A Past Painted in Lantern LightA vision bloomed like memory reborn.
Warm light spilled across a vast estate — red lanterns swayed like suspended suns, silk banners fluttered in the wind. Joy hung in the air like incense, thick and sweet. Fireworks cracked in the distance, white sparks bursting like newborn stars across a velvet sky. Laughter spilled from every corner, alive enough to taste.
A family. Whole. Smiling.
A celebration untouched by betrayal or blood.
A moment the World would never give back.
Inside the Crystal Lotus Mirror, the scene sharpened:a boy — six, maybe seven — sprinted through the courtyard with the clumsy freedom only childhood allows. Dark hair, bright eyes, cheeks flushed from excitement.
A stout middle-aged man laughed, cradling a newborn girl in his arms.
"Uncle Sylvan, congratulations to you and Aunt for giving birth to a baby daughter. You'd better hold another cute baby next year — maybe a boy, which with I play."
The boy's voice chimed like bells.
Uncle Sylvan blinked, startled, then burst into a grin. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of copper coins. They spilled across his palm like tiny gold moons.
"You're a good talker," he chuckled, pressing them into the boy's hands. "Here. Take them. Buy sweets to eat."
The boy — Soren Ravyn — beamed, eyes crinkling, and sprinted off. Coins jingled like music with every step. Watching him go, Uncle Sylvan stroked his beard and muttered to himself, voice low but fond:
"Soren's a good child. If only… I could arrange a marriage contract for my daughter with him one day..."
The words hung in the air as blessing — or curse.
Outside the mirror, the crowd watched in silence.
All gathered before the floating Crystal Lotus Mirror atop the shattered steps of the Supreme Lotus Palace, its lotus-shaped spires casting long shadows.
"This family must have just given birth to a daughter," someone murmured. "They're celebrating."
A whisper cut through the stillness:
"That little boy… that wouldn't be the Supreme Lotus Emperor as a child, right?"
Sudden interest rippled like a wave. Faces leaned forward. Eyes narrowed.
Same jawline. Same eyes — only softer, untouched by storms.
Travis, black-haired and solemn, spoke first:
"It's him. His real name is Soren Ravyn. Not many know… Everyone just calls him the Supreme Lotus Emperor now."
The words landed heavily.
Shock. Disbelief. A few bitter laughs.
"So the Emperor was like this as a child… well-behaved. Even cute."
"Cute or not, he became evil later."
"If we could go back and kill him now… none of the tragedies later would exist."
Soft sighs. Harsh truths. Fear disguised as bravado.
But the image of that boy — small, hopeful — made the cruelty taste different in their mouths.
The scene inside the mirror continued.
Soren played among the crowd, weaving through joy like he belonged to it. Soon, his father appeared — handsome, gentle-eyed, a presence that grounded the room.
The two families sat together, sharing food and dreams like they'd share a lifetime.
They never saw the sky darkening.
A shadow of robes gathered above the estate — Star Clan Cultivators in seven-pointed insignias, suspended on clouds like judgment.
The leader's voice thundered:
"Bastard Sylvan! How dare you betray my Star Clan! I'll exterminate your entire family today!"
A gesture.A flash of Mana.Flying swords poured like rain.
Screams tore the air apart. Blood splattered across silk banners. Lanterns shattered, sparks falling like dying constellations.
Joy bled out into a crimson sea.
Under a table, young Soren Ravyn trembled — arms wrapped around a tiny baby girl. His small fingers clung to her like she was the last thread of reality holding him together.
His breath hitched. His body shook. Blue eyes wide with terror.
Outside the mirror, someone jeered:
"Haha, even the mighty Emperor was afraid. Look at him trembling — not stronger than a hen."
A slap of silence followed. No one laughed again.
Even hatred has its limits in the face of slaughter.
A quiet voice spoke, heavy with regret:
"If only he'd died here… everything after might have been spared."
Inside the mirror, the massacre settled.The Star Clan Cultivators left without checking for survivors — their arrogance towering higher than the clouds they flew on.
Soren crawled out, baby still clutched to his chest. Tears streaked his cheeks, cutting clean rivers through dust and blood.
He searched — stumbling — until he found his father and Uncle Sylvan.
Uncle Sylvan: still.No breath.Eyes closed forever.
His father — barely alive — reached up with the last of his strength. His hand cupped his son's cheek with a tenderness that hurt to watch.
"Soren… Yara in your arms… she's Uncle Sylvan's last bloodline. Take her with you… live on."
A weak smile.A breath.A hand falling.
Silence.
Little Soren Ravyn — future Supreme Lotus Emperor — stood alone in a world made of corpses.
Outside, reality pressed down like a storm.
"…That baby is actually Yara."
All eyes turned.
Yara stood apart — silver-white hair flowing like moonlight, icy blue eyes unreadable. Her expression didn't crack. Couldn't crack. You can't mourn what you don't remember.
But something flickered there — the ghost of a feeling with no name.
Murmurs rose:
"No wonder the Emperor was ruthless to Sister Yara later… even seized her Golden Bone. He never saw her as family."
Rose — crimson-haired, curves like sin, eyes smoldering — wrapped an arm around Yara, voice soft but laced with fire:
"He deserved to fall. Whatever kindness he showed then, he burned it away himself."
Fin Ravyn stepped forward, forcing a smile:
"It's a good thing Yara was lucky enough not to be harmed. Even if she hadn't been saved by him, I swear she still would've lived."
Yara inhaled — slowly — like her lungs had to relearn how.
Her shoulders relaxed. Just barely.
The chapter ends with the image inside the mirror still burning —a broken boy holding a crying baby,amid lanterns gone dark.