The floating weapons began to hum.
Some trembled with rage, others with sorrow. A blade forged of lunar crystal cried tears of silver. A shattered staff pieced itself back together midair. And all turned—toward Wang Lin.
Jin Tao tensed. "I don't think they're welcoming us."
Lian Hua stepped in front of Wang Lin, sword drawn. "We fight if we must."
"No," Wang Lin said, his voice distant. "They're not attacking. They're… mourning."
The weapons spun slowly around the sarcophagus like stars orbiting a long-dead sun. Wang Lin walked forward, compelled, the Abduction Path within him pulsing in rhythm with the sigils below.
As he stepped onto the central platform, every sigil ignited.
From the sarcophagus, a deep resonance surged out—a voice not spoken but remembered.
> "You bear the Mark of Abduction. You who steal not from men, but from fate itself…"
A spectral figure rose from the coffin.
A man—his robes in tatters, a broken crown resting on his brow, three swirling eyes of different colors burned across his forehead. He held no weapon, only an ancient scroll bound in dark string.
Wang Lin instinctively bowed.
"Who… are you?"
The figure did not answer immediately. Instead, he gestured—and a ripple of history unfolded.
They saw him as a youth, carving the first sigils of the Abduction Path into stone. Battling sects who called him heretic. Devouring skills and bloodlines from the Celestial Beasts. Rising beyond the Sky Gates.
And falling.
Betrayed by those he taught. Sealed by the heavens themselves. His path—cast into myth.
"I am Tian Mo," the echo said at last. "The First Thief. The origin of your curse… and your potential."
Wang Lin trembled. "Why show me this?"
"Because you stand at the same crossroads I once faced," Tian Mo said, stepping close. "You can be salvation—or oblivion. The Abduction Path consumes. Not just power, but self. I lost myself to it. You do not have to."
He held out the scroll. "This contains the lost verses. The forbidden layers I sealed away. You may take it… but understand: knowledge once consumed cannot be undone."
Lian Hua whispered, "Don't…"
Jin Tao shook his head. "This is bad. Real bad."
But Wang Lin reached out.
His fingers brushed the scroll—
—and the world tore open.
Darkness bled from the pages. A surge of unfamiliar techniques, bloodlines, fragments of memory not his own, crashed into his mind.
He saw wings of void. Eyes that burned time. Claws that sundered soul.
And at the center of it all… Mo Xie.
The Eternal Reclaimer.
Smiling.
Waiting.
Wang Lin dropped the scroll, gasping. "He knows I'm here. He's watching."
Tian Mo's echo began to fade.
"You've awakened more than memory, child. The Temple will come. Mo Xie will rise. The heavens will burn again. But now… you are not alone."
As the echo vanished, the weapons lowered gently to the ground.
Lian Hua stepped beside him, hand on his arm.
"You're shaking."
"I'm changing," Wang Lin whispered, eyes glowing faintly. "And I don't know if I can stop it."
Jin Tao looked toward the sarcophagus. "Then we better make sure you change into something the Temple can't kill."
The Sanctum of Ashes was no longer silent.
Its legacy had found a new heir.