Shadow Throne: Rebirth Of The Silent Sovereign

The forest south of the Lin Clan was called Whispergrove.

Named not for the wind—but for the fact that no birds ever sang within it. No animals cried. Even the leaves, when they fell, touched the ground without a sound.

It was here that Lin Feng walked alone before dawn, guided not by map, but memory.

Old, buried memory.

"The Court built a shrine here…""…before the betrayal. Before Ji Chen turned disciples into gravediggers."

He had come in search of silence—and found it waiting.

The trees grew denser the deeper he walked. No clear path. The branches overhead weaved together until the sun vanished behind a ceiling of bark and shadow. The air turned colder. He stepped over roots as thick as his thigh, past crumbling markers half-buried in moss.

And then—

He felt it.

A hum beneath the earth.

Subtle.

Like something asleep.

Waiting.

He stopped at a grove of withered cherry blossoms. No season should've let them bloom, and yet their pale petals fluttered gently around him.

"Shadowroot essence," he whispered.

He bent down, brushed aside the flowers, and uncovered stone.

Old stone.

Inscribed in the ancient tongue of the Silent Court:

"The blade remembers the oath. The blood remembers the master."

He placed his palm against the slab.

Closed his eyes.

And breathed out shadow Qi.

The ground shifted.

Roots twisted aside, slowly revealing a hidden staircase beneath the forest floor.

A tomb.

No—a vault.

He descended without hesitation.

Inside, the air was stale with age and sealed time. The walls bore carvings—of soldiers kneeling, of a throne empty, of a crown wreathed in smoke.

In the center stood a pedestal.

Upon it:

A sheathed blade.

No dust touched it. No rot dared grow near it. And though no hand had gripped it in twenty years, its aura was alive.

He reached out.

Fingers curled around the hilt.

A pulse.

His shadow Qi reacted instantly—surging, bending, eager.

The weapon recognized him.

Even if his face had changed. Even if the world thought him dead.

The blade did not forget.

He drew it slowly.

The sound was not metal scraping stone.

It was a breath.

Long, deep, full of mourning.

"Welcome home," a voice whispered inside his mind.

He staggered back.

The blade… spoke.

Or rather—it echoed. The soul fragment bound inside, once dormant, had awakened.

"Who are you?" he asked silently.

The blade responded not with words—but memory.

A flicker of the past:

Lin Feng, seated in shadow, this very blade across his knees. Whispering to it. Bleeding onto it. Naming it.

He gasped.

The sword's name returned.

"Ebonveil."

Ebonveil was no ordinary weapon. It had been forged with his own essence. It was more extension than tool—shaped during the ten-day storm siege, quenched in silence, sharpened on treachery.

To find it again…

To hold it…

"The Court was prepared," he realized."They hid this for my return."

Not everyone had betrayed him.

Some had waited.

He sheathed the sword again.

The tomb's walls began to glow faintly now—lines of formation etchings lighting up, sensing their master. At the far end, a sealed door hissed open. Behind it: scrolls. Notes. Dagger arrays. Robes of the Shadow Court.

And in the center: a mirror.

But not glass.

Not even spirit crystal.

Memoryglass.

When Lin Feng stepped before it, it didn't reflect his current face.

It showed who he once was.

Golden eyes. Long dark hair. Crown of black petals atop a face marked by patience and sorrow.

He stared at it for a long time.

Then bowed.

"That throne may be gone," he whispered,"but the Sovereign remains."

When he emerged from the vault, the sun had risen.

But no warmth reached the forest.

A figure waited at the tree line.

Not cloaked. Not armed.

Just watching.

Lin Feng paused.

"You followed me."

Lin Yue stepped forward.

"I felt your aura vanish," she said. "No one walks into Whispergrove alone unless they're looking to die."

"Then I disappointed you."

"You worry me," she replied honestly.

He said nothing.

She studied him for a long moment. Her eyes flicked to the sword on his back.

"That's not clan-forged steel."

"No."

"Where did it come from?"

"It came back to me."

She didn't understand.

But she felt it.

The shift in him.

"You're preparing for something," she said.

"So is the world."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see soon."

"Will it be loud?"

"No," Lin Feng said, walking past her."It will be quiet. That's why it will last."

Far away, in the east—

Ji Chen stood atop a black pavilion, surrounded by kneeling disciples dressed in false robes of the Silent Court.

He wore a crown of shadowsteel.

A mimic of Lin Feng's.

One of his spies knelt.

"The Pill Sect confirms it. The Lin Clan harbors… something."

"Who?"

"A boy. Outer-branch. Lin Xun."

Ji Chen frowned.

The name stirred something.

Then he smiled.

"Xun, is it?"

"Send word to the Wraith Palace."

"We'll see if this ghost knows how to die twice."