Soulless Sanctuary was raised by an ancient race long since turned to dust, a relic like bones under desert wind.

Most believe it’s an old palace left by antiquity, a reef of endless treasure and teeth of danger.

That view isn’t wrong, but it’s only the skin. Its other name—Eternal Prison—is known to almost none.

In this era, only existences at or above the Origin Realm remember that name, like stars seen past storm clouds.

Eternal Prison, as the name says, cages criminals whose crimes split the sky. Once sealed in the Sanctuary, you never rise again, even at the Origin Realm—hence the title.

Since its birth, the Sanctuary has held few inmates—just six. Few in number, vast in sin; ten thousand deaths wouldn’t scrub their stains.

Today, only one prisoner still breathes: Wanxin, an existence of the Origin Realm. Even at the Zenith of Law Realm, candles gutter; only the Origin Realm lets you live forever.

Long ago, when the world’s bones were still soft, Wanxin aided Xiyue in the first struggle for stewardship, fighting against Xinuo. When Xiyue lost, Xinuo sealed Wanxin in the Sanctuary with his own hands, and drove Xiyue out of the Prime Realm.

In short, Wanxin is the only Origin Realm existence in history to be sealed, his sky lidded by iron forever.

Normally, once you reach the Origin Realm, you live without end, roaming Heaven and Earth, standing atop the world—as long as you don’t cross Xinuo. That alone shows how wretched Wanxin is.

The Sanctuary endures to this day only because it drinks from Wanxin’s Primordial Source, like a fortress wired to a captive heart.

When Xinuo sealed him, he casually set a conversion ward, turning Wanxin’s Primordial Source into fuel that keeps the Sanctuary turning like a millwheel.

Put plainly, his own Source is most of the seal. As long as that well hasn’t run dry, he can’t slip the chains.

For the Origin Realm, a dry Source means death. To break free, Wanxin has two paths: die and be released, or find a helping hand from a Pinnacle of Origin Realm existence.

That’s why the Sanctuary brims with treasure. Bathed in Primordial Source for ages, even a pebble drinks dew into jade; how much more the finer things.

...

In the deepest place of Soulless Sanctuary lay a subterranean cage, its stone skin etched with strange runes and interlocked wards, like frost sewn into iron.

The space within seemed severed from the world around it; even face to face, your eyes told you it was a mirage over still water.

Inside, a man was wrapped tight by tens of thousands of rusty chains, a cocoon of iron thorns. He was gaunt, pallid, eyes dull and ash, life drained, like a sun-dried corpse.

After a long silence, his head lifted a fraction. A sound rasped out, harsh as a rusted gear grinding: “...Soulless Sanctuary has surfaced from the Endless Sea again. Looks like a few blind fools have barged in...”

Anyone else would feel a spark at that news. Rescue sounds like rain after drought.

He didn’t. Across countless years, the Sanctuary had surfaced from the Endless Sea ten times, calling in treasure-seekers of every race like gulls to a tide. None ever reached this cage; and even if someone did, what use? Without the Pinnacle of Origin Realm, this seal won’t break.

His heart, like a lantern starved of oil, stayed full of despair.