Hours trickled by as the rift steadied, its fury cooling to a slow pulse. What had once been a roaring wound in the heavens now throbbed like a great heart—alive, waiting.
At Kailas, time resumed its weight.
The Su guards held formation, though the stiffness in their shoulders had eased. Su Liana sheathed her blade, eyes never leaving the shimmering veil. Her knuckles, pale moments ago, flushed with returning color.
Across Earth, newsrooms stuttered to describe what had unfolded. Governments promised "contact through appropriate channels," though no one believed it. In temples and streets, prayers mixed with fear. Some fled cities; others fell to their knees.
William watched from his tower of glass and light. His phone lay face-down, buzzing endlessly."Peers," he whispered to the night skyline. "They're peers." He thought of ledgers and power that no longer mattered—of a new calculus where gods wrote the rules. If they speak as equals, he thought, there will be laws. And where there are laws… there will be loopholes. And if there are loopholes—I can live.
At the mountain's base, Karma stood by the formation lines, eyes fixed on the glowing aperture. Mira's voice coiled through his mind like silk. Host, mark this. War was postponed because power recognized itself. That buys time. And time… is cultivation.
Time is my sister, Karma answered. Time is breath enough to find her.
Snow rattled once against the rune-lines, then stilled. The mountain waited—no longer a stage of panic, but of negotiation.
The rift hummed like a living scar between worlds. Its light no longer raged—it pulsed softly, steady and rhythmic, tempered by the presence of two Dao Lords somewhere beyond the veil.
The guards exhaled in cautious rhythm.
Then, through the silver mist, silhouettes appeared.
Renji led them—unarmored and unhurried. The fire of battle had left his bearing; his qi flowed calm and even. Behind him followed three elders—two men and a woman whose eyes held centuries of patience—and above, the faint outline of his ship hovered like a silent sentinel.
They crossed the rift's edge and stopped. The snow whispered under their boots.
Su Liana met his gaze first. Her sword stayed at her hip, but her aura lingered—silver mist, moonlight through cloud.
Renji inclined his head, not in subservience but in respect."Lady Su Liana, I must begin by offering an apology on behalf of my people."
Her eyes narrowed. "An apology—after throwing our kin into chains?"
Renji accepted the weight of her words with a slow nod. "It is deserved. But I owe you the truth."
He raised a hand. Golden light shimmered in the air, weaving into images—mountains blackened by corrupt qi, mortals kneeling like husks beneath demonic altars. Cultivators with twisted cores drained entire worlds through glowing runes, their greed written in the sky.
"These are the works of the Low Clans," Renji said quietly. "Lesser lineages obsessed with shortcuts to power. They found a forbidden method—to use mortal worlds as nourishment, to drain their essence and stretch their lives."
The illusion shifted—planets flickering like candles, their vitality drawn out through glowing threads.
"Your 'Earth' was one of their feeding fields."
A ripple of shock passed through the Su retainers. Even the mortal soldiers stationed at the base of the mountain felt an instinctive dread, as if the very ground recoiled.
Su Liana's hand tightened on her hilt. "And your realm allowed this?"
Renji's face darkened. "No. We were blind." He paused. "Had a young master of theirs not offended me in a tournament, I would never have looked deeper. To gain leverage, I traced their hidden portals—and uncovered this."
His fist clenched. Light rippled outward, then faded."Mortal worlds bled dry. Souls harvested. Soil turned to spirit dust." He exhaled. "It was… revolting."
Renji's tone softened as he turned back to her. "When my forces moved to purge the Low Clans, we met resistance. Some cultivators from other worlds stood beside them—or so we thought. Only later did I learn they were your envoys."
Su Liana's eyes widened slightly. "Su Yao and Su Han."
He nodded. "Yes. They were caught in the crossfire. We believed them conspirators—trading mortal energy for protection. But after interrogation, I understood: they came to investigate the same distortions we did. They fought against the Low Clans, not with them. By the time I learned this, they were already bound."
A flicker of regret passed across his features—a rare thing in a cultivator of his bloodline. "We could have executed them. By law, any trespasser from beyond our skies is to be destroyed. But their composure, their discipline—" he shook his head. "They didn't lie. So I kept them alive, to see what kind of world would come seeking them."
Su Liana's aura eased, the moonlight dimming to a calm halo. Rage still burned in her eyes, but beneath it flowed understanding. He did what a commander must, she realized. And yet he chose mercy where others would not.
"So you waited," she said quietly. "To judge our intent."
Renji inclined his head. "If your kind had come in arrogance, this would already be a graveyard. But you came with resolve—and restraint. You protected mortals you could have ignored. That told me all I needed."
A wind passed through the plateau, clean and thin. The Su guards exchanged glances—some wary, others strangely relieved.
Even the elders behind Renji no longer radiated hostility; their auras folded inward like closed fans.
For a moment, the mountain felt almost… human again.
Renji looked toward the glowing rift where faint light still pulsed. "Our lords speak even now, deciding the fate of two worlds. Whatever they choose—peace or war—the echo will fall on generations like ours."
He turned back to Su Liana. "And I would rather that echo be carved by reason, not revenge."
Su Liana studied him in silence. Her training whispered caution, but her instincts spoke trust.When she finally spoke, her voice was measured, clear. "Then speak no further of blood. Until the lords return, we hold truce. Your men will not cross this snow; mine will not draw blade."
Renji bowed slightly. "Agreed."
Their words hung between them like an oath—fragile, but real.
Behind her, younger Su cultivators whispered, astonished that battle had turned to dialogue. Behind him, Renji's elders murmured their quiet approval, sensing the subtle shift in qi.
Far away, the world watched in disbelief.
"—talks of peace—"
"—the invaders are speaking to them—"
"—he admitted mortals were being harvested—"
Temples fell silent. Governments scrambled for meaning. Scientists wept before screens that could no longer explain what they saw.
Karma's friends huddled in their Perth café, faces pale in the glow of the broadcast. Sajid whispered, "That's him, right? The one at the back, isn't he Karma?" No one answered. They just stared—watching gods talk like diplomats.
So this is what peace between realms looks like, Karma thought. Mira's voice whispered back. No, host. This is the breath before the next storm. But every storm begins with breath.
He closed his eyes, feeling that truth settle into his bones.
Above the plateau, the rift shimmered like a half-healed scar—quiet for now, but pulsing with the promise of whatever the two Dao Lords would decide.
And beneath its light, two heirs—born under different skies—had spoken not as conquerors, but as witnesses to something neither yet understood: that the line between gods and mortals was thinning, and the next dawn would belong to whoever dared to cross it.