The bruised morning sky cracked with thunder.
Lan Xian had not yet caught its breath from yesterday's duel, but battle was already brewing again—not in the arena this time, but in the open streets, among the ancient bridges and spirit-lit towers of the city.
And it began with vengeance.
Zhao Lin had not returned alone.
His pride shattered in front of thousands, the heir to the Seven Radiant Clans had summoned more than his bruised ego—he had summoned his clan.
Dozens arrived by skyships and spirit eagles, each bearing the silver and sunburst insignia of the Southern Light Sect. They did not walk like visitors. They marched like invaders.
And at the head of them was Zhao Han, Zhao Lin's uncle.
A man known not for mercy… but for his command over Fire Spears—weapons said to have pierced star dragons in ancient wars.
He stood tall, older than he appeared, with ash-white streaks in his hair and a cloak that glowed faintly with spiritual inscriptions.
"They say you humiliated my nephew," he said to Xiao Feng, who stood quietly in Lan Xian's east garden. "In front of the entire city. Without consequence."
Xiao Feng didn't answer.
He was not one for explanations when truth had already been witnessed.
Zhao Han's voice lowered. "You crippled him. He can no longer summon without shaking."
"That was not my doing," Xiao Feng replied. "That was his fear, devouring itself."
Zhao Han's eyes narrowed. "And what do you think fear is, if not a weapon?"
Then he lifted his hand.
And his army stepped forward.
The gardens ignited with energy.
Cultivators from Zhao Lin's sect unleashed spells, summoning flaming tigers, blades of spirit-light, and floating totems of offense.
But Xiao Feng… merely whispered.
> "Come forth."
A burst of wind—then silence.
Then thunder.
The ground cracked open as three sigils ignited beneath his feet.
And from them came beasts.
Long Shuang, the serpent of silence, coiling mid-air with whispering breath
Baihu, the tiger in chains, snarling through the battlefield
And a new summon—Yuan Lei, the Crane of Storms, with feathers that sparked and eyes that saw past illusions
The battlefield was not an arena now.
It was chaos.
Chen Hao joined the fray, sword slicing through spirit barriers like they were silk. Ying Long swooped above, wings glowing with celestial wrath, scattering lightning among enemy formations.
Zhao Han summoned four Fire Spears, spinning them with flawless control. With a motion of his hand, he rained fire upon Xiao Feng, each strike enough to collapse a temple.
But they didn't reach him.
They dissolved before touching the sigil barrier around him.
"You fight like the past," Xiao Feng said. "As if fire can burn that walked through the Abyss."
And then he struck.
He didn't move physically.
But his summons moved as one mind, directed not by sight—but by pure intent.
Long Shuang tangled through the spears.
Yuan Lei summoned wind gales that knocked enemies off their feet.
And Baihu leapt for Zhao Han—claws clashing against the elder's defense talismans, breaking two of them in one blow.
The battle tore across the gardens into the city square.
Shops collapsed. Statues cracked. The sky above turned gray, then dark, then storm-black.
Zhao Lin, now watching from the safety of a warded tower, screamed in frustration.
"Why won't he fall?!"
His cousin beside him, trembling, whispered, "He's not like the others, Lin. He's… touched by something deeper."
In the heat of the battle, just as Xiao Feng deflected another wave of blazing spirit arrows, something strange happened.
A sound.
Not from the battlefield.
Not from this place.
It slipped into his ears like a whisper through a locked door.
A feeling.
No… not a feeling.
A chime. Echoing in layers. Like a voice crying across worlds.
He froze mid-step.
And suddenly, he was elsewhere.
His body still stood in the battlefield, but his consciousness was tugged—drawn—into something far beyond Lan Xian.
A desert.
Stretching endlessly. Cracked earth.
And in the center of it: a massive black tower, pulsing like a beating heart.
And beneath it were three words.
The Celestial Crucible.
Then he heard a voice—not his own—speak in his mind:
> "The Veil will break. The one who hears must choose—seal it, or let it rise."
Xiao Feng blinked.
He was back.
The garden lay in ruin.
The Southern Light Sect's warriors were beaten back, scattered.
Zhao Han knelt, bleeding from his shoulder, his pride shattered. But his eyes burned with warning.
"You think this victory matters?" he spat. "You think defeating us proves anything? There are powers rising far beyond your comprehension."
Xiao Feng stepped closer.
"I've already seen them," he said calmly.
Zhao Han's breath caught.
"You've… heard it?"
"I've felt it," Xiao Feng whispered.
"The Celestial Crucible."
Gasps from the crowd. Even the senior cultivators stiffened.
Zhao Han's pride turned to fear.
"Not anymore."
The Winds Before the Crucible
The moon hung low, casting silver light over the shattered courtyard where Zhao Han had fallen. The dust hadn't yet settled, but already, the world beyond had begun to shift.
Xiao Feng stood still, the wind playing through the scorched edges of his robe. The battle was over—but something older, deeper, and more dangerous had just begun to stir.
Chen Hao stepped into the courtyard, his expression unreadable, and held out a scroll bound in shimmering crimson silk. The seal on its front wasn't from Lan Xian, nor any of the Seven Radiant Clans.
> "It arrived moments after Zhao Han fell," Chen Hao said quietly. "No one saw the messenger."
Xiao Feng didn't move. The scroll pulsed faintly in Chen Hao's hands, like it had a heartbeat of its own.
> "It's an invitation," Chen Hao continued. "To a place we're not supposed to remember. A city few have walked. And a trial none have survived in generations."
Xiao Feng tilted his head. "Where?"
Chen Hao swallowed, his fingers tightening around the scroll.
> "Solstice Crown," he said. "Deep within the Aetherion Empire."
Xiao Feng's expression remained still—but the wind around him changed. Softer. Older.
He paused.
> "The Celestial Crucible has reopened."
That name. It cut through the air.
The Celestial Crucible.
A sacred event held once every few centuries in the capital city of the Aetherion Empire. No ordinary duel. No friendly gathering. A celestial sifting of fate, where only the most gifted—or the most cursed—were called. It fought not just for glory, but for recognition from powers older than empires themselves.
Only a handful had ever walked out.
And fewer had walked out unchanged.
> "Who else has been summoned?" Xiao Feng asked, voice low.
Chen Hao unrolled the scroll slightly. "Zhao Lin. His sister. The Stormcaller twins. The Glass Monk of White Sand Temple. Even the Black Lotus boy from the southern marshes and the geniuses of the Aetherion Empire"
He hesitated.
> "They've all been chosen. But they're not the ones I'm worried about."
Xiao Feng turned slightly, his blind eyes pointed to the horizon.
> "You're worried about me."
> "No," Chen Hao said. "I'm worried about what they'll do to you if you show them what you've become."
A silence followed.
In the distance, a wind chime rang — not touched by breeze, but by fate. It wasn't heard through the ears, but through the bones. Through the soul.
> "The Celestial Crucible isn't a tournament," Chen Hao added. "It's a battlefield dressed in gold. You don't win. You survive. You endure. Or you vanish."
> "And why summon me?" Xiao Feng asked, his voice unreadable.
> "Because you returned from the Abyss," Chen Hao replied. "And because you carry dragons. But more than that…"
He trailed off, looking into the darkness.
> "Because something's coming. And they want to see who can stand."
Xiao Feng turned to the west. The air shimmered faintly. Something had shifted. Not here… but in the world behind the veil. Solstice Crown had awakened. And its gaze was turning toward him.
> "When do we leave?" he asked.
> "Three days," Chen Hao replied. "The Aetherion gates will open only for those who carry the seal."
Xiao Feng took the scroll from Chen Hao's hand. It was warm. Breathing. Alive.
> "Then we travel west," he said. "Into empire and flame."
Chen Hao grinned grimly. "Into history, maybe."
A test.
A war.
A reckoning.
And in the celestial city of Solstice Crown, deep within the high walls of the Aetherion Empire, the arena known as the Celestial Crucible lit with pale fire for the first time in years.
And old names, forgotten by time, were whispered once again by those who still remembered.
The Crucible had opened.
And its hunger was only just beginning.