Darkness wrapped around Jin Long like a shroud, cold and endless. There was no pain. No sound. Only weightlessness, as if his soul had been unmoored from the world. Time itself seemed to wither and vanish, dissolving into the void.
Then came the light.
Not warm or golden—but crimson. Deep. Alive. It surged like blood through a great vein, pulsing with primal rhythm, carving through the black like fire across dry parchment. It wasn't just light—it was a calling.
[System Initialization Complete. Welcome, Jin long.]
The voice echoed in his mind, neither entirely machine nor man. It was old—ancient—and yet it thrummed with cold precision. Something stirred inside him, something buried deep. Jin Long's eyes fluttered open, struggling against the weight of existence.
A translucent red screen hovered just above him, flickering faintly like a dying star clinging to life.
Dragon Vein System
Host: Jin Long
Bloodline: Unidentified
Clan: Jin Clan
Status: Wounded
Vitality: 18%
System Synchronization: 73%
He blinked, his vision swimming. The air was thick with incense, and something else—something older, heavier. A pressure that pushed against his very soul. His nostrils flared at the scent, both sacred and suffocating.
This wasn't the ruin he remembered.
Gone were the crumbling stones and scattered debris. The cracked walls had sealed as though time had reversed itself. Murals of dragons coiled through cosmic storms and celestial battles now glistened with color, no longer faded relics but living legends painted fresh by unseen hands. The torn banners now hung proudly from polished pillars, and the altar beneath him—once a weathered slab—radiated with a soft, steady glow. The sigil etched at its heart pulsed faintly.
Alive. Watching.
Then, a warmth spread through his chest, slow and steady like embers being stoked back into flame. The pain—the searing ache that had hollowed him out—began to fade. Bones clicked back into alignment. Muscles tightened, rebuilt. Torn skin wove itself whole. He gasped as the sensation rolled over him, a sharp, almost unbearable blend of agony and euphoria.
[Wound Recovery: 62%... 85%... Complete.]
A groan escaped his lips as he pushed himself up with trembling arms, one hand braced against the glowing altar. Memories returned in chaotic flashes: Jin Mo's twisted grin, fists driving into his ribs, the choking laughter of the other disciples, the humiliation… and then the fall. The storm. The darkness.
And then—the light. The altar. It had drunk his pain. It had answered.
"What... is this?... I could have sworn I was dead," he whispered, his voice raw and distant, as if it belonged to someone else.
[The Dragon Vein System is an ancient remnant from the First Era, bound to the blood of the forgotten bloodlines.]
His brows drew together. "Forgotten bloodlines…?"
The words echoed in his skull, heavy with implications. For someone like him—scorned, unwanted, practically invisible—this wasn't just strange. It was impossible.
[The Dragon Veins within you have been awakened.]
His gaze dropped to his chest. His fingertips brushed the skin just above his heart. It was warm, almost feverish beneath his touch. Something slumbered there—no, not slumbering. Stirring.
"Dragon Veins?... That doesn't sound like any cultivation technique I've ever heard of," he muttered, voice tight with suspicion and awe.
He looked around again. The temple wasn't just restored—it was reborn. The qi in the air vibrated like a living presence. This was more than a sacred place. It was a relic, a tomb, a birthplace of something long forgotten.
As he rose to his feet, wobbling slightly, he staggered toward the great temple doors. Each step was a question, each breath heavier than the last. Why him? Why now? What had truly awakened inside him?
Outside, the cold mountain wind greeted him with an icy slap. Mist clung to the peaks, coiling between trees like silent watchers. The path leading down toward the Jin Clan estate shimmered faintly under the pale moonlight, as though reacting to him—acknowledging his presence.
Then he heard it.
Voices.
"Over there! The light came from the old peak!"
His blood turned to ice. Of course. The awakening—that light—it must have been seen for miles. A crimson flare erupting into the night like a beacon.
He ducked behind the temple's stone railing, heart thundering in his ears. Through the mist, he saw the flicker of lanterns. Robed figures moved with haste, the embroidered Jin crest catching the moonlight.
Elders. A search party.
Panic surged through him like wildfire. If they found him here, questions would come—questions he couldn't answer. Not yet. Not when he didn't even understand what had happened. If they realized he had activated this temple, tapped into a power sealed for generations—they would call him cursed. Or worse.
The Jin Clan feared what it couldn't control.
And Jin Long? He had never been in control of anything.
He turned from the path, chest heaving. There was only one option.
He had to run.
There would be no goodbyes. No explanations. No fanfare. No one to mourn his disappearance.
They had always pretended he didn't exist. Let them believe he died in the storm.
It would be easier that way.
With one last glance at the temple—his temple now, somehow—he vanished into the forest below. Branches scratched at his arms. Roots tried to catch his feet. But he kept running. The cold bit at him, but he didn't stop.
He didn't know where he was going.
He just knew he couldn't stay.
---
Back at the summit, the elders finally arrived. They stood in stunned silence, their lanterns casting trembling shadows across the temple's pristine facade.
Where ruin once stood, now stood glory.
"Impossible…" Elder Jin Wu murmured, eyes wide in disbelief. "This place was sealed off generations ago. It should be dust."
Another elder stepped forward, his wrinkled fingers brushing the smooth surface of a pillar. "The sigil… it's active. This temple hasn't responded to anything in over a century."
They exchanged glances. No words could capture the fear laced beneath their confusion.
A place long dead… awakened.
A power long sealed… stirred.
And they had no idea who—or what—was responsible.