Chapter 6: Sword and Ashes

I drew my treasured sword.

The blade flashed cold and sharp.

It was a ritual phoenix blade, steel polished to a mirror shine, feathers etched along the spine. I ran my thumb along the edge, feeling the weight of old battles and new resolve.

In the last life, to pick the Fire Lily, I nearly burned away all my power.

The memory of the flames still made my hands tremble. I lost half my core—years of cultivation scorched to ash. Every time I looked at the sword, I saw scorched petals and felt the ache of loss.

Caleb stared at me, my face ruined: "You’re the Phoenix Patriarch’s daughter and your power’s this low? No wonder the Matriarch never favors you."

He admired strength.

He'd always looked down on me, this deadweight bondmate.

His words always found new ways to cut. He measured worth in power and appearances, blind to the battles I’d fought for him.

But I had once been raised as the future leader of the Phoenix clan.

I had once, with a single sword, shattered whole legions.

I’d led the clan through drought and fire, the sort of leadership they still sang about at family reunions.

Later, my life-bound sword degenerated into scrap iron and was shelved among the wedding chest I brought to the Skycrest Order.

The sword lay buried beneath faded wedding linens and old photos—forgotten but not gone. It was a symbol of everything I’d lost and everything I still refused to surrender.

I began to study alchemy, staying in the alchemy room day after day, until I was perpetually smudged and dusty.

The alchemy lab sounded like mortar scraping stone and smelled of cinnamon bark burning; my hands were stained from long hours at the workbench. Nobody bothered with the mess—least of all me.

And Caleb led Aubrey to go about in pairs, like a picture‑perfect prom king and queen.

No one cared that the little pill maker in the alchemy room was the true leader's wife.

I listened to their laughter echoing down the halls, their voices intertwined. Nobody looked twice at the alchemist buried in her vials, forgotten and alone.