The Seal of Time

There was light.

No fire. No pain. No void-screams.

Just sunlight — warm and golden, cutting across polished wooden floors. Birds sang outside. The air smelled of parchment, dust, and chalk.

Nie Li’s eyes snapped open.

He sat up, heart pounding, hand flying to his chest — expecting a hole, a wound, a dying soul realm.

There was nothing.

He stared at his hands. Young. Smooth. Whole. Breathing came easy, not through grit and blood, but clean air. His muscles remembered wounds his body no longer bore.

His gaze swept the room: rows of desks, students in blue robes bent over scrolls and ink pots. High windows poured in afternoon light. And at the front, scribbling formulas with an ink brush, stood Instructor Shen Xiu.

Nie Li’s stomach dropped.

Holy Orchid Institute. Glory City. The St. Ancestral Mountain range rose beyond the windows like divine sentinels.

His vision swam. His chest heaved as if he couldn’t breathe.

This isn’t possible.
This isn’t real.
I died.

Ziyun. The last battle. The Sage Emperor. The light. The cold.

He grasped for something — anything — to anchor himself. A book. A blade. A mark.

There was nothing.

The Temporal Demon Spirit Book was gone.

A hollow tore through him at the realization. It had been with him at the end. The one thing the Sage Emperor could never claim. The only thing that comforted him.

Now… nothing. No power. No plan. Just a classroom of children and a world he had already watched burn.

His heart cracked.

And then he saw her.

Ziyun.

Alive. Whole. Her brush glided over parchment, black ink against white, as if history itself had never touched her. Nie Li’s throat locked. He remembered her laughter in courtyards, the defiance in her eyes when all else faltered — and the silence of her last breath as stone crushed the light from her.

Alive. Unbroken. Unaware.

He clenched his fists beneath the desk.

“I will save her. Whatever it takes. I will save her life… and I will save Glory City from falling to the Dark Guild.”

His vow burned inside him.

And then — the voice came.

Not spoken. Not heard. Known.

“Child of dust… you think rebirth was given so you could scheme again?”

Nie Li froze.

The voice was not his own. It didn’t come from outside but through him — as if it had always been waiting. Deep. Ancient. Unshakable.

“You cling to a corpse already judged. You bind yourself to memories that no longer belong to you. Let them go.”

His pulse spiked.

He scanned the room — no one else heard. Quills scratched. Wood creaked. Nothing disturbed the lesson.

“Who are you?” he thought, too afraid to speak.

Silence.

His hands trembled — not from weakness, but from fear.

The Book? Was this its price? A trap? He didn’t trust it. Not the voice. Not the stillness. Not even the comfort of the moment.

"Had Heaven intervened... or was this just another illusion? He had seen gods lie before. He had seen demons wear the robes of angels."

His jaw clenched. Let go? He had returned form the jaws of death itself, borne memory like fire in his veins, watched the world burn what felt like a thousand life times ago — and this voice, this intruder, dared tell him to forget?

And yet — Ziyun was there.
Alive.
So was Glory City. Not burning. Not overrun. Not broken.

He turned back to the mountains beyond the window. Somewhere out there, pieces were already shifting: the Dark Guild, the Sacred Family’s betrayal, the road that ended in collapse.

“No,” he whispered. “Whatever this is — whatever you are — I’m not letting it happen again.”

Silence.

A weight pressed cold into his chest. The voice had said let go.

But Nie Li had already decided.

He would hold on. To memory. To pain. To her.

Even if it killed him again.

And in the silence, the Voice did not answer.

It had not gone. It had simply become still.