Dark clouds churned above the capital of Yujian, the divine city perched atop its thousand floating spires. Lightning forked silently across the sky, illuminating the silver-clad towers like ancient spears pointed skyward. For the first time in recorded history, the Light Bell had not chimed at dawn. A bad omen.
Inside the Celestial Palace, hundreds of divine courtiers had gathered in the Hall of Concordance. Gold-veined marble stretched for miles, reflecting the anxious faces of lords and scholars, priests and warriors. Murmurs echoed beneath the domed ceiling, as radiant spirits wept silently along the cornices—minor gods sensing a shift in the balance.
The Grand Arcanist, Lady Zhu Moyan, arrived in a flurry of runes and silk, her silver hair braided with stardust and phoenix feather. She raised her hand, and silence fell like a guillotine.
"Liang Yezhao has returned from the Burning Sky Border," she announced. "He carries with him a forbidden artifact—a Seed of Void."
Cries erupted. One priest collapsed. An old general stood and unsheathed his sword.
"Blasphemy!" someone shouted. "He should be executed!"
"Contain him! Quarantine the entire border!"
"Where is the emperor?!"
Lady Zhu's voice cut through the chaos. "He sleeps in the Dreaming Chamber. He has not awakened in three days. Until then, I speak in his stead."
Meanwhile, in the Infernal Domain of Mozhou, the Council of Embers had convened beneath the Cracked Obsidian Throne. The palace, grown from living basalt and fed by rivers of lava, shook with the weight of ancient rage. The demon court was smaller but far more volatile.
Xue Wuyao stood alone before the Elders, flanked by three Hellbinders and two blood-priests. His whip was gone; his injuries still bandaged.
"The Seed," hissed Elder Shaolun, a skeletal figure with green flame for eyes, "was supposed to be destroyed. How did it survive?"
"It didn't survive," Wuyao replied. "It was waiting."
Another elder leaned forward, her horns casting shadows across her scarred face. "And what of the godspawn? What of Yezhao?"
"He's not what we thought," Wuyao said, voice lower. "And the seal on his chest—he's not in control of it. The gods aren't either. Something else is."
The council murmured. A Hellbinder drew a glowing sigil in the air—a demon's brand of truth. It shimmered, then went dark.
"He speaks true," the Hellbinder said.
"Then war is coming again," Elder Shaolun whispered. "And the Old Pact must be broken."
Far above the known realms, in the dreamscape citadel where the Divine Emperor lay, a presence stirred. Trapped in endless twilight, the emperor's soul drifted toward a great tree—a tree of memory and fate, whose roots stretched into time itself.
He stood before a branch etched with his son's name.
A voice greeted him.
"You sealed the void to protect them. Now your heir walks the path you feared most."
The emperor turned—and saw his brother, dead for centuries, smiling sadly beneath a crown of glass.
"You should have killed him when you had the chance," the shade said.
Back in the physical world, Yezhao awoke in a stasis chamber within the Spire of Healing. Sunlight streamed through enchanted windows, but it carried no warmth. His body ached, the seal across his chest thrumming with residual void energy.
Beside him sat Wuyao, arms folded, eyes closed. He had refused to leave.
"You're awake," Wuyao said without looking.
Yezhao sat up. "I didn't ask you to stay."
"I didn't stay for you," Wuyao replied, but the lie tasted bitter.
They sat in silence.
Finally, Yezhao asked, "What did you see in the rift?"
Wuyao exhaled. "You. But not you. Another version. One with black wings and a broken halo. Standing over the ruins of Lanqiao."
Yezhao turned pale. "A premonition?"
"Or a warning."
There was a knock. The door opened, and Lady Zhu entered, flanked by twin star-scribes. She glanced at Wuyao but spoke to Yezhao.
"You must attend the council. The gods are restless. The demon court has issued a summons for parley. They want you both."
Wuyao raised an eyebrow. "Both?"
Lady Zhu nodded. "Together. At the Shattered Gate. At dusk."
The Shattered Gate stood atop the ancient mesa known as Serpent's Crown, where the last battle of the Shattering War had ended. Half of it remained celestial marble, etched with prayers. The other half had melted into obsidian, cursed and thrumming with pain.
It was the only place where both realms could meet without war.
Yezhao and Wuyao arrived as the sun dipped low. On one side stood divine generals in silver and starlight. On the other, demon lords cloaked in smoke and teeth. Between them, an altar of truce had been erected—an ancient relic known as the Stone of Accord, upon which no lie could be spoken.
They stepped forward together.
"Speak," Lady Zhu said.
Wuyao looked to Yezhao, who nodded.
"There is a threat beneath our world," Yezhao began. "A force that predates our war. The Seed of Void is awake. And it speaks in prophecy."
"What prophecy?" asked Elder Shaolun.
Wuyao took a breath. "It said: Two halves of the broken line. Return what was taken. Complete the oath."
Gasps.
Lady Zhu turned pale. "That's from the Codex of Eclipses. A prophecy older than the Pact."
"What oath?" demanded the demons.
No one answered. Because no one remembered.
But then the Stone of Accord cracked.
And from within it, a voice echoed—not divine, not demonic, but something in between.
"They will remember. And when they do, the world will burn or be reborn."
Above them, the sun blinked out for ten heartbeats. And in that darkness, every star in the sky whispered their names.