Eastern Continent — Temple of the Ascended
The temple stood upon a floating island, suspended above a sea of clouds, surrounded by eleven spires that sang in the wind. No mortals came here. No beast dared enter. It was a place older than the sky.
Inside, a ritual was underway.
Eleven figures in golden robes stood in a circle. Their faces were hidden behind porcelain masks etched with runes. Before them, a black mirror reflected not their images, but the past, present, and future all at once.
And within that mirror:
Yun Jian, the Shadow Sovereign, slaying Zhar'gul.
One of the elders raised his staff.
"He has claimed the fifth fragment. The seal is weakening."
Another nodded. "If he acquires the sixth, the gate to the Origin Vault will unlock."
A third—her voice ancient and brittle—spoke gravely.
"Then it is time. We summon… the Seventh Choir."
Lightning cracked outside. The spires began to vibrate with a celestial hum.
A melody of power.
Of judgment.
Of the old gods.
Elsewhere — A Quiet Cave in the Forest of Light
Yun Jian awoke in silence.
For once, there was no pressure.
No battle.
No voices whispering in the dark.
Just the gentle sound of a brook, birdsong, and the presence of his companions nearby. They'd taken refuge in a hidden glade known to Mei Lin—one untouched by war or spirit beasts.
He sat up slowly.
Ghostfang, curled beside him, lifted its head and chuffed softly.
Feng Yu stirred at the fire, cooking rice with herbs and dried meat.
Aran was sharpening his sword.
Mei Lin meditated, her spiritual energy forming a soft glow around her.
They had all grown stronger.
But Yun Jian felt different.
Ever since absorbing the fifth fragment, a second mind had awakened inside him. Not hostile—yet not entirely passive. It was like carrying a crown made of memory and death.
And last night, in a dream, he saw a door. A massive obsidian gate, inscribed with twelve runes. Five of them glowed now.
Only seven remained.
But beyond the door, he had felt it—the end of all things.
Later That Day – The Whispering Vale
Yun Jian and the team crossed into the Whispering Vale, a land once known for its beauty. Now it lay silent, its forests pale and drained of color.
"There should be wildlife," Aran muttered. "Even spirit deer…"
Feng Yu nodded, frowning. "I feel… watched."
Ghostfang growled low.
Then the whispers began.
Soft at first.
Then louder.
"Turn back…"
"You are not welcome…"
"He awaits above the clouds…"
Mei Lin paled. "This is a Soul Song…"
Feng Yu's eyes widened. "A divine one."
Yun Jian stepped forward, his shadow stretching long behind him.
And then the sky split.
A choir of golden figures descended.
They wore no armor, carried no weapons—yet the air bent around them like glass under heat.
Eleven of them.
Floating.
Singing.
Each note they sang carved lines into the earth. Trees crumbled. Water evaporated.
Their voices were not words but commands—truths of the old world.
"You were not meant to rise."
"Your name is false."
"Return to dust, Sovereign."
The Seventh Choir
Yun Jian's eyes flared. The runes on his arm—those born of the fifth fragment—shimmered.
He drew his halberd and pointed it skyward.
"I've sung no songs," he said, voice calm. "But I remember your melody."
"It was a lullaby sung to corpses."
The lead Choir member moved. A flick of the hand.
A golden rune sliced through the sky toward Yun Jian.
He vanished, reappearing a breath later in the air, his halberd glowing with both flame and void.
Clang!
The two powers collided.
For a moment, the forest was daylight.
Then came the storm.
Wind howled. Trees flew. Aran and Mei Lin were forced to retreat into a spirit barrier raised by Feng Yu.
Yun Jian fought alone.
But he was no longer mortal.
The Dance of Ash and Echo
He danced among the Choir like a god of war. One Choir member tried to sing a binding verse—but Yun Jian answered with his own voice.
Not words.
Shadow.
He sang in silence, with every strike, every cut, every movement—a language older than sound.
One Choir fell. Then two.
But each time one fell, the others grew stronger.
They began to harmonize.
Their notes now struck his soul, not his flesh.
He staggered.
Blood flowed from his nose and ears.
Then they sang a final chord—one forged to kill gods.
"Be forgotten."
Reality shattered.
The Void Between Notes
Yun Jian fell through nothingness.
No air.
No time.
Only silence.
And there, in the dark, something spoke.
Not the Shadow God.
Not the Choir.
"You finally arrived."
"We have been waiting, little king."
Before him stood a figure clad in rags of moonlight and bone.
Its eyes were stars collapsed in on themselves.
It handed him a note.
A single sheet of parchment.
Words burned into it:
"The Twelve Songs were not made to bind you."
"They were made to hide you."
Yun Jian blinked.
"Who are you?"
The being smiled.
"Your forerunner."
And then it pushed him.
Back into the world.
Return to the Battle
Yun Jian crashed into the earth, a black comet.
The Choir turned, surprised.
And then terrified.
Because something had changed.
The shadows around Yun Jian now sang with him.
Real sound.
An echo of the Twelfth Note—the forbidden harmony.
His body pulsed with black fire and silver threads of starlight.
"I am not your silence," he said.
"I am the discord in your perfection."
"I am the thirteenth voice."
He raised the halberd.
And sang.
Not with a melody, but a scream—an aria of defiance.
It tore the sky.
The Choir crumbled—each one dissolving into gold dust.
And then silence returned.
Only the wind remained.
And Yun Jian, standing alone, victorious once more.
Later That Night – Campfire Reflections
They sat around a small fire.
Feng Yu broke the silence.
"You sang today," he said. "Not with your blade. But with your soul."
Mei Lin nodded. "That was no mortal voice."
Aran poked the fire. "Do you even know what you are becoming?"
Yun Jian didn't answer.
He was staring at his hand.
The sixth fragment had not appeared.
Because this time, it wasn't a physical object.
It was a song.
And now it lived in him.
He whispered, almost to himself:
"Six of twelve…"
"What awaits when all songs are sung?"
Far Beyond — The Vault of Echoes
The hooded figure from the Temple knelt before a greater presence.
A throne made of crystalized time.
A figure in shadow sat upon it.
Its fingers tapped an invisible rhythm.
"He has sung the sixth."
"The next will awaken the Sealed King."
The hooded one trembled.
"Shall I prepare the Golden Armies?"
The being on the throne paused.
Then smiled.
"No…"
"Let him come."
"Let him remember."