The Blooming Ashes

They said her mother once burned down a palace to stop a war. They said her father wielded a cursed sword that could split mountains. But Fenghua had never seen a mountain c***k. Nor did she believe in destiny — only in survival. She gripped her bow tighter, eyes fixed on the dying creature before her — a nightbeast, all bones and shadow, its glowing ribs flickering like embers. One clean arrow to the throat, just as her father taught her. The snow around its body hissed as the blood hit it. The forest went silent. Fenghua stood over it, breath steady. Another mark on her skin began to pulse. Not a scar. Not a wound. A birthmark — a white lotus, etched on her collarbone since she was born. It only glowed when something was wrong. And it was glowing now. ⸻ She ran. Past the river of mirrors. Through the bone-pine woods. Up the winding trail that led to the only home she’d ever known — a cottage beneath a hanging mountain lantern, nestled at the edge of the world. But when she reached it— The sky was thick with smoke. The door hung broken. The stone lanterns shattered. Her father’s sword — the Heavenfire Edge — was planted in the snow, its blade scorched black. There was no blood. No bodies. Only silence. And a message carved into the wood of the doorway: THE CYCLE BEGINS AGAIN. ⸻ Fenghua didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She simply picked up the sword. It felt heavier than it should have. And then— The mark on her skin pulsed once. Twice. Then burst into flame. She collapsed to her knees, gasping. Visions burned behind her eyes — a palace of stars, a man with no face, her mother whispering her name across time. She saw herself. Older. Bleeding. Kissing someone in the rain. Killing someone else in the same breath. ⸻ When she awoke, it was still snowing. The sword glowed faintly beside her. And she understood three things. 1. Her parents were gone — taken, not dead. 2. Someone wanted her to follow. 3. And if they thought she’d break easily… They had no idea who they’d just awakened.