Ash drifted from the sky.
"Another ashrain? Wasn't there one two days ago?" a miner said, staring upward in worry.
"Yeah," another sighed, wiping sweat from his neck.
"The world's getting uglier by the day. Let's just hope this isn't a Rank Four type..."
Lyn paused his work and watched the pale drizzle that blurred the horizon.
"Twice in two days," he murmured.
"Hey, you! Stop staring and get back to work – Light-refining ore doesn't dig itself!"
Lyn lifted his pickaxe, but before he could swing, he felt the air thicken. Each flake glowed faintly red. The miners' complaints turned to choking, then coughing.
"This is..."
The previously cocky substitute fell silent. He could identify the ashrain's rank, but that was no longer necessary. One look around was enough.
One by one, they fell.
One man straightened as if his breath had caught on an invisible hook. He clawed at his throat, eyes widening. His chest refused him. Someone tried to shout for help, but only scraped air. Knees hit the stone.
If the Fire Path overseer had come today, Vale Ridge would not have become a grave.
But apparently, he had chosen today of all days to fall sick.
Lyn remained still for a few breaths, listening as the last cough faded.
"Unaffected as always..." Lyn nodded as he extended his right hand.
A faint shimmer appeared, thin and glass-like.
Lyn guided the shimmering gate to the falling ash. The flakes slid inward into his Vessel Realm.
He continued until the Sea within trembled slightly.
That is enough. Any more would risk backlash.
He had collected over forty fragments. Enough for two weeks of food. Enough to possibly afford a cheap Rank One shard.
He sat among the corpses and wrote in a small notebook.
"Rank Four Fire material. Death within thirty seconds. Vessel depletion none. Body unaffected."
He closed the notebook and looked above.
Far above, behind the clouds. Two distant streaks moved against the empty blue, bright and sharp, snapping together like clashing blades. No sound reached the ground.
At the mercy of the strong again.
Lyn sighed.
When will that end?
After a short silence, he started looting the bodies.
As expected, they had nothing worthy to take. Lyn had no way to take their Heavenly Shards, but he managed to rob them of a few contribution tokens.
Contribution tokens were the world's currency, small golden chips of glass issued by the sects.
The world had already taken everything from men like these. Lyn taking a few tokens hardly changed the insult.
He turned to leave.
He would return to Hazelrun Village and pretend he overslept. A small deduction of contribution tokens would be nothing compared to the risk of explaining how he survived the ashrain.
As he walked, Lyn glanced inward at his Vessel Realm, an inner world with a sea without end and a sky that seemed to stretch forever. Three shards drifted above that silent sea.
Light Reflect was still intact. Light Cat Eyes sharpened the road ahead through the ash haze. Light Information remained silent, useless as always unless he knew what question to ask.
While walking toward the gate, he continued his train of thought.
If I exchange the ash too soon, the elders will ask how I harvested it without Fire Truth Carvings. I will have to rely on luck that they overlook it or forget about it...
He did not know why he could harvest any material, as normally one would need the corresponding Truth carvings.
His stomach growled.
Risky or not, harvesting materials meant tokens, and tokens meant food. If he gathered enough, he might even buy a cheap Rank One shard.
That was how one survived in a world that valued rank above life.
He stepped closer to Hazelrun's gate when suddenly a faint vibration rolled beneath his feet.
He stopped breathing for a heartbeat.
Behind him, the sky brightened. A golden glow thickened, spreading wider until the clouds seemed ready to split.
Blood warmed inside Lyn's nose and slipped down his lip.
He tried to wipe it away, but his hand would not answer.
Then the pressure deepened. His teeth ached in their roots, as if something were pressing against him from every direction at once. Wind roared through Hazelrun, dragging dust and straw into spirals that scratched across the ground.
Lyn forced his eyes upward.
The sky above the village looked like cracked glass. Pale lines spread through the clouds, widening with each silent pulse of golden light.
Dust climbed into the air. Space twisted around the glow.
Something vast turned its attention downward.
Lyn narrowed his eyes through the pain.
What is this?
Lyn tried to move again.
His legs refused. His body trembled from the inside out, every rib and joint shaking under the weight of the golden light.
He could do nothing but keep his eyes on the sky.
Light poured through, thick and blinding. Overhead, forms slid into existence—golden symbols with no fixed shape drifted downward, carrying a weight that forced the body into pure, animalistic fear.
The mind did not understand, but the body did.
Screams erupted from the village. Some tried to run, but their movements grew slow and uneven, as if the air had turned thick around them. A few managed only two or three stumbling steps before collapsing. Others froze where they stood, their bodies locked in place before their minds could understand why. A few died without ever knowing what had touched them.
Then the last traces of motion began to fail.
A sound like a broken violin's screech scraped across the village, thin and unbearable, as if time itself were being pulled apart strand by strand.
Color drained from the world like water from cloth. A deep bell rang somewhere beyond the sky. People hung mid-motion, caught between breaths, screams, and falling steps.
Only the golden symbols continued to move. They shifted above the village in perfect silence, turning with impossible grace. Each movement was precise, each angle deliberate, as if the world itself had no choice but to obey them.
Something inside Lyn reacted before thought could form. His hand stretched on its own, and his Shard Gate flickered open.
He tried to force it shut, to move, to do anything, yet nothing obeyed.
He could only watch helplessly.
A single mark drifted away from the others. Its edges sharpened as it descended, and the pressure around Lyn deepened until every sound collapsed into a single ringing note. Blood spilled warm from his ears. His vision blurred.
The symbol surged forward and vanished into the Gate.
For one breath, everything was silent.
Then a burning pain seized Lyn's chest, so sudden and violent that he thought his heart had been pierced.
His inner Sky shone with blinding light, then snapped into perfect stillness. High above his endless inner sea, a golden speck appeared.
It stabilized instantly, settling into place like a star that had always existed there.
His Vessel Realm quieted. Nothing moved. Nothing reacted. No ripple remained.
The rift closed.
The broken violin screeched once more. A deep bell followed.
Color rushed back into the world. Wind moved. Dust fell. Screams continued from the exact breath where they had been cut off.
Hazelrun Village stood in stunned terror. Some villagers staggered. Others touched the blood on their faces without understanding where it had come from.
None of them knew time had stopped.
Lyn lowered his hand slowly.
Inside his Vessel Realm, the golden star hung in the sky with absolute silence.
Problem after problem.
His expression remained flat, almost listless, as if the blood still wet on his face were nothing more than morning dew. Fear would come later, perhaps. For now, only irritation stirred in his chest.
He wiped the blood from his face as best he could.
He suppressed all Essence. His presence faded until he seemed no different from a Rootless villager returning home late. In this state, even a Rank Four Dao Chosen would overlook him entirely.
Voices appeared in the distance. Sect envoys rushed to investigate.
Lyn calmly adjusted his clothes and walked into the village.
He would say he overslept. No change in plan there.
No one would ever know what truly fell that day. It would become just another story to tell children at night to scare them from going outside. It would become just another myth.