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The wind howled over the slate rooftops of the Twilight Rain Sect, whispering of storms yet to come.
Morning mist draped the mountains in a silver veil, muting the clang of wooden swords and the sharp calls of instructors. At the eastern training platform, dozens of outer disciples flowed through their morning forms, silhouettes moving like leaves in a storm.
Among them, a lone figure stood apart—not by distance, but by presence.
Ash moved with mechanical precision. His posture perfect. His breath steady. But his eyes—his eyes were elsewhere. Focused far beyond the distant peaks.
Not dreaming.
Remembering.
The courtyard's air was thick with Qi, the rising sun barely piercing the clouds. Instructors circled the rows like silent ghosts. One of them—Instructor Maelin—paused behind Ash, observing him.
"Your stance is still too rooted. You must feel the storm," she said quietly. "Flow with it. Not against it."
Ash nodded wordlessly. She lingered a moment longer, then moved on.
He exhaled slowly.
He had practiced that same motion every day for two years. Yet his form never truly pleased them. Something about him always felt... unaligned. Out of sync with the other disciples.
He didn't come from noble bloodlines. Didn't hail from a city with ancient traditions. He had no family name worth mentioning.
He was just Ash—a boy from the burned village of Ember Hollow, a place most maps no longer marked.
Six years ago, everything he knew had turned to cinders. The night sky had glowed red as masked figures descended upon the village with fire and steel. His parents—simple herbalists—died shielding him. He had survived by chance, or perhaps by curse.
A wandering cultivator found him days later, bloodied and silent, hidden beneath the collapsed remains of his home.
He didn't cry. Not once.
The heavens had burned his past, and so he sealed his heart like ash beneath stone.
Now, he trained. Every day. Every night. Relentlessly.
Not to grow stronger. Not at first.
But to forget.
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That evening, after the final training bell echoed across the cliffs, Ash walked alone along the moss-covered steps that led to the northern edge of the sect's compound. Few ventured here—too close to the cloud chasm, too far from the safety of lanterns.
But Ash preferred the solitude.
He sat beneath the oldest pine tree in the sect grounds, its roots thick and gnarled like an elder's hand, and stared at the sea of clouds below.
Something about the sky tonight felt different.
The clouds churned slowly, unnaturally, like a great breath being held beneath them.
He reached into his robe and pulled out the strange parchment he had found a few weeks ago—hidden within a cracked stone near the base of the waterfall trail.
The scroll had no words. Only a shifting sigil. Some days, it looked like a coiling serpent. Others, like a broken crown. Today, it pulsed like a heartbeat, radiating warmth.
He didn't know why, but it felt... familiar.
Like it was watching him.
Just then, a voice spoke behind him—soft, uncertain.
"You like the sky too?"
Ash turned, startled. A girl stood nearby, about his age, cloaked in the outer disciple robe. Her eyes, however, held a depth that made her seem much older. Ancient, even.
"I see it in my dreams," she said, stepping closer without fear. "The clouds. The sea beneath. And something calling."
Ash's hand slipped the scroll away, heart quickening.
"I don't know you," he said, warily.
"I don't know you either," she replied. "But we've met before."
He frowned. "Where?"
"In another life, maybe," she said. Then she smiled. "Or maybe I'm just strange."
He blinked.
For a moment, something stirred in him—a flicker of memory, a sense of déjà vu. But it vanished like mist.
She bowed slightly. "I'm called Lian. I was transferred from the west sector. This place is cold, but... the sky's beautiful."
Ash nodded slowly. "I'm Ash."
She tilted her head. "Like the remnants of fire?"
He said nothing. That name had once hurt. Now it was just what he carried.
Lian sat beside him without asking, arms wrapped around her knees. Together they watched the clouds churn in silence.
Then she said something that made his breath catch.
"They say something sleeps beneath the sea. Something ancient. Bound by storms. Sealed in chains of stone."
Ash turned to her, but she was already standing.
She looked down at him one last time, eyes unreadable.
"Be careful of dreams, Ash," she whispered. "Not all who call your name are meant to be found."
Then she walked into the mist and was gone.
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