For a heartbeat, the world was nothing but light.
Not sunlight. Not lantern light.
Prismatic light.
It burst from Qi Shan Wei's body in a violent pillar that tore through the courtyard like a spear hurled by an angry god. Crimson, gold, and shadow-black twisted into a spiraling column that smashed the Hidden Sect leader off her feet and hurled her across the flagstones.
Her porcelain mask cracked down the center with a clean, horrible sound.
The fog screamed.
The mist that had suffocated the Pavilion recoiled as if burned, rolling backward in frantic waves. Shadows writhed and fled. Every masked figure on the grounds staggered—some dropping to their knees, some simply disintegrating into smoke where the prismatic radiance touched them.
Qi Shan Wei hit the ground on his knees, palms pressed into the stone as if trying to hold himself together. The light roaring out of him wasn't gentle or controlled. It was wild, furious—like a caged beast finally tasting the air outside its bars.
His throat burned. His bones felt hollowed out and filled with thunder.
Stop… he thought, panic clawing at his chest. If it doesn't stop, I'll burn them all…
The prismatic pillar thickened, reaching up to punch a hole straight through the night sky. Clouds tore away, leaving a ring of darkness around a core of fractured starlight. The entire mountain shook as if some sleeping titan had rolled in its slumber.
Disciples sprawled across the ground shielded their eyes, faces pale with awe and terror.
"That's him? That light—!""The Crimson Comet's child…""Is this still human…?"
The Hidden Sect leader dragged herself upright, gray cloak scorched, the crack in her porcelain mask revealing a glimpse of pale skin and a corner of a cold, furious eye.
She stared at the blazing boy in the center of the courtyard."…So this is the Prismatic Flame. Even at this stage… it dares wound me?"
Her fingers twitched, forming a sigil in the air. The fog around her thickened, compressing into a spear of ink-black energy—
A jade staff smashed into the ground between them.
The courtyard shuddered. A circular barrier of emerald light flared up around Shan Wei, the prismatic column roaring harmlessly within it like a storm trapped in glass.
Elder Lu stood there, robes tattered, hair loose, one sleeve soaked with blood. His face was tight with pain—but his eyes were sharp as ever.
"You don't get another chance," Lu said quietly. "Leave."
The leader tilted her head, that cracked mask smiling serenely. "You think you can bar us from what the heavens themselves have claimed?"
"I don't care what the heavens claim," Lu snapped. "He is my disciple."
The leader raised her hand lazily.
The fog surged.
Dozens of shadow-lances materialized above her, aimed straight for the elder's heart.
Before she could strike—
A pressure fell over the courtyard.
It was not loud. It did not roar.It simply was—a weight so vast and ancient that even the shadows hesitated.
The Hidden Sect leader froze. Her head turned slowly.
On the highest terrace, surrounded by a faint corona of starlit qi, the Pavilion Master stepped forward.
His jade staff touched the air once.
The world… cleared.
Fog evaporated in an instant, fleeing like frightened animals. The masked figures staggered as if someone had ripped away the ground they stood on. The sky brightened—not with day, but with the sharp, silver clarity of unsheathed steel.
"Enough," the Pavilion Master said.
His voice was not loud. It didn't need to be. The very stones of the courtyard vibrated with it.
"You have trespassed on my mountain, broken my peace, and raised your hand against my disciple," he continued. "Hidden Sect… do you take me for a fading lantern?"
The leader's mask tilted, hair whipping behind her in the fading prismatic winds.
"Green Spring Pavilion," she replied softly, "is a gentle sect. You tend balance and springs. We, on the other hand, tend to the dangerous." Her gaze flicked back to Shan Wei, still kneeling in the barrier, light tearing from his body like a second sunrise.
"Your disciple is… unstable. Glorious, but unstable. Such power cannot sit in a quiet garden forever."
The Pavilion Master's eyes hardened. "Then we will teach him control."
"And when he explodes and takes your mountain with him?" she asked sweetly. "Will your balance still hold?"
Elder Lu's grip on his staff tightened, knuckles white. "You talk of danger while invading with knives at the throats of children."
The leader laughed softly. The sound, muffled by the cracked porcelain, made the hairs on every neck stand on end.
"In the higher realms, Elder, children are born with power enough to flatten worlds," she said. "The heavens do not ask whether they are ready."
Her gaze sharpened. "Remember this: the more brightly he burns, the more eyes will turn. You cannot hide a star in a well."
She flicked her fingers.
The remaining masked shadows gathered around her like obedient ghosts. The fog coiled up, wrapped them, and began to rise.
"Qi Shan Wei," she called, voice drifting through the roar of his flame. "The Hidden Sect of Guanyin Shade will come for you again. Not because we wish to harm you… but because the heavens do not leave pieces like you on the board without purpose."
Her one visible eye glittered. "…And we like to move heaven's pieces first."
Then they were gone.
The fog dissolved into nothing. Only scorched stone and shaking disciples remained.
The Pavilion Master exhaled slowly.
With a flick of his staff, the emerald barrier collapsed. The prismatic pillar sputtered and shrank, folding back into Shan Wei's body like a tide retreating into the ocean.
He collapsed face-first.
Elder Lu lunged, catching him before his head hit the stone. The boy was limp, skin cold and clammy, but his chest still rose and fell in shallow, rapid breaths.
His wrist mark, however, still glowed—no longer a chaotic storm, but a tightly wound core of color pulsing like a caged star.
"Master," Lu said, voice rough. "If she had struck in earnest—"
"She didn't," the Pavilion Master said. "She tested us. Me. Him. The heavens."
He looked around at the wreckage:
Cracked pillars. Cratered tiles. Burned scorch-marks in prismatic arcs across the courtyard. Disciples huddled together, some injured, some simply staring at the place where the sky had been torn open moments before.
"This is the first, not the last," the master murmured. "Tonight was only shadows. Next time… they will send gods."
He looked down at Shan Wei, eyes unreadable.
What kind of storm have you brought us, child?
They moved him to the deepest chamber beneath the Pavilion—a hidden meditation hall carved into the mountain's heart. Walls pulsed with old formations; runes etched into the stone glimmered faintly, weaving a cocoon of silence around the boy's resting form.
Shan Wei lay on a stone platform, covered in a thin, clean robe. The prismatic mark on his wrist rose and fell with his breathing, each pulse sending faint ripples through the layered barrier formations.
Elder Lu stood watch, exhaustion carving lines into his face.
"He's just a child," Lu said quietly. "He shouldn't have to bear this yet."
The Pavilion Master traced his fingers along one of the carved formations. "The heavens do not wait for childhood to end before casting their dice."
"So we just let him be hunted?" Lu snapped.
The old man's gaze sharpened. "No. We teach him to hunt back."
Silence fell between them.
Finally, the master continued, voice lower. "From this moment onward, we must accept something, Lu."
"What?"
"That Green Spring Pavilion… is no longer a quiet sect," the master said. "We are now the cradle of a future calamity—or a future emperor." His eyes turned back to Shan Wei. "And every realm that hears his name will try to decide which."
He tapped the formation core with two fingers.
The runes flared, sinking into deeper resonance.
"Seal off outside contact," he ordered. "Claim we are rebuilding our formations, recovering from an internal phenomenon. Anyone who comes asking about lights and storms—tell them to look to the sky, not here."
"And the Hidden Sect?" Lu asked.
The Pavilion Master's lips curled, just barely.
"We let them think their little visit has rattled us," he said. "For now. The higher seas are full of sharks. A mountain stream does not challenge the ocean… yet."
He placed a hand over Shan Wei's chest—not touching, hovering a finger's breadth above, sensing the raging, coiled power within.
"But the stream will learn," he murmured. "We will make sure he does."
Deep in his sealed chamber, Qi Shan Wei drifted in darkness.
No stone. No Pavilion. No sky.
Only a void.
Then—footsteps.
He turned. A figure walked toward him through the darkness, outlined in faint prismatic glow. It was his own silhouette—older, taller, hair longer, robes grander, eyes burning with a terrifying, serene confidence.
The older Qi Shan Wei looked down at his younger self.
"You're weak," the older one said calmly.
The boy bristled. "I fought back."
"You flared," the older self corrected. "You survived because other people stood between you and death. Again."
Shan Wei clenched his fists. "I won't always be this weak."
"That," the older one said, "is the only reason we're still standing here having this conversation."
He stepped closer, eyes like twin suns behind smoke.
"Remember tonight," his future self said. "Remember the hands on your throat. Remember being called a piece on someone else's board."
The darkness around them rippled.
"Do you like that feeling?"
"No," Shan Wei hissed.
"Good," the older one said. "Then carve this oath into your bones, into your flame, into your soul."
The darkness trembled as his future voice became thunder:
"From this night on, I will never again be a prize to be collected.I will be the hand that moves the board.I will be the storm that makes the heavens afraid to look down."
The words sank into him.
The void shattered.
Qi Shan Wei's eyes flew open.
Stone ceiling. Formation glow. The muffled thrum of the mountain's heart.
His wrist burned hot. He raised it, watching the prismatic mark pulse.
Soft footsteps approached. Elder Lu pushed aside the curtain, eyes widening as he saw the boy awake.
"You… you stubborn little comet," Lu breathed. "You don't even know how close—"
"I know," Shan Wei said quietly.
His golden eyes were different now. Still young. Still mortal.
But somewhere, deep in their depths, a new sharp edge had appeared.
"I'm done being something people try to own," he said.
Elder Lu stared at him, then slowly smiled, tired but fierce.
"Good," he said. "Then get strong enough that when they reach for you…"
He tapped his staff on the floor. A spark of emerald qi danced at the tip.
"…they lose the hand."
Shan Wei nodded.
Deep inside, the Prismatic Flame flickered—not wild, not uncontrolled.
Waiting.
Wanting.
To be continued..
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