The Fate Nail Core was cold in Shan Wei's palm.
Not "ice cold."
It was the kind of cold that felt like a rule touching your bones. The black-gold runes on it moved slowly, like living words crawling under metal skin. When Shan Wei held it, the sealed Heart in his chest throbbed harder, as if it hated this thing… or remembered it.
The Ice Phoenix spirit hovered above the altar, wings spread wide. Its frost-fire feathers filled the chamber with pale light.
"You have it," the phoenix said. "Now the tomb will demand your vow."
Shan Wei's face stayed calm. His eyes stayed sharp.
He did not smile.
He did not fear.
He raised the Nail Core slightly and spoke in a steady voice.
"I already gave the vow," he said.
The phoenix's eyes narrowed.
"A vow is a door," it answered. "Now you must walk through it."
The frost light on Shan Wei's arm pulled again. It tried to steal time from him, like a thief pulling years out of his breath.
Shan Wei did not fight it with anger.
He fought it with control.
He drew a prismatic glyph on his wrist—small, clean, and tight like a seal ring. Then he pressed the Nail Core against the glyph.
The moment metal touched prismatic light, the whole chamber shook.
A deep sound rolled through the tomb, like a giant bell ringing under the ground.
Not loud.
But heavy.
The Nail Core reacted.
A thin line of black-gold energy shot out of it and tried to stab into Shan Wei's chest.
Not to kill him.
To own him.
To make him "the nail's carrier."
The monk's voice screamed from far away, weak but sharp.
"YES! TAKE IT! LET IT BRAND YOU!"
Shan Wei's eyes turned colder.
He took one breath and said one calm sentence:
"I am not your tool."
Then he used Fate Severance.
He did not cut the Nail Core itself.
He cut the ownership link that tried to lock him.
The black-gold line snapped like a thread being sliced.
The Nail Core trembled, angry.
The phoenix spirit stared, surprised.
"You can cut its claim?" it asked.
Shan Wei answered simply.
"I can cut anything that is written like a chain," he said.
The Nail Core pulsed again, trying a new way.
This time, it did not stab.
It whispered.
A voice rose inside Shan Wei's mind, cold and strict, like a judge reading a rule:
THREAD RULE ONE: A LOCK MADE FROM STOLEN THREAD CAN ONLY BE LOOSENED BY RETURNING THE STOLEN PIECE… OR BURNING THE NAIL ROOT.
Shan Wei's eyes narrowed.
Return the stolen piece.
Or burn the nail root.
He looked up at the crystal sphere above the altar. Inside it, the stolen thread shard trembled like a trapped moon.
Shan Wei understood at once.
That shard was the stolen piece.
It was taken from Ling Xueyao's bond and turned into fuel for the Moon Lock.
If he returned it to its rightful thread, the lock would weaken.
But the Monastery would fight like mad dogs to stop that.
The phoenix spirit's voice cut through the silence.
"The Court is moving," it warned.
As if the phoenix's words opened a door, the air above Shan Wei flickered.
A pale stamp formed again, huge and cold.
VERDICT: FINALIZING.
The Judge voice spoke through the walls, distant but clear.
"Execution vote nearing completion."
The tomb grew colder.
Not because of the phoenix.
Because of the Court's law pressure pressing down through the world like a heavy hand.
Shan Wei's gaze stayed steady.
He did not look at the stamp.
He focused on the altar, the sphere, and the thread shard.
Because if he looked away now, he would lose the only chance to change everything.
Outside, inside the moving Refuge Tunnel lane, the sky turned cruel.
A pale chain of law formed above the lane—thick, bright, and sharp like a rope made of judgment.
It connected the heavens to the battlefield.
It was the Court's control path.
The chain pulled the verdict stamp into place like a hook dragging a blade down.
VERDICT: EXECUTE.
It tried to lock.
It tried to finalize.
Drakonix opened his eyes wide.
His single prismatic wing trembled, still half-grown, still weak, but shining like a rainbow blade.
He breathed out a thin flame.
The flame touched the verdict stamp.
The stamp burned… then tried to return.
Because the chain behind it forced it back into shape again and again.
Drakonix's flame flickered.
His chest rose fast.
He was pushing too hard.
Zhen stepped forward and shifted his whole body into a fortress stance.
His armor plates locked with a deep metal click. Formation lines lit across him like a moving wall.
"IMPERIAL SHIELD MATRIX," Zhen said.
Then, blunt and serious:
"THIRD LAYER: HOLD."
A dome of shield gates tightened around Drakonix like a moving fortress shell, blocking wind pressure and enemy sight lines.
Yuerin looked up at the chain and narrowed her eyes.
"That chain is the real throat," she said.
Xuan Chi staggered beside her. The Moon Crown shadow appeared again above her head, trying to settle.
A whisper slid into her mind like cold hands:
Moon-Masked Girl.
Xuan Chi shook, eyes wide.
Yuerin grabbed her jaw lightly and forced her to look at her.
"No," Yuerin said sharply. "Not that."
Xuan Chi's lips trembled.
Yuerin spoke slow and hard, like hammering a nail into stone.
"Say your name. Then say what you chose."
Xuan Chi swallowed.
"Xuan Chi," she said.
The crown shadow tightened.
Yuerin's eyes flashed.
"Again," she ordered. "Stronger."
Xuan Chi clenched her fists.
"Xuan Chi!"
The crown shadow flickered.
Yuerin leaned closer.
"What did you choose?" she asked.
Xuan Chi's breathing shook.
"I chose… to live as myself," she said.
The crown shadow trembled like it was angry.
Zhen turned his head slightly.
"IDENTITY ANCHOR: ACCEPTABLE," he said.
Then he added, too literal:
"CONTINUE ANCHORING."
Yuerin didn't argue. She just nodded once, still watching the sky chain.
But the danger shifted.
A new group stepped out from the storm edge, silent as knives.
They wore plain robes and blank masks.
Not Pavilion masks.
These masks had no style.
No art.
No pride.
Only function.
Each assassin held a small dagger that looked dull.
But the blade edges had faint words etched into them:
KARMA-ERASE.
Yuerin's eyes narrowed.
"Conclave toys," she muttered.
One assassin lifted their dagger and spoke a cold clause, like reading from a contract:
"Kill without karmic debt."
The moment the words left their mouth, the dagger blades turned darker.
The air around them felt wrong, like the world didn't want to "see" them.
Zhen's voice dropped.
"WARNING," he said. "KARMA-ERASE WEAPONS DETECTED."
Then he added, blunt:
"THESE ARE VERY BAD."
The assassins rushed.
They did not scream.
They did not show anger.
They moved like a clean sentence written in blood.
Zhen stepped forward and slammed his foot down.
Shield gates rose in a tight wall.
The first assassin hit the wall and bounced back.
But the dagger blade scraped the shield gate—
—and the shield gate did not spark.
It faded.
Like the hit never happened.
Like the shield gate's "cause" was erased.
Yuerin's eyes widened slightly.
"It deletes consequence," she whispered.
Zhen's eyes glowed.
He shifted shield gates again, changing shape, changing layers, making the fortress thicker.
"NEW COUNTER," Zhen said.
He punched the ground.
Formation plates shot out like stepping stones and turned into a ring.
A ring that did not block the dagger.
A ring that isolated it.
The assassins entered the ring—
—and their daggers lost their "erase" pull for one breath, like the formation forced the world to remember again.
Zhen's voice was calm.
"ERASE MUST TOUCH LAW."
Then, too simple:
"I BLOCK LAW."
The ring tightened.
Zhen's fist hit one assassin's chest.
Metal cracked.
The assassin flew back into a shield gate and went still.
But the others kept coming.
And above them, the Court chain pulled harder.
The verdict stamp tried to finalize again.
Drakonix's flame wavered.
His eyes narrowed in pain.
Then he roared.
It was not loud like thunder.
It was deep like a world waking up.
The roar hit the Court chain.
And for the first time, the chain shook.
A faint crack appeared on it like a burn scar.
Drakonix breathed again—harder this time.
His flame did not bite the stamp now.
It went for the chain.
It touched the chain's "root line."
The chain screamed without sound.
A chunk of it burned.
Not fully broken.
But weakened.
Yuerin stared up, stunned.
"He's burning the control path," she whispered.
Zhen said, like a proud report:
"DRAKONIX IS CORRECT."
Then he added, serious:
"BURN MORE."
Drakonix's wing trembled.
He was still weak.
But his flame now had a new target.
Not the Court's words.
The Court's hands.
Inside the Conclave vault corridor, Yuerin dragged the Pavilion leader forward as the trap words rose again.
PAY WITH MEMORY.PAY WITH NAME.PAY WITH TIME.
The corridor began to glow brighter, as if it decided to punish her for stepping deeper.
A pressure formed around Yuerin's head.
Not pain.
A pull.
Like something trying to take a piece of her mind.
The leader's mask tilted.
"It's activating," they said. "Pick your payment."
Yuerin's eyes stayed cold.
"I pick… none," she said.
She flicked her fingers and summoned a shadow blade, thin as hair.
She cut the air in front of her.
The corridor reacted like a living contract.
Black words shot up like snakes.
They wrapped around her wrist.
This time, the contract did not ask.
It took.
Yuerin blinked once.
For a breath, she forgot something small.
Something harmless.
Something personal.
Like the smell of tea in a quiet room.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Good," she said, voice flat. "So that's the price."
The Pavilion leader sounded almost impressed.
"You didn't scream."
Yuerin tugged the chain.
"I don't waste breath," she said.
She cut the contract words off her wrist—clean, sharp—and forced them into a crystal box on the wall.
The black words slammed into the box like a trapped beast.
The box glowed and locked shut.
The corridor shook.
It was angry.
But it could not take the payment twice from the same cut.
Yuerin stared forward.
At the end of the corridor was a door made of pure gold, carved with Conclave marks and Silent Bell runes.
It should not exist.
Two groups.
Two powers.
One door.
The Pavilion leader whispered.
"That's the nail road," they said. "The Conclave stole a path into the Bell system."
Yuerin's eyes turned colder.
"So the rich sell the same chains the monks use," she said.
The leader's mask smiled.
"Everyone sells something," they said. "Even fate."
Yuerin pulled the chain harder.
"Open it," she ordered.
The leader lifted their hand slowly.
But before they could touch the door, a shadow moved behind one of the crystal boxes.
A masked figure stepped out.
Not Conclave.
Not Pavilion.
A monk.
Silent Bell robes.
A bell mark on their forehead.
They looked at Yuerin and spoke in a calm voice.
"You should not be here," the monk said.
Yuerin's eyes narrowed.
"And you should not be alive after what you've done," she replied.
The monk smiled faintly.
"Our Court is voting," the monk said. "When the verdict finalizes, the Returning Prism ends. Your resistance ends. Your memories end."
Yuerin's voice stayed cold.
"Try," she said.
Back in the Ice Phoenix Tomb, Shan Wei held the Nail Core steady.
The phoenix spirit watched him like a blade watching another blade.
"You touched the seed," the phoenix said. "Now you will see the list."
Shan Wei's eyes narrowed.
A black-gold screen of runes appeared in the air, floating like a law tablet.
On it were lines.
Not names only.
Threads.
Pinned records.
Shan Wei read them fast.
Six major threads.
Each one marked as PINNED.
Each one had a lock type: nail, loop, brand, crown.
And then Shan Wei saw something that made his blood run colder than ice.
One line was not a consort.
It was not a person.
It was a title.
A role.
A hidden enemy identity.
BELL THRONE KEEPER — ACTIVE.
Shan Wei's eyes sharpened like a sword being drawn.
The monk's voice screamed from far away.
"DON'T LOOK!"
The phoenix spirit's eyes narrowed.
"That one," it said softly, "is the hand behind the nails."
Outside, the Court chain burned again under Drakonix's flame.
The verdict stamp shook.
The Judge voice turned colder.
"Finalizing."
Inside the tomb, Shan Wei's grip tightened.
He looked at the crystal sphere holding the stolen thread shard.
Then he looked at the Nail Core list.
Then he spoke one calm line, like a command to heaven itself:
"Show me where the Bell Throne Keeper is."
The Nail Core pulsed.
The runes shifted.
And the tomb walls began to glow… as if the answer was inside the tomb.
To be Continued
© Kishtika., 2025
All rights reserved.