The wind howled in icy gusts over the Celestial Mountains, carrying with it flurries of snow that crashed against the imposing pavilions of the Five Elements Sect. Night had long since fallen, plunging the vast domain into an oppressive silence, broken only by the crackling of torches lining the great training halls.
In a secluded courtyard, far from the majestic palaces where the inner disciples gathered, a frail silhouette swept the snow in front of a simple wooden hut. Lin Xuan, a sixteen-year-old boy with a thin frame and eyes hardened by hardship, gripped a straw broom tightly, his fingers reddened by the biting cold. He was merely an outer disciple, one of the many young men without remarkable talent, relegated to menial chores.
For five years, he had served the sect, carrying out mundane tasks while desperately trying to progress in the art of cultivation. But despite his relentless efforts, he remained stuck at the first level of Qi Condensation, a stage most disciples surpassed in mere months. His future seemed sealed: a lifetime of servitude until he was ultimately cast out, left to fend for himself in an unforgiving world.
But that night, fate had other plans.
As he was about to return to his hut, an inexplicable sensation coursed through him, as if an unseen gaze bore down upon him. He spun around abruptly, scanning the shadows of the surrounding buildings. Nothing. Yet his heart pounded wildly, his instincts screaming that something was amiss.
That was when he noticed a pale glow seeping from beneath the door of an old training cavern, abandoned for decades. An irrepressible curiosity gripped him. Caution dictated that he walk away, but Lin Xuan had never had the luxury of following the rules. He approached slowly, placing his hand against the aged wooden door.
With hesitant resolve, he pushed it open.
The interior was shrouded in darkness, except for a faint light emanating from the ground. Squinting, he discerned something half-buried beneath dust and rubble— a black stone, etched with esoteric patterns. His heart skipped a beat. He was no scholar, but even he could recognize an ancient and potentially forbidden artifact.
The moment his fingers brushed against its cold surface, a surge of chilling energy shot up his arm, paralyzing his muscles instantly. A voice echoed within his mind, deep and unfathomable, as if resonating from another era.
"The Art of Destiny Sculpting has chosen you."
A searing pain lanced through his skull as visions flooded his consciousness— hooded figures carving runes into the air, reshaping reality itself, bending the world to their will. Scenes of destruction and creation overlapped in a whirlwind of incomprehensible knowledge.
Then, silence.
Lin Xuan collapsed to the ground, gasping. Something inside him had changed, as though forbidden knowledge had been etched into his very bones, his very soul. He had never heard of such an art before. And one terrifying thought gripped him: if this power exists, why does no one practice it?
Only one answer came to mind: Some knowledge is not forgotten. It is erased.
And now, it had chosen him.