The Return Undeserved

It was raining again.

Even though the sky was clear.

Even though no clouds hung over the ruined Tribunal, no signs of storm nor wind nor grief from nature.

Still… it rained.

Because Jin Mu—the one who had reversed the Spiral, who had twisted the divine Executor into ash, who had stood beneath a falling sky with defiance in his eyes—was gone.

He sat beneath the charred remnants of a broken archway. Legs drawn up. Blank eyes reflecting nothing.

He didn't speak.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't cry.

He just shook.

Su had tried to hold his hand once. He flinched so hard he tore the skin on his palm by mistake.

Xue had tried calling his name. He blinked once, then hid behind a crumbled column.

It was like watching a child look out from the skin of a warrior.

His mind was blank.

And the memories… gone.

Every sigil carved into his body had gone dim. Even the Order Mark had dulled, like a forgotten wound that refused to close.

Camellya sat beside the fire that night, knees pulled close, staring into the embers. Her armor was cracked. Her pride wasn't. But her eyes were red.

Across from her, Shen Yan leaned back against a boulder, his right sleeve pinned and empty.

There was no ceremony for the arm.

There was no strength left for one.

"...It's not just that he forgot," Shen muttered. "It's that he's scared of us. Like he thinks we'll break him."

Camellya didn't respond at first. She stared at the flames.

Then, quietly: "Because someone did."

The silence between them deepened.

"...What do we do now?" Su asked from nearby. She was sitting on a log, her red hair unkempt, her face pale. "We can't keep pretending everything's fine."

Camellya stood slowly.

"No. We can't. But that doesn't mean we break."

She looked toward Jin's curled-up form in the distance. His head rested against a tree, and even in sleep, his fists were clenched. His breathing was shallow.

"He gave up everything to win," she said. "Now we owe it to him to bring him back."

"How?" Shen asked. "If the Ash Court ate his mind—"

"It didn't," Camellya interrupted. "It didn't consume him. It stored him. Every sacrifice technique leaves a trace. His memory—his self—it's still there."

"Then where is it?" Su asked.

Camellya walked past them, picking up the sword Jin had dropped.

Its edge was rusted. The sigils on it dimmed.

She ran her fingers over the hilt.

"In the same place we all bury our worst truths," she whispered.

"In the deep. Beneath."

The days after the battle were quiet. Not peaceful—just quiet.

No more attacks. No Tribunal reinforcements. Nothing but wind through burnt trees and hollow stone.

They had camped outside the ruined fortress, letting the remnants of divine power dissipate before returning to the valley.

Jin hadn't spoken a word in four days.

He followed them like a ghost, flinching at every spark, every footfall, every breath that rose too sharply.

He was… gentle, now.

Terrified of sudden sounds. Always hungry, but never asking for food.

Sometimes he cried at night without knowing why.

Su had taken to singing to him—soft lullabies from the old cities she'd grown up in. She didn't know if he understood them, but she hoped he felt something.

Xue, who had never liked showing her feelings, quietly kept watch. She didn't know what she was watching for—maybe danger. Maybe a sign of the Jin she once knew surfacing in the broken one now.

But there was none.

The Jin she knew, the sharp-tongued, cold-eyed man who once dismissed her existence, who once scared her more than amused her…

That Jin was gone.

Camellya had begun setting up command.

Not because she wanted to—but because someone had to.

With Shen injured and Jin shattered, there was no one else with the strength, experience, or resolve to take the lead.

She met with scouts, reconnected with sympathetic cells, and began investigating hidden records about reversing sacrificial techniques.

Not for some miracle cure.

But for a way to retrace the blood trail Jin had walked.

One name kept coming up—The Vault Beneath the Temple of the Severed Root.

An ancient repository of sacrificial vows and failed resurrection attempts. Lost in the northern wastes. Forbidden even to the Black Emperor's followers in his time.

Camellya had sent word to an old contact—someone with enough madness to lead them there.

Late at night, Camellya approached Jin's sleeping spot.

She sat beside him and placed a bowl of warm rice and crushed dried berries near his hand.

He didn't look at her.

Didn't speak.

But his fingers twitched toward the bowl.

She smiled, just faintly.

"You know, I hated you when we first met," she said softly. "You were arrogant. Self-righteous. A pain in the ass. And you spoke like every word was a dagger."

She watched him eat slowly.

"But you cared. You just... didn't know how to show it."

She reached into her pocket, pulled out a cracked wooden charm—a token he'd once given Su for luck.

"You gave us strength when we had none. When I was going to give up, you stood in fire and told me I still had things to burn for."

Jin looked at her.

Eyes blank.

But no longer empty.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

A flicker.

Back at the campfire, Shen Yan sharpened his remaining blade. His left hand was clumsy with it, but he was improving.

"She's going to get herself killed trying to bring him back," he said, watching Camellya walk away from Jin.

Su wrapped herself tighter in her cloak.

"Then we go with her."

He looked at her.

"You still trust him? Even like this?"

Su smiled gently.

"I think... for the first time, he's learning how to be loved without being useful."

Shen grunted. Looked down.

"...Guess we're all broken in some way."

The moon rose high.

The world spun on.

The Emperor slept, curled into himself like a child, with no crown, no court, no memory of the world he saved.

And yet… the embers of something deeper began to stir in the ruins of his soul.

Not memory.

Not power.

Something older.

A single thread.

Of purpose.