"The sky broke not because it was weak—but because it could no longer bear the weight of forgotten oaths."
— The Hymn of the Hollow Gate, Verse III
🌌 A New Dawn Over a Broken World
The dawn that followed the Gathering was unlike any before.
The sun rose through cracks in the heavens, bleeding light through fractured clouds like molten glass spilling across the horizon.
Every ray carried both warmth and unease—an omen of realms torn open and powers reborn.
Across the Hollow Realms, beasts howled as qi storms surged through mountains and seas alike.
Entire sects found their spiritual formations flickering uncontrollably, and rivers ran black with starlight.
The world itself was reacting—reshaping.
At the epicenter stood Jin, atop the shattered Cinder Spine Peaks, the Seals of the Dragons still etched into his skin.
Each rune now pulsed faintly with an echo of its elemental source.
Behind him stood Lin Xue, Ash-Eye, and Su Ren, gazing in silence at the rift that still burned faintly across the heavens.
"It's not closing," Lin Xue whispered.
"It won't," Jin replied. "Not until what's behind it has crossed through."
🐉 The Awakening of Realms
From the Broken Sky Rift came faint streaks of color—fragments of other worlds.
Shadow cities floating upside-down, mountains forged from living metal, and rivers of flame flowing backward through time.
The ancient texts called them the Seven Exiled Realms—worlds sealed away when the Hollow Flame first rose against the dragons eons ago.
"If they return," Su Ren muttered, "the Realms won't be able to hold their balance."
Ash-Eye's jaw tightened.
"Then we'll have to make them kneel before it happens."
Jin sheathed the Leviathan Blade slowly.
"No," he said. "We'll do more than survive. We'll make the Hollow Realms stand proud beneath the Broken Sky."
The wind howled around them, carrying the sound of distant horns—the call to arms of every sect, every kingdom.
⚔ The Sects Stir
Across the Eastern Seas, the Azure Cloud Sect raised its banners once more.
In the frozen north, the Iron Fist Monastery rang its war bells for the first time in three hundred years.
And deep beneath the southern sands, the Serpent King Clan began awakening their ancient war beasts.
Each one received the same omen: a crimson mark of the Leviathan appearing within their spiritual pools—a sign that the Accord of Dragons had been renewed.
Some called for alliance.
Others called for Jin's death.
🌫 The Return to the Silent Valley
Three days later, Jin's group descended from the peaks into the Silent Valley, once a haven of tranquil qi and still ponds.
Now, it was shrouded in storm mist—its lakes rippling with reflections of the fractured sky.
Jin paused by the lake's edge.
His reflection flickered, replaced by another version of himself—his past life, eyes burning like suns, robes of obsidian flame.
"You can't keep running from me," the reflection said.
"I'm not running," Jin murmured. "I'm reclaiming."
The image smirked before fading into ripples.
⚙ The Message of the War Council
At dusk, a messenger hawk descended from the clouds, its wings branded with the sigil of the Northern War Council.
The parchment tied to its leg glowed faintly with spiritual script. Jin unfolded it and read aloud:
"By decree of the High Sects, the Hollow Flame—once heretic, now awakened—is hereby summoned to the Northern Spire.
The Council demands your presence to answer for the opening of the Gate."
Ash-Eye laughed dryly.
"Summoned? After what they saw? They're lucky you don't summon them."
But Jin's gaze didn't waver.
"If the Council wishes to judge me, let them. I'll answer—but not as their subject."
The Leviathan Blade pulsed faintly in agreement.
🌪 The Winds of War
As the group prepared to travel north, the wind shifted once more.
From the rift above, fragments of the Broken Sky began falling—small shards of starlight that turned into spirit crystals upon touching the ground.
Each one contained whispers of power, attracting cultivators, sects, and mercenaries like moths to a flame.
The Hollow Realms were no longer one world—they were seven, colliding, overlapping, tearing through each other's boundaries.
War was inevitable.
Jin raised his head toward the glowing fissure in the heavens.
"If this is the path of the Broken Sky," he whispered, "then I'll walk it—until even the heavens bow."
🌒 The March North
Night fell as they departed.
From the shadows of the valley, cloaked figures watched—the Emissaries of the Pale Moon Sect—their eyes reflecting silver fire.
"So the Reclaimer walks north," one whispered.
"Then the moon shall follow him into ruin," said another.
And as Jin's group vanished beyond the ridge, the fractured light of dawn returned—painting the world in both glory and foreboding.