The Rift of Ashen Flames sprawled beneath a sky woven with darkness, stitched with jagged veins of ember and shadow. It was a wound upon reality, a fissure that pulsed with ancient hunger. Nine disciples, one from each Court, stepped forward hesitantly, the molten scent of ash filling their lungs. Only one stood slightly apart yet entirely present—Felian Ruoxue. Yinxiu followed, a silent guardian amidst uncertainty.
The other eight were:
Lian Huiming – a disciple of the Peach Fiery Tribe in Mt Ouyang; who adores the god of wisdom, there by making it look like they are under the god of wisdom. Making them under the Court of wisdom, tall and meticulous, whose mind raced with strategies even as fear clawed at him.
Bao Ling – disciple of Orchids Veil of Wang Tribe in Mt Luwang. Under the Court of Flames as adores, whose ambitions burned brightly yet carried the shadow of betrayal.
Feng Yulan – disciple Ascension Bloom Tribe in Dao Feng Mt, under the Court of Dreams, whose visions of lost loved ones threatened to drown her in grief.
Mo Xueran – disciple of Crushing Doom Tribe in LiJing Mt, under the Court of Strength, ambitious and bold, his illusions promising thrones over the fallen.
Jin Zeyuan – disciple of Hourglass Tribe of Ashen Destiny, in Mt Taoist JinJin under the Court of Time, haunted by his sibling's death, reliving it with every step.
Cao Wenrui – disciple of Praising Star Tribe in QiuQing Mt under the Court of Judgment, whose past friends had deceived him, leaving a festering wound.
Qiao Feiyan – disciple of Night Looming Daze Tribe in Hanwuyan Mt the Court of Flowers, calm and loyal, her presence a steadying force.
Shen Yucheng – disciple of Bloomington Tribe in Dao SheShen Mt under the Court of Wishes, quiet but resolute, believing some trials were meant to be shared.
The Rift itself responded to their fears. Blackened chains stretched infinitely, vibrating with whispered lamentations. Ashen Flames licked the fractured stones beneath their feet, voices interwoven with cries of past disciples, each pleading, accusing, begging for release.
Ruoxue's pulse quickened. The sigil beneath her hair pulsed in tandem with the Rift. She felt it call to her, bending and folding the flames toward her like moths to light. She closed her eyes for a heartbeat, inhaling the Rift's acrid essence. Then, opening them, she whispered to Yinxiu, "We must move together. The Rift will test us individually, but survival depends on trust."
Yinxiu's eyes, silver and sharp, flicked over the disciples. "And not all will survive their own illusions."
Without another word, the Rift shifted violently. Wraiths made of ash and fire poured from a fissure, eyes hollow, mouths gaping. The disciples scattered, each drawing upon the power granted by their respective Courts.
Lian Huiming moved first, summoning a barrier of ethereal crystal. Yet his illusion appeared immediately: the stern gaze of his father, belittling every decision, every strategy. It whispered, "You are weak. You will fail." His shield wavered as he staggered under the weight of expectation, his sword slipping.
Ruoxue's Silent Glove cut through a wraith rushing toward Lian, and with a flick of her wrist, redirected him behind a stable piece of terrain. "You fight your fear, not me," she reminded him calmly. Lian blinked, recognition sparking determination.
Bao Ling's flames erupted in defiance, only to twist into visions of her mentor mocking her failure. "Your fire will burn you," the illusion hissed. She shrieked and lashed out at her comrades, striking shadows that weren't real. Ruoxue moved swiftly, guiding Qiao Feiyan to intercept a misfired bolt. "Focus. Control the flames, not the fear," Ruoxue instructed, her calm cutting through panic like a blade.
Feng Yulan fell to her knees as phantoms of loved ones appeared, pleading for her attention, their hands grasping at her. Each step forward caused their forms to multiply, voices layering over each other until they were deafening. Shen Yucheng moved silently beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We endure together," he murmured. Slowly, Feng blinked, separating the phantom from the present. Ruoxue's sigil glowed faintly as if lending its focus to those nearby.
Mo Xueran's illusion came next: a floating throne surrounded by a pit of fire, promising supremacy if he gave in. He hesitated, tempted, and the Rift's flames bent around him, whispering of conquest. Ruoxue intercepted a surge of energy aimed at her side and with a precise strike, shattered the wraith forming around him. "Strength without wisdom is ruin," she said, her tone gentle but firm. Mo Xueran staggered back, sweat dripping, as his ambition faltered.
Jin Zeyuan's personal nightmare unfolded with horrifying clarity. His sibling's death, every detail sharpened and sharpened until he gasped, his own magic faltering under grief. Yinxiu leaned close, his silver-white robe brushing Zeyuan's shoulder. "Time is not just what you remember," he said. "It is what you choose to act upon." Zeyuan exhaled, trembling but stepping forward again.
Cao Wenrui's vision forced him to strike at shadows that mimicked former friends, his fists shaking as betrayal twisted his mind. He froze, paralyzed by guilt, until Ruoxue extended a hand. "You are not your past," she said simply, and Cao's energy flowed once more, focused.
Throughout all this, Qiao Feiyan and Shen Yucheng stayed close to Ruoxue and Yinxiu, supporting with calm energy, intercepting stray wraiths, and holding their ground. Their loyalty became a thread of stability in the chaos.
The Rift, however, was not yet done. Blackened chains rattled and pulses of Ashen Flame intensified. A voice echoed—a low, malevolent whisper that only Ruoxue seemed to hear clearly. "Half-moon child… you belong to me." It fed on fear and hesitation, twisting visions into temptations and despair.
Ruoxue's heart clenched, but she did not falter. She closed her eyes, breathed slowly, and focused. The illusions distorted, and she traced the flame whispers with her mind, drawing the chains into her awareness. "I am mine. Not yours," she whispered, opening her eyes. The chains recoiled slightly, a ripple of silence passing through the Rift.
As the night stretched, each disciple faced their personal torment. Two fell completely to illusions—Bao Ling and Jin Zeyuan shrieked in horror as the Rift consumed their energy, leaving only hushed silence in the chasm. Their disappearance was final; the Rift had claimed them.
The remaining seven pushed onward, each step heavy but determined. Ruoxue guided them carefully, analyzing the terrain, the flow of flames, and the patterns of the wraiths. Every cut of her Silent Glove absorbed whispers, leaving paths of silence and calm.
At last, they approached the relic, a stone pulsating with the rhythm of a heartbeat, chained to the ground with flames and etched sigils. The Rift itself seemed to resist, bending shadows and fire to obscure it.
Ruoxue stepped forward, Silent Glove raised. Yinxiu and the loyal disciples flanked her, forming a protective circle. Flames surged, wraiths rose, illusions flickered—but together, they pushed through. With a final motion, Ruoxue struck the chains with her blade. The relic pulsed, silver light weaving into the half-moon sigil, and the Rift shuddered violently, emitting a wail that was both relief and rage.
Silence fell. The remaining disciples looked around, exhausted and trembling, but alive. The Rift of Ashen Flames had been touched—contained, though not conquered.
Ruoxue's chest rose and fell steadily. She glanced at Yinxiu. "This is only the beginning," she said.
And the Rift, sensing the strength of the half-moon child, seemed to bend away from her presence, leaving trails of smoldering ash and faint whispers that promised it would return.
The night stretched endlessly, the stars above the Nine Courts flickering, as though observing the cost of courage and the price of survival. Ruoxue knew the challenges were only beginning, and that the voices of those lost, and those who remained, would follow them forever.