The Silent Wards did not welcome them; it tolerated their presence.
The air was thick, not with dust, but with something unseen—an ancient presence, lingering between the cracks of forgotten time. The walls hummed, reacting to their presence as if recognizing them. The ruins were neither abandoned nor truly dead.
Xiao Yue exhaled slowly, gripping the hilt of her blade. "This place… it's alive."
Li Wei traced his fingers over the faint engravings running along the stone corridors. The glyphs, though weathered by centuries, still pulsed faintly beneath his touch. "This script… it predates the celestial schism," he murmured. "A language of an era before the heavens turned on themselves."
Wen Ling, ever watchful, scanned the deep corridors ahead. "If this place was hidden, then it was hidden for a reason. Be prepared for whatever it may still guard."
Lao Yun's gaze softened, a deep reverence settling into his posture. "No," he said. "This is not a prison nor a tomb. This was a sanctuary—a final refuge for those who sought to preserve wisdom when the celestial war sought to destroy it."
Jiang Chen remained silent, letting the whispers of the ruin guide him. The talisman at his side pulsed in harmony with the surroundings, as though awakening something long dormant. He had felt this before—this strange familiarity with places he should not know, voices he should not hear. The past was no longer distant; it was reaching for him.
The passageways converged into a great hall, its ceiling lost in the shadows above. At its center lay an ancient dais, encircled by pillars etched with golden inscriptions. Faint motes of light drifted through the air, illuminating fragmented murals along the walls—depictions of celestial sages, mortal scholars, and an event Jiang Chen could not yet comprehend.
As he stepped forward, the chamber reacted. The inscriptions ignited, not with fire, but with a soft, resonant glow. Then, a voice—not spoken, but felt—whispered through the air:
"The Covenant was broken, but knowledge endures. Speak, bearer of the shattered light. Do you seek to mend what was lost?"
Jiang Chen's breath caught. The voice did not belong to a person. It was the will of the Silent Wards itself—an echo of the ones who had come before.
"The Covenant is not broken," he answered, his voice steady. "It has simply been waiting to be restored."
Silence. Then, from the depths of the chamber, a figure emerged—not flesh, but a projection of memory, wrapped in flowing robes of celestial light. An ancient scholar, his eyes vast as the night sky, gazed upon Jiang Chen with knowing reverence.
"Then prove it."
The chamber trembled. The murals shifted. And the trial of the Forgotten Order began. The Silent Wards did not welcome them; it tolerated their presence.
The air was thick, not with dust, but with something unseen—an ancient presence, lingering between the cracks of forgotten time. The walls hummed, reacting to their presence as if recognizing them. The ruins were neither abandoned nor truly dead.
Xiao Yue exhaled slowly, gripping the hilt of her blade. "This place… it's alive."
Li Wei traced his fingers over the faint engravings running along the stone corridors. The glyphs, though weathered by centuries, still pulsed faintly beneath his touch. "This script… it predates the celestial schism," he murmured. "A language of an era before the heavens turned on themselves."
Wen Ling, ever watchful, scanned the deep corridors ahead. "If this place was hidden, then it was hidden for a reason. Be prepared for whatever it may still guard."
Lao Yun's gaze softened, a deep reverence settling into his posture. "No," he said. "This is not a prison nor a tomb. This was a sanctuary—a final refuge for those who sought to preserve wisdom when the celestial war sought to destroy it."
Jiang Chen remained silent, letting the whispers of the ruin guide him. The talisman at his side pulsed in harmony with the surroundings, as though awakening something long dormant. He had felt this before—this strange familiarity with places he should not know, voices he should not hear. The past was no longer distant; it was reaching for him.
The passageways converged into a great hall, its ceiling lost in the shadows above. At its center lay an ancient dais, encircled by pillars etched with golden inscriptions. Faint motes of light drifted through the air, illuminating fragmented murals along the walls—depictions of celestial sages, mortal scholars, and an event Jiang Chen could not yet comprehend.
As he stepped forward, the chamber reacted. The inscriptions ignited, not with fire, but with a soft, resonant glow. Then, a voice—not spoken, but felt—whispered through the air:
"The Covenant was broken, but knowledge endures. Speak, bearer of the shattered light. Do you seek to mend what was lost?"
Jiang Chen's breath caught. The voice did not belong to a person. It was the will of the Silent Wards itself—an echo of the ones who had come before.
"The Covenant is not broken," he answered, his voice steady. "It has simply been waiting to be restored."
Silence. Then, from the depths of the chamber, a figure emerged—not flesh, but a projection of memory, wrapped in flowing robes of celestial light. An ancient scholar, his eyes vast as the night sky, gazed upon Jiang Chen with knowing reverence.
"Then prove it."
The chamber trembled. The murals shifted. And the trial of the Forgotten Order began.