Again, that mountain-sized shadow fell from the sky, a lid over the sun; black flame and streaming grit smeared the heavens to ink.

Two figures, one leading and one trailing, stood before Lingchen Yao; smiles fluttered like torn flags as they bent to lift him from the rubble.

A lance of light ripped the dust like a curtain and swallowed the three in a white-hot gulp.

His skull hummed like a hive. Lingchen Yao clutched the rotten carving with Blood-wet fingers, his eyes mirroring a pale-blue shape in the air.

The beam’s thunder hadn’t faded, and war-scorched rebar and concrete shrieked like a chorus of metal gulls.

Hoo…

A dull ache throbbed first; he dashed to the bathroom, letting cold water slap him awake like rain on stone.

Through soot-dusted frosted glass, a bright sun hung pinned to the center of the Azure sky.

He dug out clean clothes; warm water sluiced away the ghost of alcohol, like steam chased off a winter window.

This dream was sharper than the last. I saw a dragon… a black one, like the one in “Six Legendary Magic Maidens and the Black Dragon: The Final Battle.” And that pale-blue figure in the sky… a Magic Maiden? Was I… in that war?

Doubt tightened his chest before he moved; he shook his head. His parents sent him to Yunyang Orphanage—he couldn’t have been in that fight.

He’d been from the Eleventh District; when he came to the Twelfth District, the battle had ended… two years ago.

Did the Eleventh have the same disaster? Or have I been in the Twelfth all along?

Dream and memory didn’t match. The words stung like cold wind.

Water slid off his brow and tapped the sink, spreading ripples like rings on a pond.

His nails bit into his palm, carving four deep crescents that bloomed like red leaves.

His thoughts were a snarl of vines; the more he pushed in, the more lost he felt. Who am I?

A harsh pounding rattled the door; the landlady’s voice scraped like chalk. “You’ve been in there thirty minutes! You think the water bill’s free?”

A jolt of guilt pricked him; he killed the shower, yanked on clothes, and hurried out.

Under her muttering like a summer cicada, Lingchen Yao ducked back to his room. She let it go—for now—and would pad the rent later like moss creeping over stone.

He flung the curtains wide; noon light spilled in like warm silk. He decided not to dig deeper—he could live fine like this, couldn’t he?

Frustration hit first; he drove a fist into the wall. Pain bit, and he jerked back as if from a hot stove.

“The past and all that… eh.”

He eyed the messy counter; he shook his stinging hand. Looked like he’d slept wild.

He set toppled bottles upright and wiped the sour-smelling table with a damp towel, like smoothing ruffled feathers.

“What’s this?”

A pale-blue liquid in the corner, sharp with the scent of Blood, hooked his gaze like a fish on a line.

This is Blood? How can Blood be blue? Some idiot’s prank? Who’d be that bored… in a dump like this?

Maybe I got it on me last night. He checked the dry clothes; the same blue liquid stained the fabric, like crushed berries.

He traced the blue trail across the floor to the bed; the long-forgotten box of scrap sculptures sat ajar, and a faint blue glow pulsed inside like a sleeping firefly.

Fear rose like cold water; he dragged the wooden box out and peered in.

An Eye Orb with nerve endings trailing ragged flesh lay in a carved recess, staring hard at a wavering blue veil of light.

Blue liquid pooled in the hollow like a tiny tidal basin.

“This Eye Orb… pretty damn realistic. Whoever pulled this prank—I’ll teach him a lesson. Don’t let me catch you.”

Hands shaking, he stuffed the Eye Orb back. It felt like the bullfrogs from high school lab—sticky, warm, as if torn fresh from a living thing.

A chill threaded his spine; he should report this to the Order Keeper. This Eye Orb felt… wrong.

“I hid so well, and you still found me…”

A stiff mechanical voice buzzed from inside the Eye Orb, turning his skin to gooseflesh like a cold draft.

Blue-wet nerve filaments brushed his neck; warmth and fear sparked, and his body moved first—he backhanded hard.

The Eye Orb’s lens took the hit; it spun a full turn in the air like a kicked puck and slammed the wall.

The force bled off with each bounce, and it dropped neatly into the trash can with a hollow thunk.

“Kid!”

The Eye Orb floated up from the can and butted his face; its white had filled with blue like ink in water.

He waved it off. That smack felt like a rubber bouncy ball from childhood, springy and harmless.

Relief loosened his breath; he cracked his knuckles like popping seeds and eyed the slightly brighter “ball.”

“I’d like to know what you are.”

The Eye Orb froze midair. Lingchen Yao’s presence pressed like a storm front—stronger than its own, if only by a shade.

It calculated fast. If it fled this home, Magic Maidens would likely kill it—probability, eighty percent.

If it cooperated with Lingchen Yao… it glanced at the sculpture tinged with magic aura. Survival probability, ninety-five percent.

It chose the latter without a blink.

“I… don’t know my name. I don’t know what happened. My last order was to hide, to live. If I absorb enough Mana, I might revive.”

The Eye Orb circled him once, bowing and scraping like a courtier; blue sheen and fawning gaze made his skin crawl like ants.

“You’re disgusting. Disgusting enough I want to hand you to the Order Keeper.”

The pupil tightened to a pin. It had holes in its memory, but it knew the Order Keeper well—the group of Magic Maidens that “process” things like it.

“My mind holds knowledge and wisdom!”

“My phone’s more useful. I don’t need your wisdom.”

“I can give you power!”

“I’m ordinary. What would I need power for?”

“Right…”

It bobbed in the air, wrong-footed; panic nipped like frost. If it didn’t prove itself now, it’d be tossed to the Magic Maidens.

Wait… a spark flared.

“I can help you find your past!”

Anger flared first; his hand cut the air and clamped the Eye Orb tight. Bloodshot veins raced across his eyes; his gaze went hard as flint.

“My business is mine to handle. You’re of unknown origin. For all I know, you’re an Aklatia freak who’ll kill me once you revive. I can toss you out anytime.”

Silence fell inside the Eye Orb, heavy as snow. He wasn’t wrong.

Wooo—wooo—wooo—wooo—

Sirens knifed across the Twelfth District sky; the vault cracked like glass, and massive fireballs burst, vomiting black smoke and thick fog.

The ground split open into bottomless pits; wolves with gray manes crawled out, their fur slick with black liquid like oil.

[Emergency: Abyss riot in the Twelfth District. Class Beast-2. Count: one hundred and thirty-one. All residents, proceed to the nearest shelter. Repeating, all residents… ksssh…]

The broadcast cut dead. A burning airship tumbled from the clouds, a falling sun wrapped in flame, plunging straight for downtown.

A twin-horned eagle split its ocher beak; Crimson fire poured from its mouth like a river of coals.

“Great timing. We predicted an Abyss riot, and it lands right after Aklatia gets noticed. If it were yesterday, I’d have slipped away in the chaos. Wait… why do I even know that?”

The Eye Orb griped, and Lingchen Yao’s fingers tightened like a vise.

“Easy, easy. You’ll kill me for real!”

“Whether you die isn’t my problem. I’ve got no mood for you.”

He flung the Eye Orb aside, scanned the room, and stuffed the wooden carving into his backpack.

He grabbed a few electronics and kitchen knives, then bolted out like a gust through an alley.

The Eye Orb slipped into his backpack like a fish into reed beds. Lingchen Yao didn’t notice.

His rental was cheap, and the price showed; the shelter was far. That was the cost stamped on the lease like a watermark.

Abyss.

As an ordinary man, he knew little. In his mind, Magic Maidens had fought those monsters in secret since forever.

Lately they showed up too often. Numbers swelled. Order Keeper deaths rose year after year like a grim tide.

The Abyss had five tags: Beast, Man, Insect, Myth, Special. The first three weren’t ranks, just types of invaders.

Invasion strength went one to three—one the lowest, three the highest, marked like storm warnings.

Myth meant Black Dragon level. According to Chen Xiaoyin, the Black Dragon was the only Myth invasion in the last century.

Special meant riots triggered by Magic Tools or Magic Maidens; those weren’t rare either.

He slipped past the crowd and took the alleys, a fox through hedges, heading for the shelter.

Run with the herd, and you jam. Open squares turn you into a clean target under a wide sky.

His head had run this route a hundred times; practice had set it like grooves in stone.

Two kilometers straight down the main road would reach the shelter.

But that road was also the most dangerous.