The sky broke first.
Three columns of light tore upward from the sealed heart of the Labyrinth, punching through solid basalt as if the stone were paper, climbing so high that cultivators three rings away stopped mid swing to stare. Golden. Silver. A deep rose that pulsed like a heartbeat. Each pillar carried its own frequency, its own signature, and where the three met the open sky above the arena, they braided together for one instant into something that looked, from below, almost like a flower blooming in reverse.
In the eastern hall, two rival disciples who had been trading blows over a cracked jade tablet simply stopped. Swords still raised. Neither one finished the swing.
"Is that the inheritance?" one of them asked, voice gone thin.
