The sky was awash in crimson, as if the heavens themselves bled for what was to come. Two moons hung low over the capital of Tianmo, casting a twin glow that bathed the spires and domes in eerie light. It was an ancient omen—a celestial sign spoken of in old sect scrolls: When twin moons bleed red, the true heir shall be tested by betrayal, blood, and balance.
Zhao Lianxu stood at the threshold of the Grand Mirror Hall, his gaze fixated on the massive obsidian doors carved with dragons devouring their own tails. His reflection stared back at him in the polished stone floor—a boy who once dreamed of peace, now cloaked in the burden of gods, monsters, and destiny. His breathing was steady, but the air around him shimmered with suppressed tension, as if the world itself held its breath.
Behind him, General Huo knelt on one knee. "The Vanguard awaits your command, my Prince."
"Not prince," Lianxu murmured, voice low, distant. "Tonight, I am only a blade. A blade that remembers love and bleeds for justice."
General Huo rose, eyes grim, the silver in his beard catching the moonlight. "Then strike deep. Strike true. Let the blood of betrayal nourish the soil of tomorrow."
In a chamber far removed from the Grand Mirror Hall, Xian sat cross-legged before an altar of bone and fire. The rituals of the Abyssal Cult etched her skin in ancient runes—living scars that pulsed with malignant energy. The flames whispered truths to her, and in their flicker, she saw a future bathed in blood, ash, and silence.
"He still loves you," murmured the high priestess, her face hidden behind a veil of bloodied silk, her voice ancient as stone, reverberating with twisted magic.
"And I love him," Xian replied, her voice broken, a hairline crack running through the façade of her devotion. Her lips trembled, but her hands remained steady. "That is why I must end him."
The priestess dipped her fingers in the cauldron of black ichor. "Love is the deepest curse of all. Let it fuel your blade, and let that blade carve the world anew."
As the armies of light and shadow amassed at opposite ends of the capital, Kyo, the silent tactician, unrolled a map on the war table in the inner sanctum of the palace. Intricate lines, sigils, and symbols marked not only territory, but prophecy. Jia Mei stood opposite, brow furrowed, her fingers tracing battle lines that glowed faintly with arcane residue.
"You're sending him straight into the heart of their ritual grounds? That's suicide," she said.
"It is the only way," Kyo replied, eyes unblinking. "Xian is the linchpin. Break her resolve, and the cult's power wanes. We must cut off the head, even if the blade shatters."
"Or it consumes them both, and we lose more than just a prince."
Kyo looked up, and for a moment, doubt clouded his features. "Lianxu is no longer fighting only for the empire. He is fighting for his soul, for hers, and for the memory of a world that could have been."
The march through the shadowed gardens was silent but electric, the air thick with the scent of midnight blossoms and old sorrow. Lianxu walked at the front, his sword—Eclipsing Dawn—gleaming with sealed divine runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. Every step brought memories. This was where they first danced. This was where she gave him a lotus. This was where they swore their eternal bond beneath moonlight.
And this would be where she tried to kill him.
He reached the obsidian gate to the underground sanctum. No guards. No traps. Just the rhythmic pulsing of cursed power, like the heartbeat of something ancient and angry. The walls whispered his name. Shadows curled around his ankles like loyal beasts.
He descended.
The chamber was massive, carved into the bones of a forgotten titan. At its center stood Xian, cloaked in shadows, her hair cascading down her back like night incarnate. The air was cold, yet tinged with a sickly warmth from the cursed fire burning in ceremonial braziers.
"You came," she said without turning, her voice soft but laced with venom.
"I always would," he replied, each word a wound reopened.
Silence stretched between them, heavy and unforgiving.
"You were supposed to die in the north," she said, finally.
"You were supposed to never betray me."
She finally turned, and the sight of her broke something fragile in him. Her eyes, once soft and filled with mischief, were now cold stars, unreadable and distant.
"You gave me no choice."
"You always had a choice. And you chose to let the darkness in."
They stood mere steps apart, power thrumming in the space between. Her hands rose, wrapped in crimson flames, trembling slightly.
"You are the last anchor to my weakness. I must sever it."
"Then sever it," he whispered, drawing his sword, which began to hum as if recognizing its purpose.
Their clash cracked the bones of the earth. Light and dark, love and hate, creation and destruction collided with every strike. The air bent. Time warped. Reality splintered as divine and demonic energies clashed in kaleidoscopic bursts. Neither gained the upper hand, and the chamber wept with each blow.
She struck with fury, but her tears betrayed her. He parried with precision, but his heart faltered with every blow. Their blades sang songs of longing and loss.
"Why did you come alone?" she gasped, blood at her lips.
"Because if I must die," he said, voice trembling, "let it be by your hand, not the hands of puppets."
Her scream was raw agony, and in that moment, the fire around her died. She fell to her knees, the runes on her skin flickering like dying stars.
"I can't," she whispered. "Even now, I can't. I thought I had extinguished this heart. But it still beats for you."
He dropped his sword and approached slowly. "Then let us fall together, or rise anew. But let this end."
She looked up, her vision blurred. "There is no redemption for me. My hands are soaked in too much blood."
"Then let my light carry us both. Even in the darkness, love remembers."
Outside, the moons began to fade. The red drained from the sky, returning to their pale glow as the curse began to lift.
In the sanctum, Xian touched his cheek, her fingers trembling. "Save them. Save what I couldn't."
She pressed a blood-soaked talisman into his hand, its symbols glowing faintly, pulsing with her last gift.
She slumped into his arms, and above them, the cursed runes shattered in a blinding burst of light.
The empire took its first breath of a new dawn.