Before the moonlight. Before the kneeling. Before he bore the mark of the void—he was just a shadow, known only as Ash.
He had no surname. No past. Only purpose.
Born from the blood rites of the Crimson Fang Syndicate, Ash had been raised to kill kings, topple sects, and vanish like mist before dawn. But when the order came, scrawled in ink that shimmered with warded flame, even Ash paused.
"Track the echo. Find the one who stirs the Void. Test him—Kill him if you can but if u survive, kneel."
The message bore the sigil of the Silver Lotus Sect, yet it came sealed with the mark of something older not with the same obsidian order he was used to. An Older Crimson veil seal. Forgotten. Forbidden.
Ash never asked questions. But this time, as he passed through ghost cities and frostbitten ridges, he heard them.
Whispers.
In taverns. In temples. In the dreams of those who touched the veil too long.
"The Nameless King awakes…"
"He walks again…"
"Chains break. He returns."
One old monk had stared straight into Ash's eyes and muttered, "He is not what you think. You don't kill a void… You become part of it."
Ash had slit the man's throat. Not out of cruelty—but fear.
Because somewhere deep inside, he had begun to believe.
By the time he reached the ruins beneath the Pale Moon Peaks, the truth was already gnawing at him.
He'd seen the signs—how the sky darkened where Lucien passed, how spirits refused to linger. He watched ravens spiral in unnatural formations. He felt the pull—the gravity of something far greater than himself.
So when he finally stepped into the clearing, and Lucien turned, eyes lit with ancient stillness…
Ash already knew.
He wasn't here to kill a man.
He was here to kneel before a god.
And when Lucien asked, "Do you surrender?"
Ash didn't hesitate.
"I do."