The ruins had stopped whispering.
Zairo sat cross-legged beneath a skeletal tree that grew from shattered stone—roots tangled in old bones, its bark carved by lightning long past. Above him, the moons had resumed their eternal dance, cold and distant, as if nothing had happened.
But within him, everything had changed.
He could feel it.
The Soul Veins—not physical, but something deeper, spiritual, coiled through him like invisible fire lines carved into his essence. They pulsed not with Qi, but with intent, memory, and the weight of everything he carried: grief, rage, promise.
He opened his eyes.
"You're feeling it now, aren't you?" came Varn's voice from nearby.
The old prophet sat crouched on a crooked rock, puffing on a rootpipe that smelled of bitter flameweed. "The first pulse always rattles the bones."
Zairo nodded slowly.
"It's not like Qi," he murmured. "It doesn't flow. It... listens."
Varn chuckled darkly. "That's because Soul Veins don't feed power. They echo purpose. They grow stronger the more true you are to your path—and they punish doubt."
"So if I falter?" Zairo asked.
"You won't just fail," Varn said. "You'll shatter. From the inside."
🌑 The Initiation
Zairo rose.
He knew what came next. Cultivators called it Initiation—the first synchronization between spirit and source. For Soul Veins, this meant confronting the one thing all others avoid: the truth within.
He stepped into the center of a stone circle, once a training ground, now covered in weeds and bloodstains from a forgotten era. The moment he stood still, the ground beneath his feet lit up—veins of ghostlight crawling outward like a spiderweb.
"Focus," Varn whispered. "Let the Veins read you."
Zairo closed his eyes.
A whisper brushed against his thoughts. Then another. Dozens. Hundreds. Voices from the past, from beyond, from within.
And then—🔥 FLASH!
The world vanished.
🌌 Mindscape: The Trial Within
He was falling through void.
No stars.
No sky.
Only silence.
Then came the images.
His mother—smiling, reaching for him through smoke.
His father—bleeding, standing against an unseen enemy.
The blade—his father's, thrust into his small hands.
The girl—Sira, eyes glowing, a tear rolling down her cheek as golden chains bound her limbs.
The fire.
The screams.
The moment everything broke.
Zairo clenched his fists as the darkness closed in.
"You are not ready," a voice thundered from nowhere.
"You will fail. You will forget. You will burn—like they did."
Zairo's lips twisted into a snarl.
"No."
His voice echoed with raw will.
"I remember. Every. Flame. Every scream. Every silence after."
"I won't fail. Not while she's still out there. Not while Heaven thinks it can control fate."
"Then show us," the voice hissed. "Prove your soul is sharp enough to cut destiny."
⚔️ Soul Vein Initiated
In an instant, the darkness exploded outward, and Zairo stood once more in the real world—on fire.
His body wasn't burning—but his Soul Veins were.
From his chest to his limbs, golden-red lines flickered across his skin like ancient tattoos, glowing brighter with each breath. Not pain. Power. Controlled by purpose.
Varn staggered back, eyes wide. "You… you did it."
Zairo opened his hand, and the air around him bent, pulled inward toward his soul like gravity obeyed him.
"I'm done surviving," he said. "It's time I started fighting."
And from far away, in a hidden dimension where chains hum and gods whisper, a cloaked figure watched a single golden thread snap from the Loom of Fate.
"He has awakened," the figure said.
"The Fatebreaker walks."