A dying flame flickered in the incense brazier. Its smoke curled through the silent halls of the Quiet Sky Sect's outer library, weaving between dusty scrolls and cracked shelves like the ghosts of forgotten regrets.
In a far corner, beneath a half-broken paper lantern, Lin Yan sat cross-legged on a straw mat. His fingers, rough from years of labor, gently mended a torn cultivation manual with the patience of a monk threading incense through sand.
A single candle illuminated his face — fair skin, sharp nose, and eyes like violet dusk, quiet and unassuming. His expression rarely changed. He was used to being overlooked.
"Brother Yan! Still playing scholar with trash scrolls?" a voice mocked.
Lin Yan didn't look up.
Wen Lei swaggered into the room with his usual sneer. His crooked teeth gleamed with smugness as he tossed a dirt-smeared scroll onto Lin Yan's table.
"Clean that. The elder said you're good for this kind of thing."
The thud echoed. Lin Yan's hand paused briefly.
"Of course," he replied calmly.
Wen Lei scoffed. "Still pretending humility's a virtue? No one here respects that crap."
"I never asked to be respected," Lin Yan murmured.
The disciple blinked, unsure if he was being insulted. He grumbled and walked off.
Lin Yan resumed his work. Dust rose. Silence returned.
He hadn't always been this way.
Ten years ago, the Lin Clan had assembled under a storm-filled sky. He remembered standing barefoot on the ceremonial stone while cold rain soaked his robes. Elders whispered. Uncle Lin Chang — who had always hated his mother — watched with folded arms and a gleam of satisfaction.
The test crystal dimmed. The verdict was clear: Zero aptitude.
A failure.
His mother screamed in protest, clawed at the guards as they dragged him away. He heard her sobs even as the doors slammed shut.
Some claimed she went mad. Others said she was exiled. No one ever confirmed. He never saw her again.
He was ten.
Now, Lin Yan wandered the Quiet Sky Sect like a ghost in gray. A bottom-tier sect in the southern wastes, it was a haven for orphans, discarded disciples, and those with dreams too fragile for the grand stages of cultivation.
He cleaned scrolls, carried herbs, swept blood from the sparring arenas.
People called him quiet. Dutiful. Harmless.
But mostly, they forgot him.
And so… he listened.
"Did you hear? Elder Mei used to be a peak Foundation expert. Until she refused the Sect Master's advances."
"Yu Ruyin's been flirting with Lin Yan again. But she sneaks into Jin Mu's courtyard every third night."
"That prodigy from Star Ocean Sect died last month. Betrayed by his own senior brother. His heart was ripped out."
Every whisper cut him open — especially the one about Ruyin. He heard that same rumor four times. Laughed off. Brushed aside.
But every time, something inside cracked a little more.
He remembered the first time they spoke.
Ruyin had collapsed outside the alchemy hall, coughing blood. Other disciples passed without a glance. Lin Yan ran to her, gave her his only medicinal pill — one he had begged from Elder Mei after cleaning her courtyard for weeks.
She clutched his sleeve and whispered, "Thank you."
After that, he left herbs at her door during her secluded cultivation. He stood beside her when others mocked her commoner birth. He carried water for her training, bandaged her sprained ankle, and once shielded her from a spirit beast's blow, earning a cracked rib.
Each gesture unnoticed by others. Each one, in his heart, a silent promise.
And for a while, she was kind.
She laughed when they studied together. She called him Brother Yan when others called him nothing.
And he mistook gratitude for affection.
When he first heard the rumor that she visited Jin Mu at night, he laughed — bitterly.
"Impossible," he whispered.
But then came the second whisper. Then the third. And the fourth.
He never confronted her. He was too afraid of the truth.
So he clung to the lie. Because it was warmer.
What he didn't understand — or perhaps refused to — was that Ruyin saw a bleak future in him.
He was weak. Talentless. An outer disciple in a sect already low-ranked. A servant to everyone, a burden to himself.
She once told him in passing, "Don't you ever want more?"
He had smiled back. "Isn't peace enough?"
That was when he first saw it — the flicker of doubt in her eyes.
Maybe she pitied him. Maybe she wanted to believe in his kindness. But when Jin Mu offered her favor, protection, and a chance to ascend higher, she chose.
And Lin Yan wasn't part of that future.
That evening, Elder Mei Yuxia stepped into the library, robes rustling like falling leaves. She carried herself with fading dignity, like a once-bright star now dimmed.
"Still working, Little Yan?" she asked.
"I enjoy quiet rooms," he replied.
She sat beside him. Her perfume was faint — orchids, but faded like her glory.
"You know," she said, "once upon a time, this scroll—" she tapped one of the ruined texts, "—was a prized technique. Now it gathers dust like me."
"You're not forgotten," Lin Yan said.
She smiled sadly. "You're kind. Kindness is rare here."
"It's dangerous, too."
"Yes," she agreed, looking away. "Be careful during tomorrow's trial. Fire doesn't always warn before it burns."
"I'll tread lightly."
"I doubt that'll save you."
The Flame Wolf Trial. A coming-of-age ordeal for outer disciples. A test of courage, combat, and cunning. Only a handful returned each year.
Lin Yan had been selected.
On the stone platform of the teleport array, he stood at the rear, clutching a satchel of herbs instead of a sword. Yu Ruyin approached.
"Don't stray too far," she said gently. "We'll stay close, like always."
He looked at her. Long lashes. Pale lips. Sweet scent. A face he once trusted.
"I'll watch your back," he said softly.
She smiled. "That's why I need you."
The Flame Wastes were cruel. Crimson sands stretched endlessly. Charred bones decorated wind-beaten crags. The scent of sulfur hung in the air.
The group scattered. Lin Yan, as always, stayed at the edge, gathering flame-ash orchids while others hunted.
That night, they rested near a cliff basin. Stars flickered overhead. The wind was dry and sharp.
Yu Ruyin sat beside him. "Are you scared?"
"Of what?"
"Dying."
He thought a moment. "No. Not anymore."
She rested her head on his shoulder. "I wish I were like you."
He said nothing. Inside, his heart shifted. Could she really be afraid, too? Or was this… another mask?
Jin Mu's voice broke the stillness. "Now."
Pain struck like lightning.
Yu Ruyin's palm crashed into Lin Yan's back. Bones cracked. His breath fled. Blood surged from his mouth.
"You—" he coughed.
"Don't blame me," she whispered. "I want to live. You were just convenient."
Jin Mu grinned. "The Flame King needs a distraction. Guess who won the lottery?"
Lin Yan fell to his knees. No one stopped it. No one spoke.
He looked up. Faces turned away.
Just like the Lin Clan.
Just like before.
He was thrown into the crater.
"Goodbye, Brother Yan," Jin Mu said. "Try not to scream."
Darkness.
But not death.
A sound.
A bell.
Soft. Resonant. Ancient.
He floated in void. No pain. No breath. No time.
Before him, a bell — small, cracked, glowing faintly.
It pulsed. A heartbeat that wasn't his.
He reached out.
And memories poured in — his mother's cries, Ruo Ling's betrayal, Ruyin's lies, and all the stories whispered by forgotten mouths.
The bell chimed.
Once.
And everything shattered.
He awoke beneath a black sky. Trees towered above. The air was cool, quiet.
His wounds were gone. His Qi felt distant, yet masked. Hidden.
The bell hovered before him, then sank into his chest.
A voice not of words but truth spoke within:
Wield the forgotten. Revive the fallen. Rewrite fate.
He stood slowly.
A strange calm filled him.
And Lin Yan — discarded, betrayed, nameless — took his first step into legend.