Morning came to the White Ash Martial Dominion wrapped in a thick mist that descended from the mountains like a silent omen. The Lin Clan awoke early—not out of diligence, but anticipation. This would not be an ordinary day. The elders had convened an internal assembly, and whenever that happened, it always meant something was about to break.
Lin Ye rose before dawn. The barracks were silent, disturbed only by the occasional creak of wood and the distant murmur of the wind. He washed his face with cold water and put on the gray robe that was practically his only possession. As he adjusted the cloth belt, he recalled the words he had heard the night before—those emotionless voices that seemed to observe him from beyond the world. He hadn't understood everything, but he understood enough to know that his life had entered a path from which there was no turning back.
When he stepped outside the barracks, two clan guards were already waiting for him.
"Lin Ye," one of them said without looking at him. "The elders summon you."
It was not a request.
They walked in silence through the stone corridors, crossing inner courtyards Lin Ye had traversed countless times during his childhood. Yet that morning, everything felt different. The clan symbols carved into the walls seemed strangely foreign, as if they no longer belonged to him.
The Hall of the Ancestors was lit by dim spiritual torches. At its center stood the Table of Lineage, a black stone structure where decisions affecting the entire clan were officially recorded. Seated around it were the seven principal elders. Behind them, standing, several members of the main branches watched with restrained expressions.
Lin Ye stepped into the center of the hall and bowed.
"You summoned me."
The dark-bearded elder, Lin Qingshan, slowly placed both hands on the table.
"Lin Ye, son of Lin Zheng," he said in a grave voice. "After the Vital Pulse Ceremony, the council has deliberated."
No one seemed surprised.
"The records are clear," he continued. "You possess no vital pulse, no elemental affinity, and no cultivation potential. Under clan law, this classifies you as a martial waste."
A pause.
"The secondary branch to which you belong has lost all strategic relevance. As of today, the surname Lin is withdrawn from it in the internal records."
A murmur spread through the hall.
Lin Ye did not lower his head.
"Is that all?" he asked calmly.
Several people were unsettled by his tone.
"You will be permitted to remain in the dominion as a laborer," another elder replied. "The clan is not cruel. However, you will no longer be part of our decisions or resources."
"I understand," Lin Ye said.
His simple response caught several present off guard. Lin Qingshan studied him closely, as if trying to detect any trace of resentment, fear, or despair. He found none.
"You may leave."
Lin Ye bowed once more and turned to go. As he walked toward the exit, a young voice broke the silence.
"Wait."
It was Lin Hao, the talented youth of the main branch. His eyes shone with a mix of curiosity and something harder to define.
"Don't you have anything to say?" he asked. "They've taken your father's name, your lineage, your future."
Lin Ye stopped and looked back over his shoulder.
"A name only weighs something if one depends on it," he replied. "I don't."
He left the hall without waiting for a response.
No one noticed how, for a fraction of a second, the torches in the hall flickered irregularly.
That same day, the decision was officially recorded. The Lin secondary branch ceased to exist in the clan's documents. To the White Ash Martial Dominion, it was a minor matter—barely an administrative correction. However, in more attentive political circles, the news was noted with interest. Every move made by an intermediate clan could be a sign of something larger.
Lin Ye was reassigned to menial tasks: transporting materials, cleaning outer courtyards, running errands between buildings. Jobs that required neither cultivation nor talent. He accepted every order without protest, moving with quiet efficiency. To others, he seemed resigned. To him, each day was an opportunity to observe.
He learned how the elders exchanged favors with neighboring clans, how important decisions were not made in the hall but in private conversations, and how the dominion ultimately answered to the will of the Aureon Empire. He came to understand that power did not always manifest in blows or dazzling techniques, but in well-placed silences and withheld information.
At night, when the barracks grew quiet, Lin Ye sat in silence and closed his eyes. He did not cultivate. He listened.
The fragmented clock appeared in his consciousness with increasing clarity. It did not advance. It did not turn. It simply existed. At times, the eye at its center opened a little wider—just enough to show him fragments of something he could not fully comprehend: discarded moments, instants ignored by reality itself. He could not absorb them yet. He could not use them. Only perceive them.
One night, while carrying materials near the outer armory, he overheard a conversation not meant for common ears.
"The imperial order will arrive soon," a deep voice said. "The dominion will have to send youths to the southern front."
"Another war?" another replied. "We've barely recovered from the last campaign."
"It's not an open war," the first answered. "It's a 'pacification expedition.' You know what that means."
Lin Ye kept walking without changing his pace, but he memorized every word.
That same night, in a sealed room of the clan, Lin Qingshan met with envoys from another powerful clan.
"The Empire is moving," one of them said. "And when it moves, there is always blood."
"Then it's better to decide which side it will fall on," Lin Qingshan replied.
Meanwhile, in the barracks, Lin Ye slowly opened his eyes. For an instant, the world seemed to lag by half a heartbeat.
"So… the board is starting to move," he whispered.
He did not yet have the power to influence wars or clans.
Not yet.
But time, for the first time, was no longer completely beyond his reach.