In the heart of the Verdant Palace, beneath ten thousand tons of jade and silence, the God Crucible began to awaken.
The ritual chamber was circular—miles wide. Its walls were carved from dreamstone, etched with runes that screamed when looked at too long. The only light came from the molten sky-metal running through its channels, glowing like magma, feeding the forge in the center.
Empress Xiyan stood at the edge of the Crucible, cloaked in robes that shimmered with stolen auras. Her crown pulsed with a pale green flame—harvested from the soul of the last Tree Sage.
Behind her, the elite of the Empire gathered.
War Generals. Cultivation Lords. Blood Alchemists.
And the thing in chains.
The dead god.
Or what was left of it.
A humanoid shape, taller than any man, skin like cracked obsidian, eyes long rotted from their sockets. Its limbs were bound in rune-wire, its chest carved open to reveal a heart that still pulsed.
"Is it stable?" the Empress asked.
The old man beside her—Grand Sage Zhuan—nodded, though his hands trembled.
"Barely. The soul matrix collapsed before we could bind it. We've stitched together a simulacrum using fragments of the Endless Choir and traces of the Leviathan's echo. It will function."
"And the vessel?"
Another figure stepped forward.
A boy.
No older than sixteen.
Eyes blank.
Skin smooth.
No name.
Only a number tattooed across his neck: 017.
"He won't survive the full descent," Zhuan warned.
"He doesn't have to," the Empress replied.
She raised her hand.
The crucible flared.
And the ritual began.
Meanwhile — On the Western Divide
Ren Zhe walked in silence.
Meimei trailed behind him, eyes wary.
The Echo said nothing. His focus was fixed ahead—on the capital.
"We'll reach the outer provinces by nightfall," Meimei said. "Then what?"
Ren Zhe didn't answer.
His mind was still inside the Tower.
Still hearing the statues.
Still feeling the weight of the shard within him.
He had four now.
And each one tore a part of him open.
The Thorn Chorus still whispered at the edge of his hearing.
Every step was agony—and power.
"I'll need to disappear again once we're in the city," the Echo said. "Too many eyes know my mask."
Ren Zhe nodded. "Then teach me the route into the lower palace."
"You're going back there?" Meimei asked.
"To the place they buried me."
"Why?"
"Because they missed something."
Capital Outskirts
The City of Light was built on the bones of the First Calamity.
Every building, every spire, every jade-tiled street—rested on the shattered remains of the Primordial Serpent, killed ten thousand years ago.
The Capital shone like hope.
But underneath, it reeked.
Sewers. Forgotten catacombs. Dead sects. Spirit wells.
And one particular tunnel—sealed by thirteen blood wards—led directly beneath the inner sanctum.
Only the Graveborn could find it.
Only Ren Zhe had the key.
He knelt by an old tree on the hill.
Carved its bark open with a single claw.
Inside, a sigil.
A black rose.
The emblem of his old master.
The traitor who sold him out.
His expression didn't change.
"Meimei. Stay here."
"I—what? No. You'll be killed. Again."
"I won't die in the same place twice."
Beneath the Palace
The tunnel was smaller than he remembered.
Not physically.
Spiritually.
The space had changed.
Once, this had been a training ground. A sanctum. A place of growth.
Now it was rotted.
The walls wept spirit sap. The ground breathed. Runes flickered like failing stars.
He moved in silence.
No light.
No sound.
Just memory.
He passed the chamber where he learned sword forms.
The hall where he broke his arm falling from the sky pillar.
The prayer room, where he'd begged for a master.
And finally…
The Grave Room.
Where they buried him.
He stood at its threshold.
Stone slab shattered.
Chains still hanging from the ceiling.
Bloodstains on the wall—faint, but not forgotten.
He walked inside.
And heard a voice.
"Well. Look who crawled back."
Flashback — Ten Thousand Years Ago
The Grave Room had been sacred.
Used only for the worst.
Ren Zhe stood in the center, chained and bleeding.
Master Hui circled him.
"You stole techniques meant for the chosen."
"I didn't."
"You disobeyed sect law."
"I saved the villagers."
"You raised your hand against a superior."
"He was going to kill Meimei."
Hui spat.
"She was a distraction. A curse. Just like you."
Ren Zhe raised his head.
"Then curse me."
The chains tightened.
And the burial began.
Present
Ren Zhe turned slowly.
In the corner, a figure sat.
A spirit—thin, translucent, wearing the robes of an elder.
Hui.
Still here.
Still chained.
Still smirking.
"You came back," Hui whispered.
"Why are you still here?" Ren Zhe asked.
"I tied myself to this place. Thought I'd ascend after your death."
He grinned, skeletal and bitter.
"But you wouldn't die. You stayed. Screaming. Breathing. Enduring."
Ren Zhe stepped closer.
"You don't belong here anymore."
"Neither do you. You left your humanity behind."
"No," Ren Zhe said softly. "You did."
He raised his new arm.
The scripture-arm.
And struck.
No fanfare.
No flames.
Just judgment.
Hui's spirit shattered.
And behind him, the fifth shard appeared.
Dark red.
Shaped like a broken oath.
At the God Crucible
017 screamed.
His body bent backward.
Bones broke.
Reformed.
His blood boiled—and turned silver.
The god's heart pulsed faster.
Faster.
The Empress raised her hand.
The Crucible groaned.
"Now," she said.
A blade rose from the forge.
Taller than a man.
Forged from god-bone and soulsteel.
The Heavensplitter.
One strike could sever fate.
She placed it in 017's hands.
His eyes opened.
No longer blank.
But burning with voices.
"Find the Graveborn," she said.
"And end his resurrection."
Back in the Capital
Ren Zhe emerged from the tunnel.
Eyes darker.
Fifth shard pulsing.
He looked toward the palace.
And stopped.
Because the sky had cracked.
Not literally.
But in spirit.
A rift formed above the imperial dome.
A single figure floated down.
Clad in bloodsilver.
Eyes blank.
Carrying a blade that whispered damnation.
Ren Zhe narrowed his eyes.
Meimei appeared beside him.
"Who is that?"
He felt the pressure roll off the boy.
It was not just cultivation.
It was divinity.
"A godborn," Ren Zhe murmured.
The boy pointed the blade at him.
"Ren Zhe. By the will of Heaven, your resurrection ends now."