The night was silent once again, yet something beneath that silence had changed.
The stars above the mountain burned brighter than usual, forming strange constellations that had no place in this era.
Xuan Tian sat in meditation, the faint glow of his Qi circling his body like drifting embers. The rune on his hand pulsed softly, in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Then—
it pulsed again, but this time not in rhythm.
The mark began to move.
Lines of light spread across his skin like veins of molten gold, climbing up his arm, across his shoulder, until they reached his chest—where his heart burned like a forge.
> "What… is this?"
The air rippled.
The world around him blurred, the cave dissolving into an endless void filled with colossal fragments of broken worlds—floating mountains, shattered temples, rivers of molten starlight.
And at the center of it all stood a being made entirely of light.
---
The Voice of the Forge
It was neither man nor beast. Its form shifted like molten metal, its voice layered with the echoes of countless ages.
> "You have opened the First Rune. Few in all creation have done so without guidance."
> "Who are you?" Xuan Tian demanded, though his voice trembled.
> "We were the Builders. The Old World's Will. When the first Heavens were forged, it was by our hands."
> "But mortals grew arrogant. They worshipped Heaven and forgot the Creators who shaped it."
Xuan Tian clenched his fists.
> "If you created Heaven, why allow it to turn against your own design?"
> "Because every creation must be tested. Every world must choose whether to evolve or collapse."
"You, child, are the answer to a question that has lingered since the dawn of time: can a mortal surpass the laws that bind him?"
The void shuddered. Stars blinked out. A single fragment of a colossal blade drifted before him—half-buried in cosmic dust.
> "This is the Remnant of the Origin Blade. The weapon that split the first Heaven."
"You have forged its echo within yourself—the Blade of Creation."
> "But the true weapon… sleeps."
---
The Trial of Inheritance
The blade fragment drifted toward him, its surface etched with countless runes. The closer it came, the heavier it felt, as though it carried the weight of eternity.
> "What do you want from me?"
> "Not worship. Not servitude. Only creation."
"But know this: the path of Creation demands balance. For every world you forge, another must fall."
A brilliant light consumed the void.
Xuan Tian felt his soul being burned, torn, and reforged.
Visions poured into him—of creators who shaped galaxies, of mortals who became gods and gods who turned to dust.
Every act of creation had a cost.
Every miracle required sacrifice.
He screamed—but through the pain, a thought anchored him:
> "I won't become like them. I'll create… without destroying."
The light dimmed. The being of light tilted its head, as though curious.
> "Then prove it."
"Forge something the heavens cannot erase."
And with those words, everything shattered.
---
The Awakening
Xuan Tian awoke gasping, drenched in sweat.
The cave was as it had been—dark, quiet, cold—but the rune on his chest now glowed faintly with a pattern far more complex than before.
He could feel it pulsing through his meridians—an energy unlike Qi, unlike spirit power. It was creation essence itself.
When he raised his hand, the air around his fingers rippled.
A small stone on the cave floor began to float, reshaping into a perfect sphere.
His eyes widened.
> "I… reshaped matter?"
"No cultivation art can do that…"
He smiled faintly, a mix of awe and dread in his gaze.
> "So this is what it means to bear the Will of the Old World."
Outside, thunder rolled across the horizon—not from a storm, but from the heavens themselves, reacting to something they could not comprehend.
Somewhere in the far reaches of existence, ancient eyes opened for the first time in eons.
The Old World had awakened.
And Xuan Tian's creation had not gone unnoticed.
---