The rain came slowly at first soft, uncertain then like regret that could no longer be held back.
Ashen and Kaelenna stood at the edge of Qar'Nath Ravine, staring down into a wound in the earth where legends whispered of a demon relic sealed since the Era of Falling Stars.
A few days ago, they'd found a wounded traveler a merchant demon half-mad with fear. Between dying breaths, he had spoken of a black temple unearthed by rain, where the wind screamed with voices from before the Heavenly Tribes rose.
He had also said:
"They're trying to claim it… the humans… they call it the Godsplitter Fang…"
The Weapon That Ended a Dynasty
According to ancient demon texts, the Godsplitter Fang was a living weapon forged during the war of the first human invasion. It was said to drink both qi and conscience, turning its wielder into a walking calamity.
Its last master had been a demon general named Elar-Kheir, who used it to kill seven human celestial envoys in a single night only to disappear into madness and vanish from history.
The weapon had been lost for a thousand years.
Until now.
Kaelenna gripped Ashen's arm as they descended into the ravine. "We shouldn't do this. You felt the ground. The air's too thick something down there is alive."
"I know," Ashen said. "That's why we can't let it fall into anyone's hands."
The Black Temple
The ruin emerged from the stone like a fossilized serpent. Pillars twisted into demonic horns. Its gates were engraved with ancient glyphs that pulsed faintly with forgotten blood oaths.
Inside, the air was cold not the kind that made skin shiver, but the kind that invaded the soul, slowing thought, weighing each breath.
And at the center of a circular chamber, bathed in faint light from a broken ceiling, lay a long obsidian fang embedded in a stone altar.
It pulsed.
Kaelenna stepped back. "It's breathing…"
Ashen approached slowly. The weapon was unlike anything he'd felt. It didn't hunger for blood. It hungered for purpose. Like it knew war had returned, and it had waited patiently for a hand that could wield it again.
He reached out.
Memory struck like lightning.
A battlefield. Corpses of both demon and human. Elar-Kheir, screaming, tears in his eyes, impaling not just enemies but allies. The blade had spoken to him. Whispered truths too heavy for a single soul. It didn't corrupt.
It revealed.
And it never lied.
Ashen's hand trembled.
Suddenly, a voice echoed through the temple.
"So… the bastard hybrid arrives."
From the shadows stepped a demon with silver eyes and a third horn sign of a noble bloodline. His robes bore the crest of the Obsidian Pulse Sect, known for preserving ancient demon weapons and believing only purebloods were worthy of them.
"I am Veyrak, son of the Iron Marquis. That relic is not for mongrel filth."
Kaelenna stepped forward, qi flaring. "He has more right than you. He's the one who bleeds for our people."
Veyrak sneered. "He bleeds because he is weak. He seeks peace. But peace is an insult to those we've lost."
He drew his blade. "Step aside, girl. Or join him in disgrace."
Ashen didn't speak.
He unleashed his qi.
Black and silver spiraled around him, the result of weeks of dual cultivation between human and demon energies. It was unstable but powerful.
Veyrak charged with a roar, his blade enveloped in black flame.
Ashen moved like water slipping past the strike, countering with a Thorn Doctrine Palm, enhanced by the scar of fear carved into his arm.
The temple trembled.
Ashen didn't fight to kill. He fought to protect the blade from being misused.
But when Veyrak spat, "You're no demon! You're a mistake!"
Ashen's anger boiled over.
His strike shattered Veyrak's sword and sent him crashing into the altar, unconscious.
Kaelenna approached him. "You were going to kill him."
Ashen turned away, eyes dark. "I wanted to. But if I do… I become what I hate."
She touched his shoulder gently. "You stopped. That's what makes you different."
The Godsplitter Fang lay before him, waiting.
Ashen stared at it.
To claim it meant immense power. Enough to protect the innocent. Enough to kill even celestial cultivators.
But it also meant surrendering to its will to memories that weren't his, to truths too large for one heart.
Kaelenna watched him silently.
And then Ashen did something no one expected.
He picked up the Fang… and drove it back into the altar.
"I will not become a god killer," he whispered. "Not by using their tools."
The temple groaned. The glyphs pulsed. A voice echoed from deep within:
"Then you are worthy."
The Fang vanished into the stone, sealed again but this time, by Ashen's choice, not ancient rituals.
That Night
By their campfire, Kaelenna rested her head on Ashen's shoulder again.
"I saw you hesitate. I thought… maybe the blade would take you."
Ashen smiled faintly. "It almost did. But then I remembered what you told me."
"What?"
"That pain doesn't make us stronger. It makes us honest."
She laughed softly, eyes closing. "You keep quoting me like you're in love."
Ashen didn't answer.
He only looked at the stars, wondering if hope was allowed to exist between two people born from war.
"True strength is not the weapon you carry, but the one you choose to leave buried."