Remnants of the Hongmeng Calamity

Only when the giant blood-rusted bell atop the mountain shattered did A Zhu realize that the “stable cocoon grounds” his people had sacrificed themselves for, generation after generation, were nothing but a cage forged from flesh and blood by the bellkeepers. The rust-guiding shard embedded in his chest was both the key to unlocking the cage and a coveted sacrifice. The “bellkeepers” in silver-white uniforms were waiting to throw every “remnant husk” into the furnace and forge a new bell.

From the molten pools of the mangrove forest to the shadowy passages of the Bell Tomb, from half-mechanical stitched abominations to the phantom of the Bell Lord in the clouds, A Zhu bore the fused mark of rust-guiding and defiant scales. As he fled and fought back, he gradually understood: the so-called “remnant husks” were never flawed products of chaos. They were bellmakers stripped of their names.

When the boundary wardens’ scythes cut across the sea, when the domesticated creatures’ roars shattered the stars, and when the “cradle” deep in the universe emerged from the nebulae, A Zhu finally understood that breaking free from the cocoon was never about escape. It was about letting every branded soul call out its own name beneath the sun.

This is a rebellion spanning the primordial expanse, built on bell spirits and flowing with the blood of remnant husks. We are rust that survived the calamity, and hammers that shatter the shell.