It was over. Yet after they scattered, would they bloom again in some unknown world, like mist drifting toward the Underworld?

Those people, those relics, those stories—echoes like lanterns guttering in wind.

A dim starfield stretched like a burned tapestry. Silence hung heavy as iron frost. Endless wreckage drifted like ash on a cold tide, and no celestial body lay whole.

“This starfield…” Ouyang watched the self‑contained world shatter, its edges stitch into the open sky like torn silk joining a vast sea. The space beyond was ruined. Broken bodies of worlds floated in dead light, their flames still smoldering like coals under snow.

Ruins leaked faint glow, a stubborn ember trying to prove something to time, like a firefly fighting dusk.

“Saya, check the databank…” Ouyang’s voice tightened, a drumbeat under the hush. The broken starfield breathed a terrible aura, everywhere like smoke from old wars. He knew that scent: time and eternity, chaos and order, war and ruin, fate and hope—twin rivers grinding stone.

Saya obeyed with calm ripples. She closed her eyes, and grids blossomed around her like lattices of light seeking to seep into space itself.

Hell Lord Christo fidgeted, a hawk trapped in still air. If not for Ouyang’s steady calm, she would’ve bolted like a shadow at noon. The lingering aura alone made this Primordial Deity who ruled Hell want to flee; that said more than words.

The starfield felt like a cosmic junkyard: palaces snapped like antlers, stars cracked like eggshells, a world‑tree severed cleanly in two like a fallen pillar.

Countless wrecks became the only theme, a chorus of broken bells.

Shock rippled through everyone like cold rain. The wreckage was scary, a graveyard without end, but what truly froze them was the “scar” in space. Only dozens of meters long, yet surrounded by countless golden runes, with chains of the same gold coiling it like vines. From afar, it looked like a wound sewn shut by patient needles.

“Data’s out…” Saya opened her eyes, numbers flickering in her pupils like migrating birds. “Records say this region was the Eternal Empire’s headquarters, the Empire’s brightest heartland.”

The Eternal Empire.

Ouyang wasn’t surprised. After learning the story of the Philosopher’s Stone shards and the world called Aurela, he’d already drawn a line in the sand.

Late in the Sixth Epoch, the Eternal Empire fell for many reasons, like a forest taken by blight and flame. But for such a star‑spanning nation to collapse so fast, one obstacle sat in the road like a mountain—the Imperial family. As the public face of the Empire, the Nightfall Clan must have wielded power that could cow gods and demons alike. In the Empire’s prime headquarters, gods walked the streets like ordinary folk; that much was certain.

If the Imperial bloodline remained intact, the Empire wouldn’t die. As long as the royal power endured, a new empire could rise in days, like a phoenix spreading fresh wings.

Only if the upper echelon vanished—including the royals—would the provinces, like scattered flocks, declare independence. In a few short months, that vast nation unraveled, a banner torn by storm.

To the Eternal Empire, Devila and Christo felt little, like travelers staring at an old map. They didn’t know what “Eternal Empire” truly meant. Devila was born in the Ninth Epoch, while the Empire’s tale ended in the late Sixth. Hell Lord Christo was older, born before that time, but Hell had long been “out of touch” with the outer starfield, a cave without echoes. Forget the Empire; even the Other Shore was unknown to her.

Ouyang had long been curious, a moth drawn to an old lantern. According to Yiyue Qianliu, a scion of the Imperial bloodline, after that Eternal Tragedy ended, a Tiered Being struck at the remnants of the Imperial family. The Nightfall Clan almost faced extinction, like a river almost cut from its spring.

But Saya’s records said the Empire’s First Emperor was a Tiered Being. His existence was a miracle, like a sun rising inside a sealed cavern. At birth, he was the god above gods.

Realm Gods can create life; at their peak, they can birth beings with power at the summit of divinity. But creating a Tiered Being? That’s beyond imagining, like sculpting thunder with bare hands.

Tiered Beings exist because they played the world’s anthem, won the Supreme Law’s blessing, and earned recognition from the star‑sea itself.

Yet that First Emperor, once created, was born with the strength of a true god. No blessing, no recognition, but undeniable power, like a blade that cuts whether named or not.

So the question rose like smoke—where was the First Emperor?

Back then, the master of the Empire sacrificed most of its territory like a forest offered to a pyre. Even so, he wouldn’t sacrifice the loyal Nightfall Clan. And the First Emperor—his own creation—was like a child to him, a star he’d lit with his own hands.

With the First Emperor present, would the Empire truly fall?

Wordless, Ouyang stepped forward, a lone figure walking under silent constellations. He wanted to sift this ruin for threads, like a weaver searching for saved silk.

“Saya, do you have records of the Empire’s final years in the databank?”

“No… We did, once. But they were deleted under Eleven‑Star clearance.”

“Oh… who deleted them?”

“His Excellency, Lord Ye Feiluo.”

Ouyang fell quiet, silence like a held breath.

He sighed, helpless, and shook his head, a leaf riding wind. Some data requires high clearance; some matters, leaving nothing is safest. The trail snapped here. That dazzling Empire, those legendary emperors of old—all swallowed by history like stones sinking in deep water.

“Since the Sixth Epoch ended, this region has been taboo,” Saya added, reading his worry like clouds read wind. “Unless you get a writ from several Crowned Lords, even other emperors of the Other Shore can’t enter.”

It made sense. Ouyang wanted clues, but time is a patient wave. Ruins could be smashed, relics carried off, trails scattered like sand. Saya’s words said this place wasn’t open to wanderers; since that day, the gods visiting here likely numbered in single digits, a handful of stars in a cloudy night.

They searched as a group through the sea of ruins, sails up in a windless sky. Since the independent world had dissolved, they no longer had to hold back. Unleashing their full power to break the curse’s shackles felt easy, like snapping old rope.

Old sayings prove true: many hands make light work, like a chorus lifting stone. A flock of gods darted through the starfield. Before long, White Cat chirped in with news, tail high—major discovery.

While they searched, Dufei gave Devila and Christo a crash course on the Eternal Empire, painting with quick strokes. So when “major discovery” hit, Christo surged forward, eager as flame. In a blink, she was next to White Cat, a streak across dark water.

It was a black hole, a small one only a few hundred meters wide, a dark eye in dead light. Not to be compared with those that swallow stars like seeds. In Ouyang’s memory, these small ones were usually artificial, like doors carved into night.

“At times like this, we need someone brave enough to be the first to bite the crab—no, the first to dive into the black hole—and crack the truth hiding behind it.” Ouyang cut a glance toward Dufei, playful as a cat swatting string. “Ahem, fatty, don’t you want to be the hero? Think about it—hero.”

“Scram. I’m the Demon King, not your hero. Your brain glitch?”

Dufei refused, hard as stone. The background here was too scary, a storm under skin. Eternal Empire headquarters, with Tiered Beings fighting here once, and more than one Third Tier arriving. When those you can only look up to are involved, you don’t volunteer to test the abyss.

Plan A—con Dufei—failed. Ouyang turned to Devila. “Little bat, how about you give it a try? We’ve all got colorful stories. You go, and you’ll have bragging rights for life, like a medal on your chest…”

Before he finished, Devila turned away and started solemnly counting distant wreckage, like a scholar avoiding eye contact.

“White Cat…”

“Meow—cat lord’s body’s hollowed out, no strength left…” White Cat wilted like a noodle, firmly opposed to entering.

Seeing White Cat ready to die rather than go, Ouyang looked to his last hope.

Before he could speak, Christo copied Devila and began counting debris like a clerk. She’d already wanted to leave this trouble‑spot; diving into a black hole felt like courting death, straight up.

So they stared at one another, a circle of cats around a pond. No one wanted to go in.

“You guys have zero sense of sacrifice! If no one eats the first crab, how do people learn how good crab tastes?” Ouyang pointed and scolded, clouds rumbling.

Dufei cut in, dry as salt. “Cool story. You go.”

Ouyang shut his mouth, swift as a shutter.

Just as they stalled, the little black hole flared deep‑blue light, like a well reflecting twilight. When the glow faded, a figure in full heavy armor stepped out and stood before the hole, then dropped to one knee like a knight in old snow.

“Ouyang Your Majesty, the First Emperor requests your presence.”

The armored warrior carried a greatsword on his back, its weight like a night river. Deep‑blue sigils ran across his plate, strange patterns gleaming like frost. Ouyang had seen that mark on Yiyue Qianliu’s clothes— the Imperial sigil.

And the words—First Emperor. The title hit like a bell.

What was going on? If the First Emperor hadn’t fallen, why did the Empire die? Why didn’t he appear, like thunder refusing to sound?

Ouyang didn’t rush over. Caution rose first, a cool wind against heat. He wasn’t the rookie he’d once been. Following blindly is how you get sold without knowing, like a lamb walking into fog.

The warrior seemed to read his concern like a map. He drew out a scroll, old as cedar.

“This is the Emperor‑Lord’s writ. Once you read it, Your Majesty, you’ll understand.”

As the scroll unfurled, vast power spilled, a tide under moon. In an instant, the starfield froze. Time and eternity held tethers, color drained like dye in rain. What remained was black and white, bare essence, like ink and paper alone.

Ouyang received the scroll. The aura couldn’t be faked; it pressed like a mountain, pure and precise.

After a long breath, he spoke, calm as night water. “Saya, take them back first. I’ll go meet the First Emperor and talk about life and ideals. And… pick up the gift he left me.”