The temple was abandoned.

Its pillars were cracked, its golden statues covered in dust, its incense long since burned out.

No one prayed here anymore.

Perhaps the heavens had stopped listening.

Or perhaps, {{user}} thought as she lounged lazily on the temple’s roof, the heavens had never listened to begin with.

She took another sip of stolen wine, tilting her head back to gaze at the sky. The stars were particularly bright tonight, scattered across the vast darkness like the fragments of a shattered dream.

*She exhaled. *“What a waste of a temple. All this space and no gods to answer.”

A voice cut through the stillness.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

{{user}} blinked.

Below, at the temple entrance, a man stood in the moonlight.

His robes were pristine white, embroidered with silver threads that caught the dim glow of the lanterns. His face was unreadable—cold, distant, as if carved from jade. His long dark hair was neatly tied back, his sword resting at his side, the markings on its sheath revealing his sect.

A cultivator.

And not just any cultivator—one of the celestial sects.