The world shimmered the moment Darian stepped past the stone arch hidden beneath the roots of the cliffside tree.
One heartbeat, he stood within a damp cavern filled with moss and sea-mist. The next, the air turned still. Clear. Golden sunlight filtered through drifting clouds. Before him stretched a valley unlike anything in the waking world — a realm forged not by nature, but by will.
He stood at the threshold of the spiritual kingdom of a True Monarch.
The sky here held no sun, and yet the light warmed his skin. Floating peaks hovered in the distance like ancient leviathans, wrapped in mist and glowing runes. Silver rivers wound through the valley below, and jade pagodas nestled against cliffs that defied natural geometry. Time here felt suspended, as if the world itself held its breath.
His breath caught. "This… is impossible."
But no dream had ever felt so real.
He descended slowly, walking along a path of white stone that unfurled before his feet. Though the sect was clearly abandoned, the spiritual energy here was rich and untouched — as if sealed away from the erosion of time.
The stone path led to what remained of a grand plaza. Broken columns lined its perimeter, and a towering gate — once majestic, now half-crumbled — bore the faded sigil of a coiling dragon wrapped around a lotus flower.
The Jade Dragon Sect.
He approached the inner sanctum, passing murals carved into the walls, still glowing faintly with residual power. The carvings depicted scenes of legendary cultivation: disciples meditating beneath spirit trees, dragons emerging from cauldrons, great battles against beasts cloaked in shadow.
One mural caught his attention — a gathering of elders atop twelve mountaintops, each peak crowned with a different symbol. Sword, flame, cauldron, talisman… and others he couldn't yet identify. Each mountain seemed to pulse with unique energy.
Twelve peaks. Twelve paths.
He felt a pull deeper into the ruins. Though the outer halls were crumbling, spiritual wards still lingered, guiding him — or testing him. With every step, he felt more certain: this place wasn't just a ruin. It was waiting.
At last, he reached the great inner hall. Vines draped its archways, yet the structure itself stood firm, its walls lined with inscriptions in ancient script.
At the center of the hall was a dais, upon which sat a lone statue — a man in flowing robes, eyes closed, hands clasped in a meditative seal. Around the base of the statue swirled a faint mist, dense with spirit qi.
As Darian approached, the air grew still.
Then — the statue opened its eyes.
No — not the statue. A remnant soul, ancient and vast, awakened from dormancy.
A voice echoed, not through sound, but straight into Darian's mind.
"You are not of the sect. Yet you bear its fate."
Darian stepped back, heart pounding. "Who—?"
"I was once called the Jade Dragon True Monarch. Founder of this sect. Last of its guardians. What remains of me now is but a sliver of will — forged before the end, preserved within this kingdom."
Darian swallowed. "What happened here?"
The remnant was silent for a time. Then the world around them shimmered, and the walls of the hall transformed into windows of memory.
He saw the sect at its height — disciples walking between towers of jade and crystal, dragons coiled around mountain peaks, formations lighting the skies. Alchemists refined golden pills that shimmered with life essence, and formation masters etched grand arrays that could cover whole cities.
Each of the twelve peaks had its own discipline:
Azure Flame Peak focused on alchemy — refining pills that could restore limbs or extend life.
Heaven's Forge Peak specialized in artifact refinement, producing weapons that could slay demons or alter fate.
Verdant Array Peak taught the art of formations — from defensive walls to sealing arrays that could trap even divine beasts.
Crimson Glyph Peak crafted talismans imbued with elemental laws, each one a spell waiting to be unleashed.
Others delved into martial cultivation, soul arts, beast taming, body refinement, illusion, celestial divination, and more.
Together, the sect was a force unlike any other.
"But the world was changing," the Monarch's voice said. "The signs were clear. Rifts opening. Qi distortion. Then the Demon Realm… tore through."
He showed Darian the moment it all began — a rift opening deep within the eastern mountains. Black mist pouring through. Cultivators twisting into monsters. Demon lords stepping into the mortal realm.
The sect rallied. They allied with kingdoms, stood side by side with other great sects. For years, they held the line. They even pushed back, sealing the gate with their combined strength — in the forest now known as the Wyrmbane Great.
"But just before our final strike… we were betrayed."
Darian watched in horror as a vision unfolded — dark cultivators attacking from within, tearing through the sect's defenses. The Jade Dragon Sect was ambushed, surrounded, overwhelmed.
"I fought to the end," the Monarch said. "I shattered the invaders with the last of my strength. But it was not enough. I sealed this kingdom, leaving only a fragment of myself behind… and all of our legacy."
Darian stood in silence, the weight of it settling around him.
"Why me?" he asked quietly. "I'm no chosen heir. I'm just—"
"You are here. That is enough. Only one whose soul resonates with the essence of this realm could pass the threshold."
The mist around the dais shifted. Glowing orbs rose — twelve in total, each bearing the symbol of a peak.
"The Twelve Sacred Peaks still slumber. But their foundations remain. Within this kingdom lie the archives, manuals, hidden realms, and ancestral artifacts of our order. If you choose to walk this path… they may become yours."
Darian hesitated. "What if I'm not worthy?"
The Monarch's voice was soft. "Then this place will remain silent. And I will fade."
He stared at the orbs — at the legacy of a sect long lost to history.
Alchemy that could cure incurable poisons. Arrays that could shield cities. Talismans that could tear through space. Artifacts imbued with dragon souls. Knowledge that once shaped the world.
He stepped forward.
"Then show me the path," he said.
The Monarch inclined his head. "Begin with the Outer Archives. Prove yourself… and the sect will reveal more."
The floor shifted beneath him, and a stairwell opened, descending into a radiant library that stretched beyond sight. Shelves of jade and gold lined the walls, each filled with scrolls, jade slips, manuals — teachings untouched for centuries.
Darian descended the stairs, heart hammering.
Behind him, the remnant soul whispered:"Welcome, disciple."