Jian Long stood—not floated—on a surface made of nerve and thought, where every step echoed like a bell tolling inside a bone cathedral. The void had shifted. Solidified. It felt like being inside a lung that dreamed.
The Queen emerged.
Not with wings or fangs, but as a woman cloaked in veils made of memory threads. She was faceless, yet beautiful in a way that threatened sanity—too symmetrical, too familiar. She wore the echo of someone Jian Long once trusted.
"Welcome, Echohost," she said, voice layered with harmonies that bent time. "Your silence screamed the loudest. We heard you."
Jian Long tried to move. His body was his again—but slow, like blood underwater. "What do you want?"
"We want what all mothers want. To be remembered. To be remade."
A chorus rose behind her—hymns sung in reversed lullabies, voices of the other prisoners rising in forced unison. The Queen raised her hand, and the sound stopped.
"You carry the old venom," she whispered. "You are the broken shard of our genesis. The singular crack in the crystal womb. The first wronghost."
She stepped closer. The void pulsed with each of her steps.
"You've tasted solitude. But what if you could be more than alone?"
Jian Long's throat burned. "You mean—less than human."
"No," she cooed. "More than one."
A membrane unfolded between them, revealing visions: Su Ling screaming, Mei thrashing under hive influence, his brother—still a child—dreaming of finding Jian again. Each image stabbed his will.
"We can fix them," said the Queen, "if you sing with us."
Her veils extended toward him like tendrils.
He did not move. He whispered, "I have my own song."
And he bit his lip until it bled—until pain became the final note of refusal.
The Queen staggered.
Blood—real blood—tainted the membrane between them. It sizzled like acid in a holy pool. Jian Long felt a spark ignite deep within, and the void shook.
The system reactivated—not in full—but enough to whisper, weak but present:
"Welcome back, idiot."
Jian Long exhaled. The warmth of that sarcastic tone was more sacred than any anthem.
The crystal coffin in the real world glowed faint red.
Su Ling stumbled back. Mei clutched her head, snarling, "The Queen—she's recoiling. He's… pushing back."
In the hive-void, Jian Long raised his arms. Not to attack, but to tune. He reached inward, crafting a sound not from power, but memory:
Xiao Li's fire extinguisher.
The burnt rice from his first failed solo meal.
The wheeze of his brother's snoring after exams.
All of them layered into a dissonant hum. Ugly. Real.
The Queen screamed.
Her veils frayed, writhing like severed nerves. Her form twisted into multiple faces—his mother, his first crush, a favorite teacher—all screaming the same word:
"Ours!"
But Jian Long stepped forward.
"Not yours," he said.
He sang again. Louder.
A note only the broken could hold.
His crystal prison cracked louder.
The inner sanctum of the sect quaked. Elders arrived, stunned to see the coffin bleeding sound. Su Ling didn't move. She was the anchor now.
"I know his voice," she whispered. "Don't you dare drown it."
The Queen lashed out—tendrils of thought stabbing Jian Long's core.
But now, he smiled.
Pain had returned.
So had he.
The Queen fell to her knees, her harmonies fractured into coughs of static. Her army of prisoners howled—some in anguish, others in awe. Jian Long towered before her, scarlet light bleeding from his chest.
"You were supposed to be our seed," she whispered. "You were designed."
"I chose," he corrected. "Even in hell, I choose."
She reached toward him, one final time, but this time her hand shook.
"You would deny unity?"
"I'd rather suffer alone than live as a lie."
He touched her forehead—not to bless, but to return.
A blast of raw memory surged into her. Not his—but fragments too painful to hold: his brother's cry the night their parents vanished, the fear when he first awoke in the sect bleeding from the mouth, the bitter laughter of the system mocking his failures.
The Queen shrieked.
And then—
She shattered.
A thousand veils torn. A thousand screams silenced.
The void rippled.
The prisoners gasped.
And Jian Long opened his eyes.