths. Beings who devour spirit essence in silence. Cultivators fear them because you can't defend against what you can't sense."
Lin bit her lip. "My uncle once told me the Reapers were bound by an ancient pact. Sealed beneath the Empire after the Last War of the Ancients."
Kael leaned back. "And now one has returned."
"Or," she said softly, "been released."
That evening, the next Trial was announced. One designed not to test strength—but memory.
It was called the Mirror of Truth.
Each candidate would face it alone.
No weapons. No allies.
Only their reflection.
Kael entered the Hall of Mirrors at dusk. The chamber was round, its walls made of polished obsidian that reflected not the body, but the soul.
When the doors closed behind him, the air turned thick.
He approached the center, where a mirror stood—framed in silver flames.
The surface shimmered.
Then it spoke.
Not in words.
In memory.
He saw his childhood—those empty days in the slums of the border city. His parents' faces—blurry now—already fading.
He saw the first time he held a scroll, trembling fingers tracing forbidden glyphs.
He saw the first time he killed.
A boy. Like him.
Starving. Angry.
Desperate.
And then…
He saw her.
A woman wrapped in crimson mist, voice like the lullaby of the dead.
"You are the key," she had said.
"Because you were born from the wound of the world."
Kael stumbled back, breath ragged. The mirror rippled. His reflection stepped out.
But it was not him.
The eyes were wrong—completely black. No whites. No soul.
The voice it spoke with was hollow, distant.
"You hide behind silence. But silence doesn't make you innocent."
Kael steadied himself.
"I'm not innocent," he replied. "But I'm still in control."
The reflection smiled. "Not for long."
It lunged.
Outside, time passed like water.
The other disciples completed their reflections and left, shaken but unchanged.
Kael didn't emerge for hours.
When he finally stepped out, his robes were torn, his hands bloodied.
But his eyes…
They glowed faintly.
A new energy curled around him, unseen by most—but not by Lin, who waited nearby.
"You saw her again, didn't you?" she asked.
Kael didn't answer.
Because now, he remembered everything.
The Gate.
The bloodline curse.
The war beneath the empire that had never ended.
And the truth:
He wasn't just the key to open the Vault.
He was the lock that had kept it sealed all this time.