Years passed.
Tianming became a shadow among ruins. He scavenged old scrolls, trained in secret, and kept the charm his mother had given him close. He spoke little, and when he did, it was to the wind or the spirits.
But on his sixteenth year, the charm cracked.
In a storm that painted the sky crimson, the blade he had buried long ago called to him. He returned to the shrine ruins, drawn by something older than memory.
As his fingers closed around the hilt, pain lanced through him. Visions of old battles, forgotten gods, and a masked figure with burning eyes filled his mind.
The blade whispered one word:
"Heavenbreaker."
And Tianming's fate shifted.