Far from the sects and sanctuaries of the Central Heavens, beyond even the reach of Cloudfire emissaries, lay a cursed stretch of land called the Desolate Wastes—a place long sealed from maps, from memory, and from mercy.
It was there, beneath a black mountain that had never known sunlight, a heartbeat began to echo.
Not the rhythmic thump of flesh, but the groaning of qi-forged chains. Not the pulse of life, but the awakening of something buried too deep for death.
The coffin split.
From within, smoke flowed like breath exhaled after centuries of silence. Talismans burned away one by one, screams of celestial seals breaking echoing across leagues of land. And in that tomb of fire and soulsteel, Yan Zhuo opened his eyes.
They were not red.
They were clear—like still water over ancient stone. But they burned with purpose.
He sat up slowly, joints cracking like thunder swallowed by earth. He touched the inside of the coffin, where his name had once been scratched out by his own hands. In its place, he saw a single character—carved by someone else.
Hope.
His lips parted, voice like wind over dry leaves: "She found it."
Back in the mortal world, Yue Lian crouched beneath the fractured roots of a spirit pine, her hand pressed to a wound across her side. Blood soaked her robes, but her eyes remained sharp.
Lin Huo returned with a handful of moss and spirit beads. "We're half a league south of the Silent March. No trace of the Judge since the last clash."
Yue Lian took the moss, biting into it to numb the pain. "He won't give up. Not until I'm ash."
"Then we make sure you're smoke." Lin Huo grinned grimly.
Yue Lian unrolled the second jade slip—retrieved from a hidden courier the night before they fled. It was older, cracked at the corners.
She fed qi into it. A scene bloomed in midair.
Yan Zhuo, in bloodstained robes, standing before a burning mountain. Children behind him. Demons impaled on cursed stakes. And his voice:
"Run. Tell them I was the monster. Let them live."
Her hands trembled.
She whispered, "He never wanted a throne. He wanted them to survive."
In a hidden tower in the Northern Sky Sect, High Seer Luo drank his tea slowly.
Behind him, an acolyte whispered, "A pulse was detected in the Forbidden Wastes."
"A pulse?" Luo asked without turning.
"Three celestial chains broke. The flame signature—matches the Crimson Tyrant."
Luo exhaled. "So the tyrant rises... or the martyr returns."
He stood and placed a scroll into the fire.
The flames turned gold.
"Summon the Four Compass Generals. And inform the Oracle of Stars: Judgment is no longer enough. Now we must choose sides."
Deep beneath the Desolate Wastes, Yan Zhuo stepped from his tomb.
His robes were scorched.
His sword, chained to a pillar for over two hundred years, snapped free and flew to his palm with a wail that shattered the air.
He looked toward the Central Heavens.
And took his first step.
"Time to burn away what remains of their illusions."