Shen Ziyan lay motionless on the shattered ground, his body trembling as remnants of golden light flickered across his skin. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding against his ribs as if trying to escape his chest. Every inch of him ached, his bones feeling as if they had been reforged in celestial fire.
Yet, despite the pain, he was alive.
He turned his gaze toward his right hand, where the strange golden mark had been etched into his flesh. It pulsed faintly, its intricate design shifting as if it were alive. The shape resembled the colossal hand that had fallen from the heavens, and deep within its golden glow, he could feel something—something vast, ancient, and unfathomable.
Power.
It coursed through him, humming beneath his skin, filling his very soul. For the first time in his life, he could sense the energy of the world around him—the flow of spiritual qi that only cultivators could harness. He had spent years watching others wield it, dreaming of the impossible.
Now, impossibility had become reality.
His fingers clenched instinctively, and the mark flashed. A shockwave burst outward, sending dust and debris flying in all directions. Ziyan gasped, jerking his hand back. His body tensed, bracing for another surge of pain, but none came.
Instead, the golden energy settled within him, waiting.
It had accepted him.
Or rather… it had chosen him.
Whispers of the Divine
A breeze swept through the ruined mountain peak, carrying with it a faint whisper.
"Bearer of the Creator's Hand… your path has begun."
Ziyan's eyes widened. The voice was neither loud nor harsh, yet it reverberated deep within his soul. It was as if the heavens themselves had spoken directly to him.
He swallowed hard. "Who… who are you?"
There was no reply.
Only silence.
His pulse quickened. He had spent his entire life in the shadow of cultivators, watching them shape the world with techniques and powers beyond mortal comprehension. Now, he had been thrust into their realm, gifted—or perhaps cursed—with something he did not understand.
The weight of it threatened to crush him.
What did this power mean?
Why had it come to him, of all people?
And what would happen next?
A sudden rustling in the trees below shattered his thoughts.
Ziyan's instincts screamed at him to move. He scrambled to his feet, biting back a groan as pain shot through his limbs. His muscles protested, but he forced himself forward, pressing against a boulder for cover.
Moments later, figures emerged from the dense forest.
Hunters in the Night
They were five in total, cloaked in dark robes embroidered with crimson sigils. Their movements were precise, their auras brimming with power far beyond anything Ziyan had ever encountered.
Cultivators.
His breath caught in his throat.
The leader, a tall man with cold eyes, stepped forward, his gaze scanning the ruins. "The celestial disturbance came from here." His voice was low, commanding. "Find the source."
The others spread out instantly, their hands glowing with qi as they inspected the broken ground. One of them knelt beside the massive severed hand, his face pale.
"This… this isn't natural," he muttered. "It's divine."
The leader's eyes narrowed. "Then we are already too late."
Ziyan's heart pounded.
Who were these people?
Why had they come?
Had they sensed the Hand's power? Or worse… had they sensed him?
He pressed himself further against the boulder, barely daring to breathe. He knew he had no chance against cultivators of this level. Even if he had gained some power from the Hand, he had no idea how to use it.
A gust of wind rustled his clothes.
The leader's eyes flicked in his direction.
"Someone is here."
The Awakening's First Trial
Ziyan moved before he could think.
Instinct drove him—an instinct he did not recognize, yet trusted completely. The golden mark on his palm flared to life, and in the blink of an eye, he vanished.
Not physically.
It was as if the world had folded around him, pulling him into its embrace. His body remained, but the cultivators' senses slipped past him—as if he did not exist.
A technique.
An ability.
He could barely comprehend it, but the mark had responded to his need, shielding him from sight.
The cultivators hesitated.
"Strange…" one of them muttered. "I could have sworn I felt something."
The leader's expression darkened. He surveyed the area for a long moment before finally speaking. "No matter. Whatever happened here has already shifted fate. The Grand Sects will move soon."
He turned on his heel. "We leave. Now."
The others nodded and, without another word, leapt into the air.
They vanished into the night.
Ziyan did not move for a long time.
His heart still raced, his body still trembled. The power within him still hummed, answering him in ways he did not yet understand.
But one thing was clear.
The world had changed.
And he was now at the center of it.