"Every living being is marked by the Celestial Path. Those without a mark… are not truly alive."
He opened his eyes to find his name carved on a tombstone—but he wasn't dead. Not yet. The wind whispered through the ravaged cliffs, cold as forgotten oaths. Above him, the sky bled static, torn like a shattered mirror—light flickering like dying stars. He lay on fractured stone, soaked in time. A sword hung at his waist, but it had no weight—just a shimmer, like memory refusing to die. In front of him stood a monument, cracked and bleeding old blood. Eight glyphs glowed faintly, like a heartbeat no one believed in anymore: "Path sealed. The void shall persist." He tried to move. His bones remembered pain, but his soul did not. When he reached inward for qi—nothing. No flow. No core. No registry. He was blank.
A troop of cultivators rushed in—white robes, sharp weapons, sharper eyes. The woman leading them had a silver sash and a voice that left no room for doubt: "Any who enters the Void Cradle must present their Celestial Mark. Those without… are to be purged." One disciple stuttered, eyes wide: "Senior sister… he has no presence. No record. He's not in the Path Registry." All weapons turned toward him. Except hers. She studied him carefully. "Name." He smiled faintly. "If I told you… would the heavens remember me?" Her hand moved toward her blade. "Origin?" "Not from your realms," he said. "That's why I see what you can't." He gestured to the ground behind the monument. There, pulsing faintly, was a forbidden script—half-erased divine code. Gasps rippled through the group. "That script… it was deleted before the Three Eras!" The woman stepped back—first time her eyes wavered. "What are you?" "I'm the one your heavens tried to erase."
And just before the sky fell—he saw her. A flash of red robes. A face he wasn't supposed to remember. No words. Only her eyes—full of quiet thunder. And the blade in her hand… was pointed at him.
Crimson lightning cracked down. Divine retribution meant to erase souls. It hit him square in the chest—and shattered the ground. When the smoke cleared—he was still standing. Unburned. Unmoving. Unbroken.
Above him, glowing in the sky, were divine words. But they didn't sound like a system alert. They sounded like fear:
[Unidentifiable Entity.]
[Execution Failed.]
[Override Deferred.]
Silence. Then—from behind the monument, a voice: soft, broken, and all too familiar.
"You returned. But this time… I'm the one chosen to kill you."
He turned. Only ashes. And a single red thread drifting in the wind.