Lian Zhen drifted in a darkness so absolute that even the memory of light disintegrated on contact. No breath, no heartbeat, no warmth—only an ocean‑deep pressure squeezing every thought that dared rise. Centuries earlier terror had clawed her mind raw: she had screamed, begged, cursed the heavens until her throat bled. But time inside crystal ground terror into numb stone. She learned to catalogue passing tremors the way prisoners scratch marks on a wall, half‑dreaming that somewhere seasons still changed.
Sometimes she recited the names of flowers she'd once smelled, just to prove language still existed. Sometimes she counted heartbeats that weren't there. Mostly, she watched the slow crawl of madness tap soft claws along the edge of her thoughts—and refused it entry.
Tonight, the scratching changed pitch.
A shudder rippled through the gem coffin: steel striking quartz, the grunt of a man wielding weight, orders barked in an unfamiliar dialect. Vibrations coursed down the lattice and tickled nerves long believed dead. She would have gasped—had she still possessed lungs that worked.
[BOOTING… ERROR 404 – Anchor‑Protocol Misaligned]
Runic glyphs burst across her inner vision—luminous cyan incising the void. They stabbed like sunrise into pupils that hadn't seen light since a Crane‑blooded emperor first took the throne.
System Status: FRAGMENTARY
User: Lian Zhen (Sealed) — Vital Signs: Deferred
Restoration Check: 01/??
Awareness shocked her body: phantom limbs twitched; stagnant meridians sparked. Not again, she thought, words forming soundlessly. I refuse oblivion.
Stone resisted when she tried to flex a finger, yet the pain of resistance coaxed tears—proof she still was. A sob followed, the first sound her throat had attempted in centuries, but it came out as a ragged scrape inside her skull.
Memories poured in, too many to hold. Faces of courtiers long dead. The taste of chrysanthemum tea before the blade. The scent of sandalwood smoke drifting above the courtyard of judgment.
A vision surfaced: a courtyard lit by a thousand red lanterns, every flame mirrored on lacquered tiles like fallen petals. She stood at the center, wrists manacled with gold‑filigree chains meant for high traitors. Nobles in brocade and jade circled, chanting accusations—sorceress, conspirator, villainess.
On a dais sat the regent‑council, faces hidden behind phoenix masks. Beside them knelt a boy prince—seventeen, horrified—forced to grip the ceremonial execution blade. His fingers trembled; a regent's gloved hand guided the killing stroke.
She had mouthed words he couldn't hear—You are not your father's puppet. He flinched, tears mixing with sweat. The blade fell. Pain blossomed bright as dawn—and ritualists captured her soul, sealing body and spirit inside a crystal that rang like a bell struck by fate.
The memory shattered. Darkness surged back, but lantern‑red afterimages burned behind closed lids. Her mind trembled on the brink of rage—a wildfire begging for oxygen.
Outside, a gruff voice snarled, "These ruins are forbidden, Your Highness. Old ghosts are best left alone." Consonants had hardened with centuries, vowels softened, yet deference to royalty endured. So the line still reigned, then—new emperor, same arrogance.
A second voice—smooth, curious—replied, "History is written by those who dig, Captain. Books can lie. Foundations cannot."
A prince. Fate adored symmetry.
Steel scraped crystal. Tang! A hairline fracture zig‑zagged across her vision. Tiny motes of silver dust drifted into the coffin, glimmering like lost stars.
A second strike widened the crack; moonlight seeped through like silver water. Cold air followed—sharp, real, and final.
Integrity ↓ 88 % → 62 % → 28 %
WARNING: Containment Failure Imminent
Stone groaned. A third blow—everything shattered.
Crystalline shards burst outward in a blizzard of stars. Cold night air slapped lungs that had lain flat for a millennium. Gravity dragged her forward; knees cracked onto mosaic flagstones. Her first desperate breath tasted of wet ivy, mildew, and dust older than kingdoms. The intake burned like fire, but she drank it in greedily, coughing crystal dust.
Torchlight flared; pain lanced behind her eyes. Every nerve sang, alive, alive, alive. Her heartbeat—faint, irregular—thumped once, then again, establishing territory long abandoned.
Boots skidded back. She looked up.
A tall young man stood amid the falling shards: black leather boots, silver‑edged greaves, travel‑stained cloak bearing a stylised crane. He held a spirit‑forged jian, glyphs pulsing along its fuller. Slate‑grey eyes regarded her with a scholar's wonder and a soldier's caution.
"By the heavens," he whispered. "It's true."
Crystal dust snowed over her ragged gown—once imperial crimson, now grey tatters. Her hair, matted yet shimmering with frost‑shard, brushed her waist. She tried to push it back but her arms felt made of smoke.
"Identify yourself." The sword hovered a breath from her throat.
Her voice scraped out, dry but sharp. "I… have no name fit for your ears." Even as she spoke, static danced along her tongue, the System translating half‑dead nerves into sound.
[PRISM‑404 HUD INITIALIZING]
Mission Generated:Secure the loyalty of your future killer (Target: Prince Ren Feng)
Reward: +50 Anchor Points
Penalty: Stasis Lock (24 h)
Future killer. She managed not to flinch, but a sour laugh echoed inside her thoughts. The universe, it seemed, kept grisly ledgers.
Ren Feng glanced at fallen shackles. "You were sealed alive. Chronicles brand you a witch who commanded storms."
"Chronicles are penned by victors, lies by cowards," she rasped. "Which quill was yours?"
He did not bite. "Neither. I came to learn." His tone held a scholar's hunger wrapped in princely discipline.
The sword trembled—fear or excitement? Opportunity flickered. She shifted; shards crunched under her knees. Scarred meridians tingled like dormant roots touching sun. A sliver of power slipped through, warming her palms.
"You freed me," she said, chin lifting until steel kissed skin. "Will you finish what your ancestors began, or learn why they failed?"
His jaw flexed. Torchlight revealed a quiver in his blade arm. Young, yet burdened—another prince forced to carry the sins of a dynasty.
Crooked smile cracking dry lips, she whispered, "Lower your weapon and I'll give you something no tomb can: prophecy."
He arched a brow. "From a nameless ghost?"
"From the woman history erased."
A heartbeat. The jian slid into its sheath. "Speak."
Blood rushed into numb limbs. "Within three days the capital's southern reservoir will rupture. Hairline cracks, visible only at dawn, are growing. Send masons tonight; save your harvest."
The captain sputtered. "Your Highness—"
"Silence." Ren never broke eye contact. "And if I ignore you?"
"Famine will ride the autumn winds, and ten thousand will curse the throne." She shrugged, forcing nonchalance though each inhalation felt like swallowing knives. "Believe me—or test fate."
System Calculation: 71 % probability prophecy accurate
Mission Progress: Trust +5 %
Ren gestured. "Captain, dispatch engineers—quietly."
Boots retreated into shadow. Lian's vision blurred; she realized tears pricked her eyes—not sorrow, but the shocking sensation of air against them.
Silence pooled, broken only by distant owls and Lian's ragged breaths. Ren knelt, curiosity simmering behind austere features. Tension thickened the air; she smelled sweat beneath his cologne of cedar and ink.
"Now," he said, "tell me who condemned you."
Images stabbed: phoenix mask, trembling boy, lanterns swaying as she bled. She expected rage, but surprise bloomed—she felt pity for that long‑ago prince, shackled by duty. Pity for herself, too, once a girl who believed justice had a voice.
"I will trade that story," she said, voice brittle yet gaining strength, "for shelter, clothing, and freedom within your court."
"Terms steep for a stranger."
"Stranger?" A hoarse laugh. "You shattered my prison. That makes us accomplices."
A smile ghosted across his mouth—admiration, not victory. "Very well. But if your prophecy fails, stone will welcome you back."
Mission Update: Conditional Loyalty Achieved (Progress 50 %)
AP Gain: +15 (Prophetic Insight)
Pain spiked as she rose. Ren offered an arm; she accepted. His sleeve smelled of mountain dusk and horse sweat—alive scents, startling after centuries of nothing.
They crossed the nave. Tattered crane banners swayed above, threads breaking free like molting feathers. Ivy‑choked pillars glimmered silver where moon‑slivers caught marble veins. Each step reawakened nerves, a symphony of agony and relief. She bit her lip to keep from moaning.
She glanced back. The crystal coffin lay like a meteor crater, shards reflecting torchlight. Her mangled reflection fractured across a hundred facets—villainess, martyr, weapon. A chill ripple of destiny passed through her: the coffin was a corpse she'd shed.
Near the doors an abandoned offering‑bowl sat cracked in half, its incense long extinguished. She caught a whiff of ghost‑ash, and the memory of temple bells echoed faintly. Once, worshippers had knelt here; now vines owned the altar.
Outside, jungle canopy bowed under wind. Camp torches flickered among statues of forgotten emperors. Soldiers whispered, making warding gestures as the pair emerged. She tasted their fear like spice on the air.
Ren halted beneath a broken archway where moonlight pooled. "The ledger needs a name. 'Nameless Witch' is impractical."
She almost answered with spite—but the surge of dawn breeze brushed her face, carrying petrichor and the rustle of distant leaves. She felt the pulse of an empire she'd once sworn to serve—before they betrayed her. And she thought of the grand library, the silk roads, the alchemy labs she might walk again.
"Write 'Zhen'," she said. The word emerged clear, commanding. "Let the century remember."
Thunder rolled, as if the heavens signed the decree.
As they passed beneath the archway, rain began in earnest—fat summer drops that hissed against torch flames. The jungle path wound downward, slick with moss. Ren signaled his captain to keep distance, granting them a pocket of privacy amid the dripping foliage.
Lian inhaled the petrichor. Each scent felt like a forgotten note in a symphony: damp loam, crushed fern, distant blossom carried on humid wind. A frog croaked, startling her—she laughed under her breath at the absurdity of fearing a frog after century‑long burial.
Ren glanced sideways. "The world surprises you."
"It overwhelms me," she admitted. "Sound. Smell. Gravity. Even silence is louder than I remember."
A branch cracked; Lian flinched, expecting danger. Instead, she found a pair of glow‑moths spiraling through the gloom, their cerulean wings leaving flickers in the air.
"Lantern moths," Ren said. "An omen of safe passage."
"Superstition?"
"Hope," he corrected.
She followed their light. Her feet were bare; rough root and pebble jabbed tender soles, but discomfort grounded her to reality. Twice she stumbled and Ren steadied her without comment.
Ahead, campfires burned in a crescent around weather‑worn statues. Canvas tents snapped in wind. Soldiers darted to secure lines against the rain. A medic approached with blankets, eyeing Lian like she might combust.
Ren draped a cloak over her shoulders. Warmth pooled instantly, smelling of leather oil and fresh ink—a scholar's scent woven into warrior cloth.
"At first light," he said, "we march for the capital. You'll ride in my carriage."
"Prison transport, you mean."
"Carriage," he repeated gently. "With windows."
She startled at the kindness, then masked it with a smirk. "Luxury for a legend, I suppose."
System Alert: Micro‑fractures detected in host musculature. Recommend 200 ml nutrient broth, 6 hrs rest.
A cookfire simmered near an iron pot. Ren fetched a bowl, steam curling in night air. She accepted cautiously, sipping. The broth tasted of ginger and marrow—rich, scorching, perfect.
She closed her eyes. Remember this, she told herself. Heat. Flavor. Mercy.
Ren spoke low. "I will record your name as 'Zhen.' No titles yet."
"No titles," she agreed. "Those come after you decide whether I'm monster or ally."
He opened his mouth, but thunder bellowed overhead, drowning words. Rain intensified. Lian tilted her face to the sky, letting droplets streak rivulets down crystal‑dust skin. She wondered if heaven wept for her freedom—or warned against it.
Ren watched, unreadable. Light from the cookfire set amber sparks in his eyes. For a heartbeat she saw the long‑dead prince's tremor in his profile—and the chance to rewrite that story.
Optional Side Mission Unlocked:Share a moment of honesty with Prince Ren Feng before dawn.
Reward: +10 AP | Affinity +2
Timer: 04:12:00
Lian lowered her gaze. Honesty. A foreign word, but perhaps worth tasting again.
[Chapter 1 Complete]
AP Gained: 15 (Discovery) + 15 (Prophecy) + 5 (Trust) = 35 AP
Current AP Balance: 35
Next Trait Unlock at 50 AP
System Advisory:Recommend rest and nutrient intake. Unstable meridians detected. Rehabilitation protocol queued.
Title Unlocked:Crystalborn Exile — First mortal to survive millennial sealing and awaken.