The walk through the ruins of the Holy Sanctuary was a journey through a graveyard of concepts. What used to be the continent-sized Petals of the White Lotus were now jagged, grey shards of calcified coral, sinking slowly into a sea of ink that refused to reflect the sun.
Xuan Ye trudged through the knee-deep ash, his breathing labored and heavy. He was carrying Zhao Ling on his back.
The Third Princess, usually a paragon of imperial dignity and emerald-eyed authority, was a fragile weight against his spine. Her silken training robes were scorched, and the scent of jasmine that usually followed her had been replaced by the metallic tang of blood and the bitter aroma of spent Divine Energy. Her head rested on his shoulder, her uneven breaths warm against his neck.
"You... you should leave me, Xuan Ye," she whispered, her voice barely a thread. "My soul is... fractured. The backlash of the High Priestess's fall... it's too much for a mortal to carry."
Xuan Ye didn't slow down. He tightened his grip on her legs, his knuckles turning white. To the outside world, this was the desperate struggle of a loyal servant. In reality, his Transcendent Mortal Physique was effortlessly absorbing the Life-Drain aura leaking from her wounds.
"The Princess saved me from the Northern Border," Xuan Ye said, his voice gravelly and determined. "I don't know much about cultivation, Your Highness. I don't know about Actual Worlds or Possible Worlds. I just know that if I stop walking,something will catch us."
Zhao Ling closed her eyes. In her delirious state, the boy's back felt wider than it should have been. There was a strange, grounding heat radiating from him not the burning heat of Yang Energy, but a solid, ancient stillness that seemed to anchor her fracturing consciousness.
For a moment, she forgot he was mortal. She forgot the hierarchies of the Finite World. In this grey wasteland, he was the only thing that felt real. Her heart, usually guarded by the cold laws of the Royal Court, gave a small, traitorous flutter.
He's just a page, she told herself, even as she tucked her face deeper into the crook of his neck."he just a lucky, stubborn page."
In The Xuan Clan's
While the heart of the world was being absorbed, the Northern Capital remained oblivious to the scale of the catastrophe. In the martial training grounds of the Xuan Clan, the air was thick with the scent of sweat and the hum of Qi.
"Again!"
Xuan Feng, Xuan Ye's cousin and the acknowledged genius of the younger generation, stood in the center of a cratered arena. He is seventeen now, with sharp features and eyes that burned with the intensity of Lightning Energy. He had recently broken through to the 10th Step of Qi Gathering, hovering at the very edge of Foundation Establishment.
He swung a heavy training halberd, the blade crackling with blue sparks.
CRACK!
A stone pillar ten meters away shattered into dust.
"Brother Feng is truly magnificent!" a younger disciple cheered from the sidelines. "At this rate, he will reach the Golden Core realm before he's thirty! He might even be recruited by the Infinite Sword Tomb!"
Xuan Feng lowered his weapon, his chest heaving. He looked toward the distant horizon, toward the direction of the Holy Sanctuary. For some reason, he felt a nagging sense of unease a phantom itch in his Blood Essence.
"Where is that waste, Xuan Ye?" Feng asked, wiping sweat from his brow. "The Head Archivist said he went with the Princess's convoy. If he dies out there, it'll be a stain on our clan's reputation."
"Who cares about that trash?" another disciple laughed. "He's probably hiding under a carriage. He's lucky if he's even allowed to wash the Princess's boots."
Xuan Feng didn't laugh. He remembered the look in Xuan Ye's eyes before he left a look of profound, terrifying emptiness.
"He's not lucky," Feng muttered, looking at his own trembling hands. "He's... something else."