The skies above the mortal realm had forgotten peace.
Day bled into night without warning. Rain fell from clear skies, and fires burned without fuel. Crops withered in summer, and children were born with eyes that saw things they should not.
Reality was unraveling.
From the cracked heavens above to the cursed ley-lines below, the world groaned under the weight of a fate left unwoven.
And into that chaos… stepped Mingyao.
---
The city of Yuezhong had once been a thriving center of trade and worship. Now, its streets teemed with fear.
People whispered of spirits crawling from mirrors. Demons masquerading as priests. Gods turning into tyrants.
Mingyao walked the city cloaked in duskfire, Liuxian beside him like a living shadow. Yanshi trailed them both, ever-watchful, ever-defensive.
"They're afraid of everything now," she muttered, watching a child flinch at her gaze. "Even us."
"They should be," Liuxian replied. "If I were them, I'd flee this world before the threads snap completely."
Mingyao said nothing.
He was watching the sky.
A crack had opened above the tallest tower of Yuezhong's temple—a black gash bleeding silver mist.
"The fractures are accelerating," he murmured. "It's only a matter of time before the divine bleed directly into the mortal."
"They already are," said a new voice.
An old man stepped from the shadows of a broken shrine, robes tattered but his presence unwavering. His eyes glowed with knowledge unspoken.
Grandmaster Hefu, last of the mortal Fate-Seers.
"You walk like a god, child," Hefu said to Mingyao. "But your soul still smells of smoke and grief."
"I need your help," Mingyao said simply.
---
At the Grandmaster's ruined sanctum, the firelight danced over old scrolls and fractured relics. Hefu outlined the grim truth:
> "Each realm has a Loom-thread. A root connection to the weave of fate. When you defied the heavens, theirs frayed. The demons' cracked. And now the mortal one is on fire."
"What happens if it snaps?" Yanshi asked.
"Death? Rebirth? Madness?" Hefu shrugged. "Depends who grabs the string first."
They needed to repair the Loom-thread anchoring the mortal realm—but to do so, they had to find the Three Anchors of Will: artifacts bound to humanity's choices, scattered across war-torn lands.
And worse—others sought them too.
---
Their first destination was the Ashen Barrens, where the Anchor of Sacrifice was rumored to lie buried in a ruined battlefield between humans and demons.
But the demons had returned—this time, not in conquest… but desperation.
Mingyao's group was ambushed near the canyon, dozens of ragged demons circling them, led by a horned woman with blood-red eyes.
Yanshi immediately drew her twin sabers. "Back away or bleed."
But the woman raised her hands.
"Wait," she said. "We're not here to fight."
Yanshi's jaw tightened. "You're demons. You're always here to fight."
"No longer," said the woman. "We came to offer… a pact."
---
Her name was Talah, daughter of a lesser demon lord who had defected from the underworld hierarchy. Her clan had long despised the tyrannies of demon courts and the false promises of freedom. Now, with realms collapsing, they had nowhere left to flee.
"We know of the Anchors," Talah said. "If you let us help… we'll stand between this world and the demon armies that come next."
"You expect us to trust demons?" Yanshi spat. "Your kind slaughtered my village."
Talah stepped forward. "And your gods watched. Who deserves more of your rage?"
The silence that followed stung deeper than any blade.
Yanshi turned away. "This changes nothing."
But she didn't walk off.
---
The journey into the barrens was long and brutal.
Whispers clawed at their ears. Ghosts of fallen soldiers wandered the dust. Even the wind carried memories—shouts, cries, promises never kept.
The Anchor of Sacrifice was buried beneath a memorial shrine—a single blade, driven into stone.
As Mingyao reached for it, the wind stilled.
And the spirits rose.
Hundreds of ghostly forms—soldiers, lovers, children. All drawn to the blade. All demanding sacrifice before it could be touched.
"To claim it," Hefu had said, "one must give something irreplaceable."
Mingyao turned to Liuxian. "I'll do it."
But Yanshi stepped forward instead.
"I will."
Everyone turned.
"Yanshi—" Mingyao began.
"I know what I want to give," she said softly.
She walked into the sea of ghosts and knelt by the blade.
And there, with tears rolling down her cheeks, she placed a necklace—a simple string of bones and beads.
"My mother gave me this. After the massacre. She told me to never forget… never forgive. But if I keep holding this, I'll never move forward."
She stood, hands trembling. "I'm done letting my pain guide me."
The ghosts paused.
Then vanished.
The wind returned.
The blade pulsed with light—and changed. Its metal glowed with ember runes.
Anchor One retrieved.
---
Later, as they camped near the border of the barrens, Mingyao approached Yanshi by the fire.
"You didn't have to—"
"I did," she cut him off.
He waited.
"I hated demons," she said. "But Talah… didn't flinch when I cursed her. She's still here."
Mingyao nodded. "So are you."
"I guess we're both stupid," she muttered.
"Maybe," he smiled.
They sat in silence.
Above them, the stars flickered—some vanished, others reappeared in places they had no right to be.
The heavens were watching.
And fate, for once, held its breath.
---