The Bridge groaned.
At first it was faint, a vibration underfoot like the distant swell of waves. But then it deepened, a grinding rumble, as though something vast stirred beneath the crystalline span.
Disciples froze.
The glowing veins beneath the Bridge pulsed erratically, then cracked. Black qi seeped upward like smoke from a wound, carrying with it the stench of decay. The mist itself recoiled, twisting into strange shapes.
The first beast emerged in a lurching crawl—a wolf hollowed out by black veins, eyes burning like pits. Behind it came more: fused monstrosities of scale, feather, and bone, their movements jerking like puppets on frayed strings.
Their screeches split the air.
Northern disciples faltered."This isn't natural—""They shouldn't even exist—""It's like the serpent… but worse—"
Before they could rally, the beasts lunged.
Liu Cheng of Frost Tide barely raised his blade before the corrupted wolf slammed into him, sending him reeling. Wei Rong's Glacier Gate formation broke as another creature crashed through, scattering disciples like leaves.
"Hold the line!" Wei Rong shouted, though fear cracked his voice.
Haotian was already moving. His spear flashed, cleaving through a fused serpent-beast. Black ichor hissed as it struck the Bridge, burning where it touched. His aura surged, three cores blazing as one, and he shouted above the din:
"Form ranks! Scatter and you're dead!"
This time, even the North obeyed. Azure Dragon disciples locked into a tight phalanx, their azure qi shining like a wall. The Northern sects scrambled to match, ragged but holding.
Steel clashed with corrupted flesh, qi slammed against twisted forms. Screams and roars mixed into one storm of sound.
Shuyue fought at the edge of the line, her blade moving on instinct. Each strike cut clean, but her arms trembled with the shock of impact. Acidic blood splattered across the ground, sizzling into the crystal. The air was thick with the smell of rot and burning.
And yet—her chest ached more than her arms.
She caught a glimpse of Haotian through the chaos—unmasked, his eyes hard, his spear burning arcs of light through the darkness. For an instant her breath hitched, a wave of something sharp and cold searing her chest.
Her heart twisted, but she did not understand why.
The seal dulled everything, blunting clarity into confusion. She only knew the ache, the heaviness that dragged at her even as she struck down another beast.
Why does it hurt to look at him? Why now, when death is at our throats?
The Bridge shuddered again, cracks widening beneath their feet. More beasts spilled forth, clawing and screaming, the malignant qi flooding higher, choking the mist into shapes that whispered as they moved.
"Strike the cores!" Haotian's voice cut through, steady and commanding. "Don't waste strength—destroy the cores!"
Shuyue's sword bit into a creature's chest, and just as he said, the beast collapsed the instant its corrupted core shattered. She staggered back, her breathing ragged, her heart hammering.
Not just from the battle. From something else. Something she could not name.
Her hand pressed unconsciously to her chest, but no clarity came—only the ache that deepened with every heartbeat.
And beneath it all, the seal throbbed faintly, a silent chain tightening around her heart.
The Bridge shook like a wounded beast. Black qi poured from widening cracks, and twisted abominations clawed their way up without end. Screams, steel, and roars filled the air, but even as disciples fought in frantic formation, the tide pressed harder.
Haotian's spear blazed, carving a path through the corruption. His voice rang steady, commanding order where panic threatened to shatter the lines. "Strike the cores! Stay tight—do not scatter!"
The disciples clung to his voice like a lifeline, cutting down monstrosities in bursts of desperate coordination.
But amid the storm, Shuyue faltered.
Her blade sang as it split another beast, ichor spraying across the ground with a hiss. She pressed forward, breath ragged, her chest tight. The heart-seal clamped down, dulling what should have been focus and clarity, but instead leaving her adrift in confusion.
She saw Haotian through the clash, his stance unyielding, his eyes cold fire. Relief surged—then a sharp ache followed, spreading through her chest like a wound she couldn't name.
Why does it hurt to see him? Why does it feel like I'm… losing something?
Her step slowed, the ache pulling her attention inward. That single hesitation was all it took.
The crack beneath her feet split wide with a thunderous snap. From the darkness below, a colossal shape lunged upward—scaled, spined, and slick with malignant veins. Its maw gaped, fangs dripping black mist, aimed straight for her.
"Shuyue!" a Moon Lotus disciple shouted, too far to reach her in time.
The beast struck.
She raised her blade on instinct, but her stance wavered, her chest still clenched by that strange, nameless ache. The blow crashed down, shattering her defense, sending her staggering backward, the Bridge tilting beneath her feet.
In that instant, the world blurred—until a streak of rainbow qi split the mist.
Haotian was there.
His spear smashed into the beast's side with explosive force, tearing through corrupted flesh and sending the creature reeling back with a guttural shriek. In the same motion, his arm hooked around Shuyue's waist, pulling her close as he carried her clear of the collapsing span.
Her breath caught—half from terror, half from the shock of his sudden closeness.
The world narrowed to the steady hammer of his heart against her back, the iron grip that lifted her as though she weighed nothing, the warmth of his qi shielding her from the searing black mist. Her own heart pounded wildly, aching harder than before, but the seal left her adrift, unable to name the feeling surging through her.
What is this? Fear? Relief? Why… why does it feel like more?
Haotian landed in the shelter of the regrouping line, setting her down gently among the others. His eyes flicked over her, quick and assessing, before turning cold again toward the battlefield.
"Stay here," he said. His voice was steady, but there was a sharpness beneath it, like he'd nearly lost something irreplaceable.
And then he was gone again, striding back into the fray, his spear blazing with rainbow essence as he cut a path toward the collapsing Bridge.
Shuyue remained where he had placed her, hand pressed to her chest, her sword hanging forgotten at her side. Her heart still raced, her breath still shook—but the feeling inside her only deepened, raw and unfamiliar.
Her body knew what it was.Her heart knew what it was.But the seal chained her, leaving her only with confusion and an ache that grew sharper every time she looked at him.
The Bridge was breaking apart.
Cracks spread in all directions, glowing with malignant light. Black qi flooded upward, carrying abominations on waves of corruption—scaled creatures with too many limbs, wolves with eyeless skulls, winged horrors dripping smoke. Their screeches rattled the Bridge like thunder.
The disciples were in chaos. Northern formations splintered. Glacier Gate stumbled as their wounded dragged behind. Even Azure Dragon's ranks faltered under the tide.
Haotian planted his spear into the trembling Bridge.
"Retreat!" His voice cut through the roar of beasts and crashing stone.
For a heartbeat, no one moved—then an Azure Dragon disciple shouted, "The Saint Son has spoken!" The words carried like an oath. The disciples pulled back in ragged order, fleeing across the swaying span.
Haotian did not move with them.
Another abomination surged upward, its chest splitting into a gaping maw. Haotian drew in a steady breath, and the power within him ignited.
The first core blazed.The second resonated with it.The third roared to life, a sun within his veins.
All three cores thrummed together, a harmony that threatened to tear him apart—but he forced them into resonance, weaving them into one torrent.
The Bridge shook as rainbow essence erupted outward, blasting the mist away in a shockwave of light.
Behind him, his avatar rose.
A towering giant of rainbow qi, its shape human yet transcendent, eyes burning like stars. It moved with him, every strike magnified, every step reverberating across the collapsing span.
The abomination lunged. Haotian's spear thrust forward, and the avatar's strike echoed it—two spears as one, piercing the beast's core. The creature dissolved into smoke with a shuddering scream.
More came. Dozens, then hundreds. Haotian advanced, spear and avatar sweeping together, rainbow arcs cutting through flesh and shadow. Every movement was flawless, every strike absolute.
The disciples, looking back from the retreating line, saw a miracle: one man and one radiant avatar holding back an endless tide.
Shuyue lingered, breath caught, eyes locked on him. Her heart twisted, her chest tight, the ache unbearable. The heart-seal dulled her clarity, left her adrift, but the weight in her chest grew sharper with every strike he made alone.
Why does it feel like I can't breathe when I see him like this? Why does it hurt?
The seal offered no answer.
Haotian fought on, tireless, his spear a storm, his avatar a wall of blazing light. The tide faltered, the cracks slowed. The Bridge steadied beneath the brilliance of his defiance.
And every disciple escaped alive.
Not a single life was lost.
The Bridge lay still.
The cracks no longer widened, and the tide of abominations had dissolved into smoke that clung faintly to the air. Silence pressed down, broken only by the ragged breathing of disciples scattered across the trembling span.
One by one, they turned to look behind them.
And saw Haotian.
He stood at the heart of the ruin, his spear grounded in the crystal, his rainbow avatar still burning faintly at his back like a guardian spirit. Mist coiled away from him, as if even the corruption feared to touch his light.
The silence broke with a whisper."…All of us… we survived.""Not a single death…""That's impossible. We should've been wiped out."
A disciple of Glacier Gate sank to his knees, tears streaking his soot-stained face. "He… he defied fate itself."
Even the proudest of the Northern sects faltered. The memory of their scorn still clung, yet none could deny what their eyes had seen.
The Azure Dragon disciples bowed low, voices carrying with awe. "Our Saint Son has returned."
The North wavered—some muttering, some silent—but the weight of what had happened pressed on them all.
Only Shuyue lingered apart, her sword slack at her side. Her gaze fixed on Haotian, her chest tight, the ache sharper than ever. The seal blurred the truth, but she felt it all the same, a hollow ache like a wound she couldn't name.
Her lips moved without sound. Why does it feel like I'm breaking inside?
The silence shattered.
From the depths of the fissures below, a voice rose. Not beast, not man, but something vast and ancient. It crawled into their ears, into their marrow, dripping with mockery.
"Hahaha… fools."
The Bridge itself vibrated with the sound, making disciples flinch.
"You think this was victory? This was nothing but a fragment. A taste. The true seal weakens even now. When it shatters… the demon armies will march, and both your continents will drown in blood!"
The laughter echoed, fading into the mist, leaving only the pounding of terrified hearts.
No one spoke. Even the boldest looked pale, their earlier arrogance burned away by dread.
Haotian straightened slowly, his avatar flickering before dissolving back into him. The rainbow light dimmed, leaving only a faint glow across his battered form. He planted his spear into the ground and exhaled, steady despite the weight pressing on him.
But when he lifted his head, a thin line of crimson trailed from the corner of his mouth. His hands shook once before tightening on his weapon. The first cracks of backlash whispered through his body—subtle, hidden, but real.
No one else saw it.
Shuyue, however, caught it. Her heart lurched, the ache flaring into a sharp pain she could not name. She wanted to run to him, to demand why he bled, to reach out—but the seal chained her still. All she could do was clutch her chest, lost in the storm inside her.
Haotian's eyes, cold and resolute, swept across both continents' disciples.
"This isn't the end," he said, his voice steady, unflinching. "It's the beginning. Prepare yourselves. The war has already started."
The disciples regrouped on the stable side of the Bridge, their breaths ragged, their bodies streaked with blood and soot. Yet not a single one of them had fallen.
It should have been triumph. Instead, voices rose in discord.
"We owe him our lives," a Glacier Gate disciple said, his voice trembling."He bought us time," one of Moon Lotus whispered. "No one else could have done it."But a Frost Tide youth spat into the mist, his jaw tight. "And what does that mean? That we bow to him now? That the North throws itself under the heel of the West?"
A murmur of agreement rippled through the Northern lines. Pride had not died, even if arrogance had been shaken.
Azure Dragon disciples bristled immediately, qi flaring. "Mind yourselves. Without the Saint Son, your corpses would already be feeding the abyss!"Another added, "You think your sect formations could have stopped that tide? Don't delude yourselves."
The air thickened with hostility once more, their unity crumbling even after salvation.
Haotian stepped forward, planting the butt of his spear against the crystal with a hollow crack. The sound silenced them.
He looked first to the West, then to the North, his gaze sharp, his tone cold. "Argue later. The seal isn't gone. The voice you heard wasn't a lie. A war is coming, and when it does, neither continent will survive divided."
His words struck like stone. Some disciples looked away, others scowled, but no one dared openly contradict him.
Yet silence didn't mean agreement.
The divide remained—resentment simmered beneath Northern stares, pride burning behind Azure Dragon's defiance.
Haotian knew it. He felt the weight of it pressing on him heavier than the spear in his hand.
Shuyue stood at the edge of the crowd, her blade sheathed, her eyes fixed on him. The ache in her chest hadn't faded; if anything, it grew sharper every time he spoke with that unyielding authority. The seal dulled her clarity, but the weight in her heart felt unbearable.
Why can't I understand this feeling? Why does it hurt to hear him speak as if he belongs only to them?
She lowered her gaze, lips pressed tight, her knuckles white around her scabbard.
Later, when the others had settled to lick their wounds, Haotian found himself apart from the group, standing on the edge of the mist.
The adrenaline of battle was gone. In its place, the slow burn began.
It started with a tremor in his fingers. Then the faint taste of iron in his mouth. He wiped it away quickly before anyone could see, but the blood was there. His body ached in ways that weren't simple exhaustion—deep, tearing aches that pulsed with every beat of his cores.
The backlash had begun.
He straightened his shoulders, forcing his breath even, his expression calm. To falter now would undo everything he had bought with his stand.
Behind him, whispers still carried—voices from both continents.
"The Saint Son saved us…""He nearly broke himself to do it…""But can we trust him? He isn't of the North."
Haotian closed his eyes briefly. The burden was heavier than the spear in his hand, heavier even than the weight of the Bridge itself.
But when he opened them again, his gaze was steady, his resolve clear. He had endured worse, and he would endure this too.
The war was coming. His body could fail later.
Now, he could not.
The retreat from the Bridge was slow and tense, the disciples moving in fractured groups, their footsteps echoing across the crystal spans. None spoke loudly, but the silence was never whole—everywhere, whispers trailed behind them.
"He held the Bridge alone…""No one died. Not one.""Saint Son… he defied fate itself."
The words passed from mouth to mouth, hushed and uncertain at first, then growing firmer with each retelling. By the time the disciples set foot on solid ground again, the whispers had already hardened into rumor.
On the Northern side, disciples from sects long at odds found themselves muttering the same phrases."He should have perished burning three cores at once… but he stood.""I saw his avatar. It was as though the heavens themselves walked the Bridge.""Not even our grandmasters could have endured that tide…"
But alongside awe came unease."If the West claims him, does that mean he'll lead them against us one day?""What will the Nine Sects do, knowing the Saint Son walks at their side?"
The tension lingered, pride and fear tangled together like a knot no blade could cut.
Across the Western lines, the whispers carried a different tone—exultation."The Saint Son has returned to us.""He was lost, but he was never broken.""With him, even the abyss will kneel."
For them, there was no question of allegiance. He was theirs, and his miracle was proof that their sect still held Heaven's mandate.
But beneath both continents' awe, the dread of the voice lingered.
"That laughter… it wasn't a beast.""The seal is failing. We all heard it.""If those were only fragments, what will the armies look like when the gate shatters?"
The disciples' eyes turned to the sea, where the mist still writhed and seethed as if hiding something vast below. Hope and terror walked hand in hand through their ranks, neither able to eclipse the other.
Haotian heard the whispers. He felt them press against his back as he walked, the weight of legend forming around him without his consent.
He kept his head high, his stride steady, his face unreadable. But when his hand tightened on his spear, it trembled once, just slightly, before stilling again.
Behind him, Shuyue walked in silence, her gaze lowered. The ache in her chest persisted, sharp and restless. She did not know what she felt—pride, fear, longing—but the seal chained her, leaving only the heaviness pressing against her ribs with every step.
The whispers grew louder."The Saint Son…""The one who defied fate…"
And somewhere in the depths of the mist, unseen by any mortal eye, something vast stirred in response.
The disciples had barely returned to camp when messengers were dispatched. By nightfall, the Bridge's tale had already left the mist and begun its journey across the continents. Words traveled faster than qi. By the second dawn, rumors were pounding on the gates of every great sect.
In the Northern continent, sect halls flickered with lamplight as masters and elders gathered.
At Moon Lotus Sect, Sect Master Yanling stood in silence while reports were read aloud."All disciples survived the eruption," the messenger said, his voice quavering. "By his stand alone, Haotian repelled the tide. Witnesses swear they saw his cores resonate, an avatar born of rainbow qi… and a voice from beneath declared the seal is failing."
Elders murmured in disbelief."Three cores in harmony? Impossible.""No Saint Realm could endure that.""And yet not one disciple perished…"
Sect Master Yanling's face remained calm, but her hands were clasped too tightly behind her back. She said nothing for a long time, only listening as the arguments rose.
Some elders spat in anger. "If he is truly the Saint Son of Azure Dragon Sky Sect, then what does that make him here? A spy? A pretender?"Others spoke more cautiously. "He stood alone and saved them all. Do we not owe him gratitude? Even if his blood is not of the North?"
The debate echoed across the sects of the Nine, each one torn between pride and the weight of undeniable truth.
In the West, the news was received like prophecy fulfilled.
At Azure Dragon Sky Sect, bells tolled through the night. The Sect Master himself stood on the high terrace, his robes stirring in the wind, as the Four Saint Dragons knelt at his back. Messengers knelt before him, their voices trembling as they repeated the tale.
"The Saint Son… Haotian… he stands on the Sea Bridge.""He burned three cores as one, and the heavens themselves answered.""He warned them—the demon armies will march."
The Sect Master's eyes glimmered faintly, unreadable as the sea at night. He raised a hand, and silence fell.
"Prepare the rites," he said at last, his voice low but carrying. "The Saint Son has returned. The seal weakens. From this day forth, no continent shall stand idle."
The decree swept through the sect like wildfire. Disciples cheered, elders wept, and the halls rang with the name Haotian.
But across both continents, the shadow of the demonic voice clung to every whisper.
"They laughed at us," muttered a Frost Tide elder, his cup shaking in his hand. "We think this was victory—but they said it was nothing. A fragment.""If the seal truly breaks…" whispered a Cloudveil master, "will even the Saint Son be enough?"
Even in the West, where triumph resounded, the fear could not be erased. The prophecy echoed in every corner: the armies will march, and the continents will drown in blood.
And Haotian himself—far from the councils of power—sat in silence beneath the pale light of the Bridge, his spear resting across his knees. His body ached with invisible wounds, his breath shallow when no one was watching. The backlash whispered through his veins like fire beneath his skin.
Yet his gaze was steady, fixed on the mist that hid the abyss below. He had heard the laughter more clearly than any of them, felt its weight deeper than they could know.
This was not the end.
It was only the beginning.