The morning sky above the Astralis Pocket World glowed with brilliance that belonged only to the Holy Mountain. Light here did not simply shine — it pulsed, like the steady breath of the heavens. Rivers of qi drifted as clouds, each current alive with silver motes that fed the roots of jade peaks rising in solemn majesty.
On a narrow path cut into the spine of the Azurefall Range, Ye Tianlong walked with steady steps, his son close beside him. The stone beneath their feet bore the imprint of centuries, yet small white flowers still bloomed between its cracks.
Tianlong's aura lay hidden, calm as a river beneath stone, yet its quiet depth pressed faintly against the air. Ye Xuan mirrored every stride, his small frame upright, his gaze steady despite the abyss yawning below. His father's brief touch upon his shoulder filled him with warmth enough to steady his breath.
"Xuan'er," Tianlong said at last, his voice low against the mountain wind, "where we go today — you must speak of it to no one. Not friends. Not servants. Not even teachers. Do you understand?"
"I understand, Father," Ye Xuan replied softly.
A faint nod was his reward.
They passed checkpoints where armored elders stood like statues, their plates etched with constellations.
Each bowed respectfully to Tianlong. But when their gazes fell upon Ye Xuan, curiosity and unease lingered, as though they studied the edge of a sword not yet drawn. The deeper they went, the heavier the world became. Qi pressed against the skin like water against bone, silencing birds and thinning even the drifting clouds.
At last, they reached a vast gate of black stone carved directly into the mountain. Upon its face were etched monarchs, sages, and warriors, each so finely cut they seemed alive. Tianlong placed his palm against the stone.
"This," he said, voice solemn, "is the Supreme Dwelling — hall of inheritances, where the Supremes guard our most secret legacies. Within waits the one who will guide you."
The gate parted with a groan like mountains grinding together. No light spilled from within — only endless dusk.
They stepped across the threshold. The world shifted.
Above stretched a sky of indigo, stars frozen in silence.
The ground was paved with jade slabs that glowed faintly, as though carrying forgotten light. Rivers of silver flowed on either side, their surfaces so smooth they reflected the heavens like a second sky. Floating pavilions shed faint silver rain, each drop chiming like glass bells upon the ground.
Ye Xuan slowed, his heart quickening. For an instant, he glimpsed thin threads of light connecting stone to river, river to pavilion, pavilion to stars — even to his own breath. They vanished as swiftly as they appeared.
"Stay close," Tianlong warned.
They passed beneath an arch of moonstone, and warmth bled from the air. At the center, upon a black lotus dais, a figure waited. She stood tall, robed in violet and pale gold, her long dark hair flowing like midnight. A silver veil covered her face, yet her presence pressed upon the skin like the weight of a world. Even the stars above dimmed, bowing to her alone.
Threads of light gathered in her hands, weaving into a seal that froze Tianlong in place.
Her voice was calm, heavy as law. "Four years old. And you bring him here."
Tianlong bowed his head slightly, his voice steady despite the pressure binding him. "Supreme Elder Ye Qianlan. His bloodline awoke too soon. He must learn control."
The veiled head turned. For the first time, her gaze fell upon Ye Xuan. The stars shifted into constellations unknown. Lines of light connected him to river, stone, pavilion, and sky. A single thread descended, touching his brow. Cold fire lanced through him. His knees buckled. For a heartbeat, two eyes — void-deep, blade-sharp — burned through the veil into his soul.
Then they vanished, leaving him gasping.
"…Just like Yue Lian," Qianlan murmured.
Tianlong frowned, but her raised hand silenced him.
"Your mother carried a fire even the heavens acknowledged. I swore to guard her line. That vow now falls upon him."
The threads withdrew. The crushing weight eased.
She stepped down, kneeling until her veiled face was level with the boy's. "To see is not enough. Dominion's Gaze lets you glimpse the threads that bind all things. But sight without stillness is nothing — a sword with no hand to wield it." Her presence pressed into his bones. "This path will test you. It may break you. But if you endure, the heavens themselves will bend to your gaze."
Ye Xuan's small fists clenched. His voice shook, but steadied at the last. "I… I won't be scared."
For an instant, the veil rippled. Perhaps it was a smile.
The seal binding Tianlong dissolved. Qianlan rose, her hands unclenching from fists. She did not speak for a long moment, simply watching the boy. Ye Xuan's small fists were still clenched, his body trembling faintly, but he did not fall.
A quiet sigh, barely audible. "Just like Yue Lian," she murmured, more to herself than to them. The comment was full of a history Tianlong understood, a promise she made long ago.
She motioned toward the halls with a gesture of authority. "He is my disciple now. Take him. He begins with the Threads of Stillness."
Tianlong bowed deeply, guiding his son away. His hand closed firmly around Ye Xuan's. "Bravery isn't loud, Xuan'er," he said quietly. "Sometimes it's just standing still."
The boy squeezed his father's hand. His chest felt full, though he could not name the feeling.
His training began with silence.
The lower halls of the Supreme Dwelling were not for grand displays of power, but for the fundamental. Ye Xuan spent his first days in a room bare of everything but a simple meditation mat, its surface woven from threads of frozen moonlight. He was told to do nothing but sit, to listen, and to feel the threads of qi that wove through the very air.
At first, he struggled. His mind raced with the memory of the veiled elder's void-deep gaze, the cold fire that had lanced through him. He recalled the pride he felt in his father's hand and the ache for his mother's warmth. He felt the pull of the visions, the need to understand the frost-white bow and the figure who wielded it. He squirmed, his knees aching on the hard floor, the silence pressing in on him until it was a physical weight.
Days blurred into a single, long dusk. He learned that the "Threads of Stillness" were not an external technique, but an internal state. He had to quiet the storm inside himself to see the subtle currents of the world around him. He learned to feel the qi not as a rushing river, but as countless, delicate strands, each one connected to the next.
When his thoughts would not quiet, a new voice would appear. It was not his great-grandmother's booming, authoritative tone, but a soft, humming sound that seemed to come from the jade slabs themselves. It was the voice of the stillness, a gentle reminder to just be. The room would grow colder, a familiar frost would curl from his breath, and his mind would calm.
He did not see Supreme Elder Qianlan for a week.
When she finally appeared, her veil still in place, she offered no praise or critique.
"What do you hear?" she asked.
Ye Xuan opened his eyes. He heard the faint pulse of the spirit river outside, the hum of the protective arrays, and the slow, deliberate rhythm of his own heart. He heard the delicate threads of qi that stretched from his hands to the stones, and the even more delicate threads that connected the moonlight on the floor to the stars in the eternal indigo sky.
"The world is a web," he said simply.
A faint ripple passed over her silver veil. "A good beginning," she said. "The stillness is not empty. It is everything. Now, let us see if you can reach through it without breaking it."
She raised her hand. A single strand of qi, thin as a hair, detached from the spirit river and floated toward him. "Touch it," she commanded. His training had truly begun.
Meanwhile, in a courtyard of a different Supreme Pavilion, lanterns carved of moon-crystal glowed softly. Two children trained beneath the watchful eyes of their grandfather.
Li Shen, six, gripped a wooden spear. His movements were steady, each thrust heavy enough to displace the air. His stance carried the weight of mountains.
Nearby, Li Mei, five, held a bow of polished bamboo strung with reeds. Each arrow flew with a faint song, laughter spilling from her lips whether she struck or missed. She moved quick as water, yet never lost her balance.
They were children of the Immortal Li Clan, but bound by blood to Astralis through their mother, daughter of a Supreme Elder. For their safety, they were raised under the guardianship of Supreme Elder Ye Zhenyuan.
"Too slow, Brother!" Mei teased. "By the time you finish that swing, I'll have shot ten arrows!"
"One good strike is worth more than ten careless ones," Shen replied firmly, his spear rooted like a pillar.
"They're not careless!" she protested, loosing another reed with a laugh.
Their grandfather sighed softly, but let them be.
On that day, in three corners of the Sanctuary, children trained.
Ye Xuan — hidden in the lower halls, beginning the stillness of sight.
Li Shen — steady as stone, spear rooted in mountain weight.
Li Mei — playful as water, arrows flying like laughter.
They did not yet know how tightly their paths would entwine. But the Sanctuary did. Its wards hummed faintly with an unseen song, as though the stones themselves recognized destiny's weaving.
And high above, among the unmoving stars, the heavens kept watch.