The Skywatch Citadel, carved into the spine of the northern mountains, burned like a dying sun.
Smoke rolled through the valleys, carrying the scent of pine and blood. The night wind howled through shattered halls where once the laughter of disciples had echoed. Scrolls of ancient wisdom drifted through the firelight, their pages turning to ash before they could touch the ground.
At the heart of the storm stood Ryu Han, Sixth Leader of the Skywatch Order.
His once-white robes hung in tatters, his sword chipped along the edge, yet his back remained straight. The calm in his eyes was the same calm that had steadied countless warriors at the northern front.
All around him the fortress crumbled.
Sects that once called him brother now surrounded him with drawn blades.
Their shouts pierced the roar of the flames:
> "Ryu Han! You colluded with the Obsidian Light!"
"You betrayed the Martial World!"
The accusations fell like stones. He answered none of them.
Because lies need no truth to survive—only people willing to believe them.
---
The courtyard stretched beneath a torn sky. Bodies of Skywatch disciples lay across the flagstones, their blood forming lines that glittered like faint constellations in the firelight. Above them, the banner of the Order—its single star with spread wings—burned to cinders.
Ryu Han looked at it for a long time.
> "So this is what it has come to," he murmured, voice nearly lost to the crackle of flame.
From the far end of the courtyard, a dozen figures emerged through the smoke.
Old rivals. Former allies. Men whose hands he had once clasped in brotherhood. Now they walked side by side beneath a pale storm, eyes filled with judgment.
Behind them came the Five Heavens—the rulers of the Martial World.
Each step they took seemed to still the wind. The air bent with their Qi, five auras heavy enough to bow the clouds themselves.
The leader among them spoke, his tone carved from frost.
"Ryu Han, leader of the Skywatch Order. You are accused of aligning with the Obsidian Light. You brought chaos upon the balance you were sworn to guard. How do you plead?"
Ryu Han lifted his gaze. The reflection of the flames danced in his calm eyes.
"I plead only this," he said quietly. "For generations we bled to keep that balance. And yet you call me traitor because it suits your fear."
Murmurs rippled through the gathered sect masters. None dared meet his eyes for long.
---
Hidden behind a broken column, a fourteen-year-old boy watched in silence.
Ryu Jin.
His father's son.
Smoke stung his throat, but he dared not cough. His small hands trembled as he clutched the cold stone. He could not understand why the world that once praised his father now cursed his name.
Ryu Han's gaze shifted, just slightly, toward the shadows where his son hid.
Even from that distance, Ryu Jin felt the weight of that look—gentle, commanding, final.
Stay still. Live.
The boy's heart pounded in his chest like a drum.
---
One of the Five Heavens stepped forward, robes untouched by the falling ash.
"The Obsidian Light will rise again because of your arrogance," he declared. "You will be erased, and the Skywatch Order with you."
For the first time, anger flickered in Ryu Han's eyes—but it was gone in the next breath.
When he spoke, his voice carried across the ruined courtyard, deep and steady.
"Enough. I will end this tonight."
He sheathed his sword, the motion smooth despite the blood running from his side.
"If the Five Heavens swear to spare my remaining disciples, I will take my own life, and the Skywatch Order will be dissolved. The gates of the north will close forever."
A hush fell. The flames snapped softly in the wind.
The Five Heavens exchanged glances. Their killing intent waned, replaced by wary calculation. To destroy the rest of the Skywatch would invite endless vendettas; to accept his bargain would cost them nothing.
At last, the eldest among them spoke.
"Very well. Your death shall mark the end of the Skywatch Order. We swear upon the heavens that the survivors will not be harmed."
---
Ryu Han nodded once. Relief—quiet, heavy—crossed his face.
He looked again toward the broken wall where his son hid and smiled faintly, as though whispering a farewell that only the boy could hear.
Then he exhaled.
The world seemed to still.
A surge of Qi spread outward from his body—cold, immense, filled with grief. The stones beneath his feet cracked; the nearest men stumbled back. Even the Five Heavens tensed, their robes whipping in the sudden wind.
Then Ryu Han drew his blade one final time.
The steel glowed white, reflecting the stars hidden beyond the smoke.
He raised it with both hands.
And with a calmness that defied the chaos around him, he thrust it through his own heart.
The sound was soft—no louder than the sigh of falling snow.
For a heartbeat, the flames dimmed. Then the light returned, brighter than before, as if the heavens themselves burned in mourning.
---
Ryu Jin's breath caught.
He wanted to run to his father, to scream, but his voice died in his throat.
Footsteps approached from behind—a hand seized his shoulder.
"Don't move," a whisper hissed. "It's too late."
It was Master Kang, his father's oldest friend. Blood streaked the man's face, and one arm hung limp at his side. His remaining hand pressed a pouch of powder against the boy's neck.
"I'm sorry, young master," he murmured. "You must live."
Before Ryu Jin could protest, the world tilted. A numbing warmth spread through his veins, and the sound of fire faded into distant echoes. The last thing he saw was his father's still figure beneath the falling snow.
Darkness took him.
When Ryu Jin awoke, the world had gone quiet.
Snow fell softly through the ruins, blanketing the corpses and flames alike. The once-proud citadel of the Skywatch Order now lay entombed beneath ash and ice — silent, reverent, as if the heavens themselves mourned.
He could barely move. Every breath burned. His vision swam with flickers of crimson and silver — the last memory of his father's blade.
Beside him knelt Master Kang. His face was ghostly pale, his robe soaked in blood.
He was binding a wound along his shoulder with trembling fingers, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
> "You're awake," Kang whispered. "Good. We don't have much time."
Ryu Jin's lips parted, but no sound came.
His throat felt as though it had been filled with smoke.
He tried to speak his father's name — Father… — but the word dissolved in the cold.
Kang reached out, pressing a rough, calloused hand against the boy's chest. "You must not speak. They think you're dead."
He pointed toward the courtyard below.
Through the veil of snow, Ryu Jin saw movement — sect masters and disciples of the Five Heavens moving among the fallen, gathering the surviving Skywatch members in chains.
They tore down the banners, broke the statues of the founding leaders, and piled the ancient scrolls into fire.
Each spark that rose into the air felt like a star dying.
Kang's voice hardened. "They will erase the Skywatch's name. Your father's death bought their mercy, but that mercy is built on lies. If they learn you live, they will hunt you to the ends of the earth."
Ryu Jin's hands clenched. Beneath the fear was something colder — a stillness that did not belong to a child.
The same stillness that once burned in his father's eyes.
---
Hours later, under the pale light of dawn, Kang carried the boy through the charred remnants of the mountain path.
They reached a ravine where the storm had scattered the bodies of those who had fled.
There, half-buried in the snow, lay the corpse of a young boy about Ryu Jin's age — his face blackened by fire, his features unrecognizable.
Kang stared for a long moment, his jaw tight.
Then he whispered a prayer — to heaven, to the fallen, perhaps to the man he had once called brother.
He stripped the Skywatch emblem from Ryu Jin's robe and placed it on the corpse.
Then he covered the burnt child's body with Ryu Jin's torn cloak.
> "Forgive me," Kang said softly. "But this is the only way for you to live."
He pressed a jade pendant into Ryu Jin's hand — the pendant of the Skywatch Leader, engraved with the symbol of the winged star.
> "This belongs to you now. You are the Seventh Leader, Ryu Jin. Guard it. And one day, when you are strong enough to stand before the heavens, seek the truth your father died for."
Ryu Jin looked down at the pendant, its cool surface slick with blood.
He did not cry.
Tears felt too small for the weight in his chest.
Kang smiled faintly, though it was a broken thing.
"You have your father's eyes," he said. "Don't let them dim."
---
By the time the Five Heavens reached the ravine, all that remained was the smoldering corpse of a boy wearing the Skywatch emblem.
They looked upon it and nodded, satisfied.
> "The last of the Skywatch line is dead," one of them declared.
And so it was written.
The Skywatch Order, guardians of the north, defenders of the realm for six generations — erased in a single night.
Their lands were seized, their name cursed, their legacy turned into whispers of treachery.
The world moved on.
---
Far away, beneath the shadow of a forgotten forest, Kang built a small hut hidden among the roots of ancient pines. There, Ryu Jin's real life began — not as the heir of a mighty Order, but as a ghost carried by the wind.
His days blurred into quiet rhythm: waking before dawn, training with wooden weapons, tending to the small fire that barely warmed the hut.
Kang rarely spoke of the past. When Ryu Jin asked about his father, the old man would simply say:
> "The truth is a blade, boy. You are not yet ready to hold it."
But at night, when the wind howled against the wooden walls, Ryu Jin would dream of that courtyard — of banners burning and the stillness in his father's eyes.
He would wake with his fists clenched around the jade pendant, his heart cold and silent.
---
Years would pass before he learned the name of those who had betrayed his father.
Years before he understood the meaning of the Heavenly Star Art — the martial legacy that only the true leader could inherit.
But on that first night, as snow buried the ruins of his home, one thing had already taken root within him — a conviction sharp as steel.
He would live.
He would endure.
And one day, beneath the same heavens that had condemned his father, the truth would be carved from blood and starlight.