Dao of darkness

Time and memories

Floating in the void of time, Song Luoxu tapped into the power of the Time Bead. It rejuvenated his memories, pulling him back to his past, to the moments when he was innocent—before he abandoned everything for the sake of revenge. As he drifted through the echoes of time, the realization struck him: despite all his efforts, he had achieved nothing, ultimately meeting his end at the hands of those who destroyed everything he held dear.

Song's memories...

A small village in Shuangxue, the Land of Dark Snow.

"Grandfather, what are you doing? Why do you always swing that blade of yours?" asked a little boy with bright red eyes, sitting on the black snow, watching his grandfather perform deliberate movements with a dark sword.

The boy was none other than young Song Luoxu, known back then as Xiaoxue.

His grandfather, a stern but kind man, paused in his practice. "Oh, little Xiaoxue," he said with a gentle smile. "This is our village's traditional way of the sword. It must be performed every day, for all our lives, to ensure the prosperity of our village."

As a child, Song admired his grandfather deeply. Every day, he watched the old man swing his sword, believing it to be a ceremonial act to purify the karma of their village. Yet, a question always lingered in his mind: why did his grandfather bear the burden of others? Why didn't he live for himself?

Seeing the distressed expression on Song's face, his grandfather, dressed in a white robe with a faint red hue, sat beside him in the snow. He pulled out a small sword and placed it gently in his grandson's hands.

"Little Xiaoxue, this is our clan's greatest treasure—the Dark Meteor Sword. It harnesses the power of chaos, one of the primordial forces. Legend says that it's the only sword that grows stronger with its wielder and can cut through any existence with ease. If you ever reach the pinnacle, this sword will be your greatest asset."

He spoke in a solemn tone, stroking Song's head tenderly.

But that memory of warmth didn't last long...

The next day
The morning sun rose sluggishly over the horizon, its pale light struggling to penetrate the thick, ashen clouds that hung over the village. The once pristine snow was now a muddied, crimson landscape, a grim reminder of the devastation that had unfolded the night before. Song Xiaoxue stirred, his small body shivering from the cold, though the warmth of his mother's qi still lingered faintly in his heart. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he simply lay there, gazing up at the colorless sky, unaware of the horrors that awaited him.

But as he sat up, confusion clouded his young mind. The familiar sights of his village—the laughter, the warmth, the people—were gone. Replaced by silence. A silence so thick it suffocated him. He stumbled to his feet, his breath coming out in short, panicked bursts as he called out, "Mother? Grandfather?"

There was no answer.

His small, bare feet crunched through the snow as he wandered through the ruins of his village, his heart pounding with a growing sense of dread. The air was thick with the scent of iron and smoke, stinging his nose and making his eyes water. He blinked furiously, hoping it was all just a terrible dream, but the sight before him only grew clearer, more horrifying.

Bodies lay strewn across the ground, twisted and broken. Faces he had known all his life, now frozen in expressions of terror and pain. He swallowed hard, his small hands trembling as he reached out to touch the arm of a villager, only to recoil when he felt the cold, lifeless flesh. His chest tightened, and a sob escaped his throat as he whispered, "Why… why is this happening?"

"Grandfather!" Xiaoxue cried
But there was no one to answer him. No strong arms to lift him up, no comforting words to soothe his fears. Only the biting cold and the unyielding silence.