South of the Ghost Sutra ruins, where the white blizzards thinned and mountains softened into mist-wrapped ridges, lay a region known as Cloudstep Valley.
It was a place of harmony—gentle qi winds, bamboo forests, and floating terraces carved into the cliffs. At its center stood the once-renowned Cloudstep Sect, a mid-tier order that focused on serenity-based cultivation, windstep footwork, and sky-dancing swordplay.
Or at least—it used to.
What remained now was little more than a burned husk.
Jin Mu-Won stood at the edge of its shattered gate, a charred emblem hanging by a thread from the main archway. The crest was still faintly visible: a crane standing atop a drifting cloud.
"They called it the Sect Closest to Heaven…" Jin murmured.
Now?
The air reeked of ash.
🏯 Ruins of Cloudstep
As he walked through the ruined courtyard, he saw broken swords lodged into the stone ground like tomb markers. The training platform was cratered, its center still blackened. Bones lay scattered between cracked meditation stones.
Whoever had attacked had not done so in a hurry. This wasn't destruction—it was humiliation.
"Fifty-six disciples," came a voice from a collapsed prayer hall. "Three elders. One Grandmaster. All dead."
Jin turned.
An old man with one arm, his robes singed and bloodstained, sat leaning against a broken pillar. His beard was frost-bitten white. His eyes, dim.
He looked up at Jin.
"Let me guess… You're here to scavenge the ashes like the others."
Jin didn't reply.
Instead, he kneeled beside the man and said:
"I came because the wind wept over these ruins. And I'm searching for things the world has forgotten."
The man coughed a bitter laugh.
"Then you've found the right place. Cloudstep was forgotten long before it fell."
🌫️ The Story of the Fall
The survivor introduced himself as Wen Dai, former Elder of Internal Flow and the last of Cloudstep's seated elders.
"The sect was destroyed three weeks ago," Wen Dai said, voice hoarse. "By a group that doesn't officially exist."
"Iron Fang?" Jin asked.
"No," Wen Dai spat. "Worse. A rogue alliance of three minor sects, calling themselves the Coalition of Nine Pacts. They're gathering abandoned techniques… forbidden scrolls. Anything unclaimed."
"Why?"
"To sell them—or worse—use them to fabricate a new Path. One not bound by Murim, Cultivation, or Legacy."
"They call it the Heedless Flame Doctrine."
Jin's eyes narrowed.
Flame. A word that pressed against something in his chest—a locked fragment.
🧠 [Memory Resonance Triggered]
[Locked Echo Fragment #44 – "The Man Who Lit a Fire Without Flame"]
Condition: Witness three unnatural flame techniques. Progress 1/3.
Wen Dai looked Jin up and down.
"You're not here for vengeance, are you?"
"No," Jin replied.
"I'm here because someone will remember this place. And someone will remember them."
He picked up a broken sword half-buried in the snow.
"Even if it's just me."
⚔️ Warning From the Wind
The clouds shifted.
Jin's Hollow Pulse stirred. A breeze passed through the ruins—but not natural. It carried a metallic scent, faint yet precise.
Footsteps.
Jin turned.
Four figures walked into the courtyard—two cloaked swordsmen, a spear-wielding woman with twin braids, and a robed youth with a scroll clasped to his back.
"Told you someone would come crawling through the ashes," the woman said.
The youth pulled the scroll free, letting it float mid-air with a flare of qi.
"By decree of the Coalition of Nine Pacts, these ruins and all remaining artifacts are now claimed. Trespassers will be judged as thieves."
Jin stepped forward, slowly placing the broken sword over his shoulder like a walking stick.
"Who judges the thieves who burned it down?"
The scroll glowed blood-red.
The swordsmen drew blades.
The wind turned sharp.
🩸 Combat Initiated
[Threat Level: Mid-Foundation Stage Cultivators x2]
[Heedless Flame Practitioner – Early Stage]
[Artifact Binder – Scroll Type, Tier Unknown]
Hollow Pulse Ready.
Second Form Accessed: Grieving Flow.
Jin's hand opened.
"Let me show you what silence remembers."