As Prince Tiān Jùn approached, the heavy door creaked open on its own, obedient to the will of blood.
King Tiān Lóngxuān stood near the center, his face carved in authority, unreadable yet commanding.
"Welcome, son..." he said, voice firm, yet low.
Prince Tiān Jùn slowed his steps.
Tiān Jùn dropped to his knees at once, bowing deeply until his forehead touched the floor. His breath remained steady; his posture reverent.
"Thank you, Your Highness, for this honor," he said. "I bring greetings from the western government of Huǒyuán—"
"That is not why I summoned you," the King interrupted.
"Stand up."
Tiān Jùn rose without hesitation. His brow furrowed slightly. "Father?"
King Tiān Lóngxuān turned away.
No explanation followed. No reassurance. He walked toward the far wall, his footsteps echoing. "Follow me."
A section of the wall shifted soundlessly at the King's touch, revealing a narrow passage concealed behind a sliding panel—one Tiān Jùn had never seen, despite a lifetime within these halls.
They stepped through.
"This is our ancestral library; our forefathers left a spell scroll." The king's voice filled the air.
The air changed at once.
Each step took them deeper beneath the palace, farther from the world. The warmth of the upper halls faded, replaced by a cold that seeped into bone and breath alike.
The silence here was heavier—ancient, oppressive, laden with something unseen.
At last, they stopped.
Before them stood a round carved stone, its surface engraved with symbols of a foreign language that shimmered faintly in the darkness. The symbols pulsed like slow heartbeats, responding to their presence.
Tiān Jùn felt it — a subtle pressure in his chest, as though something within him stirred in recognition.
His gaze widened.
King Tiān Lóngxuān did not hesitate.
A blade appeared in his palm. Speaking chants, he pierces his palm.
Blood welled, dark and vivid, spilling onto the floor. As it touched the runes, they flared to life, glowing brighter, humming with power. The door groaned, ancient mechanisms awakening, and slowly parted.
It rolled away.
Darkness yawned wide—then, one by one, torches ignited in midair, bursting into flame without touch or spark. Their light revealed a chamber vast enough to swallow sound itself.
An underground library.
Spell scrolls hung mid-air, glittering softly with sealed magic. Wooden cases protected relics that pulsed with dormant power, each artifact steeped in sacrifice and oaths.
The air thrummed.
Tiān Jùn's breath caught in his throat. He felt his joint snapping, he was drawn from himself, fierce heat surged through his veins.
Light shimmered beneath his skin, and his heartbeat thundered in his ears. Pain and emerging power intertwined, searing and awakening. His vision blurred, then sharpened—his reflection caught in the glass of a nearby case showed eyes no longer his own, glowing crimson with ancient fire.
The air bent.
Something awakened.
King Tiān Lóngxuān perceived a higher power; he spun in terror.
His gaze fell on a creature he had dreamt of from a young age.
He couldn't make an eye match with him.
King Tiān Lóngxuān fell to his knees, kowtowing.
"Forgive me, Your Holiness," Lóngxuān breathed, maintaining a steady voice.
The words reverberated.
The torches flickered.
"Lóngxuān… you did well."
When the voice came, it did not emerge from one place—it resonated in the library at once, layered with authority that pressed against stone.
The King trembled.
A glowing hand lifted within the air, not fully formed, yet unmistakably real. From nothingness, a leather-bound scroll materialized, hovering before them. Sacred symbols writhed across its surface, alive like living fire.
"Guard my vessel," the voice commanded. "Read this without cease."
The light faltered.
The voice faded.
The pressure vanished.
Tiān Jùn collapsed.
King Tiān Lóngxuān rose slowly, his movements stiff, his breath uneven.
He staggered backward.
He stared—not at the scroll, but at his son lying unconscious at his feet.
"Son…" he whispered, voice hollow.
The words struck like thunder. His thought went wild.
Your holiness, forgive my weak power
He kowtowed. He remained on the floor until his breath returned to normal.
He straightened up, taking a deep breath.
Power left his grip the more they waited.
He bowed, dissolving in the air, teleporting Tiān Jùn to his chamber, summoning the royal physicians.
The ancient library returned to silence.
The message reached Queen Yù Yuè at dawn— urgent, and terrifyingly vague. Queen Yù Yuè appeared in her son's chamber.
She did not announce herself. She did not wait for attendants. The room was scanty of human step, heavy with incense — she stood, breathless, her silk robes tugged to her grip.
She crossed the park slowly.
Tiān Jùn lay motionless on his bed.
His chest rose and fell in a shallow rhythm, breath present but fragile. His skin glowed, yet his body gave no response to the spells woven around him.
For one terrible heartbeat, Queen Yù Yuè could not move.
The power surging in the chamber was poisonous.
"What has happened now?" she whispered.
Physicians spoke quietly behind her. Incantations murmured through the air.
She heard none of it.
He vibrated slightly. The imbalance in the air increased.
"Jùn?"
Her hope flared. She slumped clustering her chest.
The marbled floor was blazing, and heat emerged; her skin seared.
She crept out, releasing her power.
The chamber door fell open, and she crawled out, gasping for air.
The air was shut by an unseen hand.
She sat with the physicians, watching them till nightfall.
"Your highness, you will fall sick."
The priest straightend bowing to her.
"My queen, the crown prince situation is dangerous."
She turns, her gaze piercing.
He darted his gaze swiftly. "Your majesty is emitting unusual energy; it can weaken your cultivation."
"Leave!" Her voice thundered.
The priest dissolved into the thin air.
She tried using her power to balance the venomous air.
Hours passed unnoticed. Candles burned low and were replaced. The sky beyond the windows darkened; Exhaustion crept into her bones, until at last her body betrayed her.
Her head came to rest against the edge of the door, fingers still entwined.
The air became fully lit.
The air electrified, and Tiān Jùn stirred.
Lightning flashed in the room, and his eyes fluttered slightly open.
Where am I?
He tried moving, but his limbs felt heavy, as though they no longer fully belonged to him.
"Why does my head hurt…?" he murmured.
The sound of his own voice startled him.
He sat up slowly, confusion clouding his senses. The room swam into focus—rows of incense burners, bowls etched with protective sigils, and charms tied with crimson, hovering magic. Moonlight filtered through the window, casting pale bands across the floor.
"Mum…?"
His third eye opened.
He saw her then.
Queen Yù Yuè slept beside the door, her posture unguarded, her face streaked with dried tears.
Something tightened painfully in his chest.
He gasped, breath catching as weakness surged through him, forcing him still. Something was controlling him.
Something inside him burned—vast and ancient, stirring his childhood dreams like a memory.
He tried remembering how he got here, but all he remembered was Lián.
He lifted his hands, watching as faint warmth gathered beneath his skin. The sensation was unbearable and exhilarating all at once.
He sighed, tapping his forehead.
He sat in meditation till dawn. Tiān Jùn disappeared.
A wild wind blew, and Queen Yù Yuè's eyes flared open.
Her heart skipped violently, eyes darting to the marbled floor.
"Jùn? Jùn!"