Sons of Heaven

The world had gone silent.

Xing Wuye stumbled through the ruins of what had once been his home, each step slow and heavy, his legs weak beneath him. The destruction was overwhelming—smoke still curled from the charred remains of wooden beams, ash floated lazily in the air, and the familiar sound of the sea was muffled, as though the waves themselves mourned the village's loss.

Where homes had once stood, where laughter had once echoed, there was nothing but debris. The village had been torn apart as if by some monstrous hand, its people scattered or buried beneath the wreckage. Wuye's throat was tight with the bitter taste of ash, and his heart pounded in his chest as he searched through the wreckage, each breath feeling like a weight dragging him deeper into despair.

He had known this day would come in some form, but never like this. His father had always spoken of the ocean's power, of the storms that could rise without warning and of the dangers that lurked beyond the horizon. But this... this was something beyond nature, beyond anything Wuye could have imagined.

He passed by what was once the village square. The large stone the elders had gathered around was cracked down the middle, split as though by an invisible force. He could almost see their faces still, hear their low voices discussing the tides, but now those voices were gone.

Gone, just like everything else.

Wuye's chest tightened painfully as he reached the remnants of his family's small home. The roof had collapsed inward, charred beams crisscrossing over what was once their shared space. The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke and death.

He forced himself to step forward, his heart pounding in his ears. He hadn't seen them since the destruction started—his mother, his younger brother and sister. He had been out at sea, too far to do anything but watch as the shadowy figure destroyed everything.

He forced himself to step forward, his heart pounding in his ears. He hadn't seen them since the destruction started—his mother, his younger brother and sister. He had been out at sea, too far to do anything but watch as the shadowy figure destroyed everything.

Wuye collapsed onto the ground beside them, his fingers digging into the ash. His breath came in short, ragged gasps as the weight of the loss crashed over him. His heart felt like it had been torn from his chest, leaving behind only a hollow void. The world around him seemed distant, blurry, as if it had retreated into a haze of grief and disbelief.

He wanted to scream, to cry, but no sound came. He was numb.

For a long time, Wuye knelt there, staring at the remnants of his family, unable to move. He had failed them. He had failed everyone.

But then, through the haze of his grief, something strange stirred. A flicker in the back of his mind, faint at first, like a forgotten memory. It was an image—no, not an image. A presence. A record.

The Akashic Records.

The name appeared in his mind without warning, like a drop of ink in water, spreading through his consciousness. He had never heard of such a thing before, and yet he knew it, as if it had always been a part of him. It was a record of everything, of all that had been and all that would be. A vast, infinite library of knowledge that stretched beyond time and space.

And it was now inside him.

Wuye blinked, his grief momentarily pushed aside by confusion and awe. How had this come to him? Why now? And then, like a key turning in a lock, he remembered the spirit—the glowing figure that had passed over the village, chased by the shadowy pursuer. The spirit had been carrying something, something powerful.

Had it dropped this record, this... Akashic Record, in its flight?

His mind raced as pieces of the mystery began to fall into place. The spirit had been fleeing, desperate, and the pursuer had been relentless in its destruction. Somehow, in the chaos, this ancient and powerful knowledge had been left behind, and now, inexplicably, it was his.

As the awareness of the Akashic Records grew within him, Wuye could feel the weight of countless lifetimes of knowledge pressing against the edges of his mind. It was overwhelming, a flood of images, memories, voices, and experiences. But he could not grasp any of it fully, not yet. It was like holding a book with pages too numerous to count, all written in a language he could not yet read.

Still, he felt a strange connection to it. A purpose.

Forcing himself to stand, Wuye glanced once more at the remains of his family. He knelt and whispered a prayer under his breath, though he wasn't sure if any gods still listened in this broken world. He gently scooped up a handful of the ash and let it scatter in the wind.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

He turned away, his heart heavy but his mind beginning to burn with questions. The Akashic Records held answers—he was sure of it. And if he was to understand what had happened here, if he was to avenge his family and his village, he would need to unlock its secrets.

The destruction of Wu Village had been the first step in something much larger, something that went beyond the physical world.

And now, with the power of the Akashic Records inside him, Xing Wuye would find out what. As he swears to avenge his family, his home, his village, his place of belonging