The sky held its breath as Jaquan and Lara flew into the clouds, streaking toward the borders. Jalen stood on the ridge, cloak settled like dusk at his ankles, watching the ripples they left behind—not just wind, but history shifting.
He didn't leave. Not yet.
For five days, his presence folded into the forest's pulse. He did not eat. He did not sleep. He simply watched.
Rogue cultivators stirred near the lower ravine—sent by Lara's father's kingdom. Their stealth was surgical: qi muffled, breathing held, tracking spells woven into wind. They thought themselves shadows.
Jalen responded like thunder.
He didn't speak. He didn't move. He simply expanded—spirit pressure billowing outward like the ridge itself had exhaled.
Trees cracked. Qi distorted. One rogue vomited blood. Another turned to vapor mid-step. The last collapsed with memories stripped from marrow.
By the time dusk fell on the fifth day, nothing stirred.
His father's route had held.
By the sixth morning, he turned east.
Toward the Crown Kingdom. Toward knowledge.
He entered the Frostbound Archive, tucked beneath glacier-fed ridges, where light flickered across walls etched with spirit theory. He passed no guards. No elders. No scholars. He entered like breath folding into mountain.
Scrolls floated in cold crystal shelves: cultivation fracture theory, inheritance patterns, soul resonance mapping. He moved past them like dust ignoring rain.
Then he paused.
Two male elders stood beneath a frost-lit arch, their voices low and deliberate.
"Tomorrow, the Vault Realm of Renin Mountain opens," one murmured. "Forged by a Sky Limit Sovereign."
"They say it holds untouched treasures," said the other. "High-grade spirit tools, rare cultivation methods, relics, herbs—some things even ancient sects haven't cataloged."
"A beast-bound relic was pulled from it once," the first added. "Nearly pushed its wielder past Spirit Fusion Realm... but death claimed him before he broke through."
"That place is more than just rare—it's legacy. Rumor says the Lord who created it was a pure light cultivator. He left behind a formidable light technique, a light spirit seed, and a supreme-grade spirit tool."
"You serious?"
"That's the story."
"But light cultivation is just healing, isn't it? Gentle arts, not war. How could someone like that forge a realm?"
"Beats me. Just repeating what's out there."
The Origin Shard pulsed in Jalen's chest. Once. Then again.
Then he walked out.
__
The convergence at Renin Mountain cracked like a drum inside a cave. Mountains rimmed the basin like an arena carved by legacy. Skyships drifted overhead. Qi poured from encampments. Banners unfurled. Sects and royals carved out territory by pressure alone.
Jalen arrived with no fanfare.
No emblem. No escort.
He wasn't the only rogue cultivator present—far from it. Some drifted in alone. Others came hired. Many lingered near mid-tier camps. But none walked like him. His breath curled like dust. His presence folded into the terrain. Only the powerful could sense him—none bothered to try.
Perfect.
Around the convergence platform gathered the continent's elite.
Twenty top sects, each permitted ten disciples, one Spirit Fusion Realm expert, and a Peak Imperial realm protector. Sabre Sect. Night fang Pavilion. Wave weave Temple. Rune song Hall. Dragon Meridian Sect. Vault storm Gate. Bone root Domain. Sun spire Keep. Howling Ice Sect. Whispering Hollow Sect. Ten more, just as old and hungry, filled the valley with silence.
Ten royal families joined them—Sky thorn Dynasty. Gold blood Royalty. Moon kin Empire. Glacial Shell House just to name a few. And presiding near the third ridge, the Tenison family, rulers of the Crown Kingdom.
Emperor Raiden was absent, but the one leading in his place was his eldest son: Themo Tenison, early-stage Spirit Fusion Realm, wrapped in violet soul-thread armor that pulsed with subdued authority. He stood still, gaze settled across the convergence basin, as if mapping intent into stone.
Behind him stood a procession of royal blood—younger brothers, cousins, and strategic heirs, their formations tight and presence practiced. To his left, a cloaked Peak Imperial Realm cultivator, hands folded within formation-sealed sleeves, watched for fluctuations in space and qi.
When the portal activated, its hunger surged.
Flames twisted upward from fractured ground—folded into gravity distortion, braided with inverted space. Qi collapsed across the platform. Sound bled into silence.
The convergence responded.
A Sabre sect elder leaned forward. A sword master adjusted his seal. Every sect sharpened geared up to make their way in.
Then—Jalen moved, not by choice.
The Origin Shard in his chest pulsed—once, then again. Then it hijacked him.
His body launched.
No signal. No chant. No technique.
Just flight.
He streaked across the convergence as if air bent for him—cloak peeling, pressure tightening, qi igniting beneath skin.
Voices erupted.
A male disciple from Sun spire Keep spat, "What is that kid doing?"
A female from the Sky thorn Dynasty scowled, "He dares make a move before the royal families and top sects? The arrogance—"
Another from the Tenison camp—perhaps a cousin—growled, "Insulting the order! Stop him!"
But it was too late.
Jalen tore through the sky.
Reached the portal.
And was gone.
No resistance.
No flare.
Just acceptance.
The portal pulsed once—then sealed.
Silence fell.
"Who is that?" snapped a man from the Wave weave Temple, voice edged with insult.
"Did he just leap through—before the royal families?" hissed a Sun spire elder.
"That's not just arrogant. That's suicide," said a female disciple from Moon kin Empire.
One of the Tenison cousins growled. "Who allowed him to move?"
"No one," came the clipped reply from the Peak Imperial beside Themo Tenison.
"What family is he from?"
"I saw no sigil," said a elder from Bone root. "No sect robes."
"Then rogue," murmured an elder from Whispering Hollow. "Unmarked and reckless."
A younger heir frowned. "Did anyone even see his face?"
"No," replied a Spirit Fusion cultivator. "He was too fast. Too… still. I thought it was wind."
Eventually, the basin exhaled.
The uproar dulled to quiet suspicion. Top sect elders steadied their gazes, unwilling to linger too long on a single anomaly. Royal heirs tightened their grips on formation tokens. Rogue cultivators glanced once more toward the sealed portal, then turned back to their own risks.
Jalen's sudden entry had rippled through the convergence. But it hadn't halted it.
Protocol remained.
The Twenty Top Sects began their advancement—each group of ten disciples proceeding under the guidance of their Spirit Fusion and Peak Imperial escorts, bodies surrounded by artifact wards and defensive arrays. Their banners lit with qi. Their formation beasts stirred from rest.
One by one, they passed into the Vault Realm—orderly, precise, observed.
Then came the Ten Royal Families, led by sovereign bloodlines, each cohort cloaked in dignity and protection. When Themo Tenison raised his hand, his cousins and brothers stepped forward. His Peak Imperial guardian joined the formation. No words spoken. Their movement was silent thunder.
The portal surged and accepted them.
Each royal house followed—Sky thorn, Gold blood, Moon kin, Glacial Shell—their entrances marked by radiant glyphs and realm-pressure echoes that bent the wind.
Only after the elite had crossed did the flood begin.
Mid-tier sects surged forward in waves. Lower sects scrambled for position. Mercenaries sprinted behind the bulk, wrapped in speed talismans and hope. Rogue cultivators—those brave enough to challenge fate—moved with quiet calculation.
Even now, some whispered about the boy.
"That child…Who is he?"
No one answered.
Because no one knew.
All that remained was his absence—and the strange silence the Vault had given him.
The portal pulsed once more. Then dimmed.
Beyond that shimmering veil, the realm waited.