Snowflakes were falling beneath a sky that had no visible clouds.
They didn't drift like normal snow. Each flake moved with purpose, descending in slow spirals, as though obeying an invisible rhythm. The milky-white mist that had gathered earlier thickened and thinned in waves, wrapping the world in a cold, silent glow.
The human-like shape within the mist was still incomplete.
The condensation of that figure had not yet fully taken physical form. Its outline flickered–sometimes solid, sometimes hollow–a sculpture of snow, light, and will still choosing how it wished to exist.
Diala winced.
Both of her palms began to burn with different kinds of pain.
She slowly opened her hands and looked down.
The sigils on her skin were glowing.
On her right palm, the light was searing hot, as if a flame were dancing just beneath her flesh, trying to ignite her bones.
On her left palm, the pain was different–sharp, biting, like ice burrowing under the skin and freezing her blood vein by vein.
A small, gentle blue orb rose from her left palm, wrapped in rippling blue flame that was cold rather than hot.
From her right palm, a fiery orb emerged, burning with scarlet-orange light, radiating intense heat.
The two orbs hovered in front of her for a breath.
Then they spiraled around her slowly, like twin stars orbiting a central moon, before drifting forward toward the still-condensing human-like figure.
Halfway through the air, their forms twisted.
The orbs elongated, sprouted wings, and reshaped into familiar silhouettes–two phoenixes, one blue, one wreathed in flame–The Heavenly Fire Phoenix and Abyssal Cold Flame Phoenix.
They were manifestations of Diala's martial souls.
Both phoenixes descended gracefully before the half-formed figure of snow and light.
And then–
They bowed.
The sight made Diala's breath hitch.
The very next heartbeat–
Diala felt something surge inside her.
A rise.
Her soul affinity spiked as if someone had suddenly cleared a clogged river. Spiritual energy flowed through her body smoother, faster, with almost no resistance. The connection between her, her martial souls, and something far older than herself tightened all at once.
Snow continued to fall.
But now, some of these snowflakes glowed.
Tiny white crystal sparks emerged from the falling snow–like fragments of moonlight breaking off the sky. The glowing specks did not simply drop to the ground; they began to gather mid-air, swirling together.
A small, rotating column formed–a miniature hurricane of white light.
It did not roar.
It made no wind.
It spun silently, without disturbing a single hair on Kiaria's or Diala's heads. Its existence did not belong to physical elements. It was a working of pure spiritual law.
And yet, something changed.
At first, the hurricane was only white.
Then a new color slowly bled into it.
Pale.
Soft.
Like the first blush of dawn.
A faint white-peach gradient began to stain the edges of the spinning white. What seemed like color at first soon revealed itself to be something else entirely.
Flower petals.
Tiny, delicate petals of a pale peach hue formed along the outside of the white spiral. They danced along the edges of the hurricane, drawn into its motion yet never torn apart, each petal whole and gentle despite the rotation.
Kiaria and Diala both watched, momentarily forgetting to breathe.
To them, it felt as though the sky itself was beginning to rain flowers.
The white hurricane moved forward, slow but unwavering.
It reached the human-like condensation of snow and light and wrapped around it, swallowing the incomplete figure at its center. The entire structure lifted higher into the air, floating mid-sky like a celestial seed encased in petals and frost.
The white glow dimmed.
The peach hue deepened.
In time, the pale peach petals took over completely, smothering the pure white glow in a gentle embrace.
Where there had once been a cold, snowy spiral, there was now a swirling mass of peach blossoms in the air. The movement gradually calmed. The violent rotation turned into a slow drift, as though someone had pressed a hand upon the storm and soothed it with a single, comforting touch.
Calm descended.
The snow-white core at the center took shape.
The flower petals thickened, layering and folding over each other around the core, fully concealing the figure within. Both Kiaria and Diala could no longer see what was happening inside. The world beyond that peach barrier was hidden from their eyes.
A few heartbeats passed.
Then the petals stopped.
They did not fall.
They DIDN'T scatter.
They merged.
Petals fused into fabric, frost, light, and flesh.
In the space of a few seconds, those countless petals transformed into a Goddess.
She descended slowly.
Winter itself seemed to bend around her.
She wore a white armored robe that looked as if it had been crafted from the first snow of creation–soft as silk, yet carrying the rigidity of tempered steel. Thin lines of frost traced intricate patterns across the armor, giving the impression that each piece had been carved from purified glacier.
Her hair was long, wavy, and pure white, cascading down her back like freshly fallen snow under moonlight.
Her eyebrows were so light and fine, they resembled tiny white feathers.
Her eyes–
They were a shade of blue deeper than the heart of a frozen lake, yet clear like untouched ice. Looking into them felt like staring into winter itself–cold, beautiful, and impossibly distant, yet strangely comforting.
Her lips were tinted with a soft peach shade, the same hue as the petals that had formed her. Her nails carried that same color–peach against white–like flowers blooming amid frost.
Behind her floated a vast, round white nimbus, glowing softly, not with blinding divine light but with a gentle, diffused radiance.
She smiled at them.
That smile was not grand, not imposing. It was simply warm–like a morning dewdrop clinging to the tip of a long leaf, sparkling as it greeted the first light of a winter star.
Kiaria and Diala both felt their hearts quiver.
The Goddess extended her hands and lovingly caressed both of their cheeks. Her fingers were cold to touch, yet the moment they brushed skin, a strange, tender warmth seeped in.
She pulled them gently into her arms.
"Both of you have finally come," she said, her voice soft and steady. "I have been waiting for this moment for so many years."
Her words dropped like stones into still water, sending ripples through their hearts.
Kiaria's eyes widened.
Diala's lips trembled.
Waiting… for us?
Their surprise needed no words.
The Goddess looked at them–at both–and continued softly.
"This will be our first and last meeting."
Diala felt something twist inside her chest.
She had sensed it even before the petals had fully formed. From the very beginning, from the flicker of the snow-shape and the first tug in her soul, she had already known.
She swallowed.
"A–Ancestor…" she blurted out.
Kiaria turned his head sharply in her direction.
"Ancestor?" he thought. He didn't understand what had made her say that with such certainty. Her face was usually an open mirror of her feelings–joy, anger, sadness, worry all visible.
But right now, her expression held something he couldn't read.
"Ancestor! Hahaha…" The Goddess laughed lightly, her eyes curving in amusement. "Hearing that is quite pleasing. But tell me–how sure are you that I am your ancestor, Little Dia?"
Without warning, she scooped Diala up into her arms with effortless familiarity.
"I–I'm not a child…" Diala protested, her voice stammering, cheeks flushing deeper.
"Haha, I know," the Goddess–Goddess Leyna–said with a smile. "Still, answer me. How sure are you that I am your ancestor?"
Although the question was aimed at Diala, it was Kiaria whose thoughts were thrown into turmoil.
He frowned faintly.
Why would she ask that?
At first, Goddess Nemesis had appeared–unprepared, surprised, unaware of their coming. Then Nemesis herself had said Leyna had left something for Diala.
That part was clear.
But this–
If Leyna had known in advance. If she had even "waited" for them… why had Nemesis been unaware?
If martial soul itself already recognized her, then why test Diala with such a question?
The contradiction gnawed at him.
"Look, Little Dia." Goddess Leyna tilted her head in Kiaria's direction, mischief glinting briefly in her eyes. "The fish has already taken the bait."
Diala glanced toward Kiaria and snorted softly.
"Huh! He's always like that… but you're wrong," she replied proudly.
"Oh?" Leyna raised her brows. "How am I wrong?"
"I'm sure he's thinking of something else," Diala murmured, leaning closer to Leyna's ear. "Bait is just a plaything to him–a side quest. He'll follow it, but only to route back to the main quest."
Leyna paused for a beat.
Then she laughed quietly.
"Indeed," she said, "you know him best."
She reached out a hand and placed her cool palm on Kiaria's head.
"You don't have to drain all your energy answering a single question," she said gently. "Later, everything will become clear. Don't force the answers before their time."
Her touch eased the tension in his brows.
"I do not have much time left," Leyna continued. "So let us complete the inheritance first."
She set Diala carefully back on the ground.
Then she extended one hand toward the wooden phoenix that still hovered nearby.
The phoenix's body shuddered.
Its form loosened, reverting in reverse motion. Shards unlocked, unfolded, and shifted back. In a smooth, flowing collapse of complex shapes, the phoenix shrank and compressed until its elegant form had once again become the strange, irregular wooden box from before.
Leyna caught it lightly in her palm and showed it to them.
"This," she said, "is both seal and key."
She touched her fingertip to the central knob and pressed.
A sigil blossomed across the box's surface like a complex frost pattern.
It activated.
The formation from earlier resurfaced–but this time, it did not simply repeat the sequence as before.
Sixteen-block formations began appearing again. The shards floated out in clusters of sixteen each, forming flat, hovering arrays in the air.
Leyna waited until one of the sixteen-block formations completed its shape.
Then, with a single tap, she pressed the third block in that formation.
The reaction was immediate.
The sixteen wooden pieces elongated and shifted, the entire structure expanding outward. A tight, woven space appeared within the formation–an intentional gap, a hollow prepared for something else.
The second sixteen-block formation formed next.
Again, Leyna pressed the third block.
The second formation underwent the same expansion, its structure loosening slightly. Then its pieces began to unwind and slide, drifting over and joining with the first formation in the open space that had been created.
The two sixteen-block formations fused.
They became a single thirty-two-piece formation.
The pieces rearranged themselves into a more complex pattern, each block still alive with runes.
Next came the third and fourth sixteen-block formations.
This time, when they completed, she pressed the fourth block on each.
The result was the same principle–a triggered expansion, then a joining.
They also fused, transforming into another thirty-two-piece formation.
From the four smaller formations, two large formations had now been born.
These expanded thirty-two-block formations began to grow larger, their sizes reacting to the fusion. The structure of the first thirty-two-piece formation expanded, opening subtle irregularities and pockets into which the second thirty-two-piece formation's blocks settled neatly, completing a more intricate design.
The result–
A sixty-four-block formation.
The fifth and sixth sixteen-block formations appeared next.
Leyna pressed the fifth piece on each of them.
They expanded and fused into another thirty-two-block formation.
Then another pair of sixteen-block formations went through the same process–each with the fifth piece pressed.
Another thirty-two-block formation joined the pattern.
The first thirty-two-block formation merged with the second, just as before, resulting in another sixty-four-piece structure.
Now, two sixty-four-block formations existed.
Both of these had subtle irregularities along their edges–intentional flaws prepared as anchoring points.
The two sixty-four-block formations drifted together, rotated, and slotted into one another, just like before, forming a one hundred twenty-eight-piece formation.
As the next series of sixteen-block formations appeared, Leyna continued the pattern.
Until the second one hundred twenty-eight-block formation formed, she pressed the sixth piece on each of the remaining sixteen-block formations.
When the second one hundred twenty-eight-block formation completed, the first expanded again, opening space–and the second fit into it, fusing into a two hundred fifty-six-piece formation.
Then came the seventh piece.
She pressed the seventh block on subsequent sixteen-block formations.
Another large two hundred fifty-six-piece formation formed.
The two moved, merged, and became a five hundred twelve-piece formation.
These larger formations always rotated behind the currently active sixteen-piece patterns, like shadow wheels moving silently in the background, waiting for their role.
Finally, she pressed the eighth piece again and again, until another five hundred twelve-piece formation appeared.
The two five hundred twelve-piece structures came together, interlocking into a massive one thousand twenty-four-piece formation.
Now, one thousand twenty-four of the original shards were bound together as a single living structure.
Then Leyna pressed the ninth and tenth pieces in the active sixteen-block formation.
The ninth piece did not cause expansion this time.
Instead, it activated the completed one thousand twenty-four-piece formation.
The entire massive structure shuddered, then began to deform. It no longer remained a flattened array. The pieces curved, flowed, and slid past one another until they formed an enclosing shape–a wooden sheath large enough to isolate the area where Kiaria, Diala, Leyna, White Jade, and the Heavenly Fire Phoenix and Abyssal Cold Flame Phoenix martial souls existed.
They were gently enveloped by it.
The tenth piece triggered the remaining formations.
All of the yet-unused sixteen-block formations and the currently active one unraveled. The pieces separated and drifted apart.
A total of five hundred seventy-six shards remained.
These were the last of the original one thousand six hundred.
They started moving.
The pieces changed sizes–some lengthening, some shortening, some thinning, some thickening–arranging themselves like hand-carved joints until they formed a perfect palm-sized wooden cube.
No irregularities.
No gaps.
Despite being composed of hundreds of separate parts, its surface felt seamless and smooth, as if carved from a single block.
Each face of the cubic box held ninety-six wooden pieces. Every side of each face held twenty-four smaller pieces, fitted so precisely that a mortal craftsman would have cried blood at the impossibility of it.
From each side of the top face, sixteen pieces slid outward to the four edges, like petals opening.
The upper surface loosened.
Without any external force, it separated, unfolding itself neatly.
The wooden cube opened.
Inside, nestled at the center like a preserved miracle–
Floated a blue-white snowflake.
It did not melt.
Did not lose its form.
It glowed faintly with a power so pure that it made the surrounding air feel sharper.
Leyna lifted the opened box and placed it carefully in Diala's hands.
"Dia," she said, her tone no longer playful but firm, "never open this box until you reach the Immortal Realm."
The warning sank into the air like cold iron.
Diala hugged it instinctively to her chest, nodding with wide eyes.
Leyna turned to Kiaria and smiled again.
"You are the destined person for her," she said quietly. "Protect her. Do not let her down."
Her gaze held no testing tone, no doubt–only trust and a weight of expectation that came from someone who had seen far too many possible futures and chosen this one.
She continued, "You also have the right to use the token. This snowflake is the entrance token to the Winter-Soul Mount. Both of you may train there. Many surprises and treasures await you inside. But beware–the beasts and birds within that domain are more dangerous than you can imagine."
The smile faded slightly from her lips, replaced by a hint of gravity.
She leaned closer to Kiaria and spoke in a softer voice, one that only he could hear.
"The Deca Millennium Soul-Amity Flower is there," she whispered. "Other than her, only you may enter to pluck it. But it is extremely dangerous. No one except the Overlord's son has ever succeeded in plucking it in the past."
Her snowy-blue eyes studied him without blinking.
"I can feel the immeasurable power within you. I hope, one day, you will pluck it for her."
Kiaria's eyes steadied.
He smiled faintly, then bowed his head slightly. He clenched his right hand into a fist and placed it against his chest.
"Don't worry," he said. "Even if it's extremely dangerous, I will do it. I have been searching for it for a long time already. Now, I finally have a path to it."
"I know you will try," Leyna replied. "But don't forget–right now, you are not immortal. Your foundation is still weak. You haven't even reached the Immortal Infant Realm."
Her voice was blunt, but not cruel.
"Real cultivators' immortality only begins after forming the Immortal Infant. Before that, you are still a fragile human. The beasts inside that mount are Transformed Beings already."
She gave his forehead a light, teasing flick.
"So, skip those fancy declarations for now. Strengthen yourself first."
Her words prickled across his pride like walking through thorn bushes.
But they also grounded him.
"I, Kiaria," he said clearly, "promise that no matter what stands in front of us, I will protect her with my whole will. I will strengthen her and myself–not to dominate this world, but to protect."
Leyna's gaze softened.
"My time has come," she murmured. "I have to go. I wish both of you good–"
Her voice cut off mid-word.
Her body began to fade. A small snowflake shredded from Goddess and floated, silently entered Diala's consciousness without any pain or sensation.
Both of them focused on Goddess disappearing. So, they couldn't see snowflake floating in air towards her.
Kiaria realized–
This had never been her full presence.
What had descended here was only her primordial breath–a wisp of existence, not even a full Primordial Spirit.
As her form dissolved into snow-like motes of light, Kiaria tightened his hold on Diala's hand.
He didn't speak.
He just smiled gently toward the space where Leyna was vanishing, and silently said goodbye.
Until the final speck of light disappeared, he didn't let go.