Chapter 8 · free to read
The shard did not attack. It did not need to. It simply kept saying a name until the shape of it began to fit.
It was the same choice as the very first night. A mystery, or a person. Wei had never once chosen the mystery.
The hollow was still there. But the voice naming it was gone — and a person is more than the wound they were spared.
Ten thousand cultivators had watched a bloody eye hang over their sect and felt their own blades try to fly to it. There was no sweeping THAT under a flagstone.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.