The wind howled through the skeletal remains of the Thousand Jade Pavilion, carrying whispers from the dead. Wang Lin stood at the edge of a collapsed hall, his eyes closed, sensing every fluctuation in the fractured spiritual veins beneath the ground.
There were survivors.
Scattered.
Faint.
Flickering like dying embers.
"We're not too late," he said, turning toward the others. "But they're hiding deep. Underground. Shielded by… something foul."
Jin Tao crouched, sniffing the air. "Smells like rot and soul-binding incense. The Temple's necrotic scouts passed through here."
Vaen's face darkened. "They've begun using soul sieves. It drains cultivators of their spiritual essence while keeping them alive… for days. Maybe weeks."
Lian Hua gripped her blade tighter. "Then we don't hesitate."
They moved like shadows through the ruins, Wang Lin at the center, leading them with unerring clarity. The Abduction Path had evolved—no longer a curse that threatened to consume him, but a refined instinct. His steps flowed like wind, each movement drawn from stolen echoes of masters long gone.
Eventually, they reached a sealed crypt hidden beneath the pavilion's eastern pagoda. The door was etched with curse sigils—glowing red and sickly green.
"I've seen these before," Vaen said. "These were used in the War of Nine Moons. They prevent the spirits inside from calling for help."
Jin Tao clicked his tongue. "Fancy locks. Think we knock?"
Wang Lin stepped forward. "No."
He extended his palm. The Abduction Path swirled, threads of stolen technique weaving together into a pattern of silence. He pressed it to the door.
The curses shattered.
And the door groaned open.
What greeted them was a cavernous tomb—stone beds, makeshift wards, dozens of injured cultivators. Some groaned in delirium, their auras flickering weakly. Others had long since passed.
One of the elders stirred, his face pale and stretched thin. "You… are not Temple…"
Wang Lin knelt beside him. "No. We're here to help."
The elder coughed blood. "It's too late… They took her… the child… they said she carried the Phoenix Vein… they'll make her a vessel—"
His voice died.
Lian Hua clenched her fists. "We save who we can now. Then we go after the girl."
As they moved through the tomb, Vaen placed protective wards to stabilize the remaining survivors. But Wang Lin's heart was already far ahead, chasing the trail left behind in the elder's broken words.
A girl. A Phoenix Vein. A vessel.
It sounded all too familiar.
They surfaced under moonlight. The raven sky had darkened further, tinged crimson at the horizon.
In the distance, a new structure rose—one that hadn't been there before.
A black obelisk surrounded by glowing chains.
"The Temple's altar," Vaen said, voice laced with dread. "They're performing the Rite of Reclamation. That's not just a ritual. It's how they turn a bloodline heir… into a conduit."
Jin Tao's eyes widened. "Into what?"
"A puppet god," Vaen whispered.
Wang Lin turned to his companions.
"We stop the rite."
"But there are dozens of them," Lian Hua said. "We'll be outnumbered."
"I'll go alone," Wang Lin said. "I'll draw them out."
"No," she snapped. "Not again. Not after everything we've seen."
He looked at her, voice steady. "I won't fight them. Not yet. I'll let them chase me, away from the girl. You three break the chains and get her out."
Jin Tao grinned. "Now that's a suicidal plan I can get behind."
Vaen simply nodded. "Then let's begin."
Under the cover of shadows and fury, they moved.
The Temple would not see them coming.
And by the time they did, the flame they thought extinguished would be reborn.
Not as a whisper…
…but as a roar.