Tale from the Edge: The Man Who Outlived the Heavens(Interlude)

  There once was a man who did not die.

  Not because he cultivated to immortality.

  Not because he conquered heaven.

  But because he refused.

  They say he was born before calendars, before sects, before names had sylbles. That he lived in the time when the stars still made decisions, and the earth still spoke in sleep.

  At first, he was like any other.

  He learned the bde.

  He sought power.

  He fell in love with someone who did not survive the winter.

  So he broke the sky in half.

  That was his first sin.

  They say it caused the seasons to shift. That before him, there were five seasons — one for forgetting. Now there are only four.

  He was punished.

  Not by gods.

  By consequence.

  His soul could no longer rot.

  His name could no longer fade.

  Even the things he buried — regrets, old loves, truths — began to dig their way out.

  He lived a thousand years. Then a thousand more.

  At some point, he forgot his face.

  He tried to climb into the sun.

  He tried to drown in stars.

  He tried to kill himself with a thought too rge to hold.

  None of it worked.

  The world changed around him.

  He watched sects rise, empires fall, brothers become tyrants, enemies become wind.

  He began to walk backward.

  They say his footprints cause memory to grow.

  That where he passes, old names whisper again.

  That dead cultivators dream of him before rebirth.

  He is not feared.

  He is avoided.

  Because when he looks at you, something in your chest remembers a life you didn’t live.

  And if you speak to him too long, you might begin to remember it, too.

  They say he once stood beneath an evergreen that no longer exists, and whispered a question into its roots:

  “If I outlive the heavens,

  Who buries me?”

  The tree did not answer.

  But it bent —

  just slightly —

  in his direction.

  *****

  Some say he still walks.

  Some say he is long gone.

  But every now and then, when the clouds part strangely, or when a ruin hums with no reason…

  People get quiet.

  They listen.

  And they wonder:

  Is this where he passed through?

  Or is this where he’ll return?

  (End of interlude)