> "First Form: Still Light. Hear the breath of the stars."
The surrounding brilliance dimmed until only faint motes of silver floated in the dark. Ryu Jin knelt, closed his eyes, and let his thoughts fall silent. He searched for the rhythm beyond sound—the pulse he had felt that night beneath the sky.
Minutes—or hours—passed.
At last he sensed it: a slow heartbeat that was not his own, vast and steady as the tide. He reached toward it with his will, drawing the light inward.
Pain burst through him like frost shattering glass. Star Qi ripped through his meridians, each thread of energy too pure, too immense. He gasped, his body—or spirit—arched in agony. The stars flared, then scattered like frightened birds.
> "You grasp too tightly," the voice murmured, unyielding. "Star Qi chooses those who are still. Do not command it—become it."
He forced his breath to steady. He released every desire: revenge, fear, even the longing to prove himself. His mind emptied until nothing remained but quiet awareness.
Then, gently, the pain softened. Light drifted back toward him, tentative, like snow returning to earth. Threads of silver touched his skin, sank into his chest, and pooled behind his navel in a faint, glowing core.
A low hum filled the realm.
> "Good," the unseen voice said. "You have opened the first gate."
Ryu Jin looked down. Beneath him seven points of light arranged themselves in a line, the first burning faintly beneath his feet. He could feel the connection now—the rhythm of the stars echoing inside him.
He breathed in. The silver light swelled, rising and falling with each motion until his entire body shimmered faintly. He felt lighter, not stronger exactly, but clearer, as though the boundaries between flesh and heaven had thinned.
He stood.
Ryu Jin lifted his hand. Light followed.
Every motion left a faint trail, like a comet's tail across the night. The energy did not rush or roar; it drifted, as if waiting for him to understand its rhythm. He remembered the faceless voice's command — Do not command it. Become it.
He inhaled. The starlight entered him through breath and thought alike. When he exhaled, it rippled outward, folding into the vast sky.
And then it began.
---
The First Form — Still Light
The stars themselves seemed to lean closer, surrounding him in a slow spiral. The silver glow at his feet expanded, forming a circle — a boundary between self and infinity.
He moved instinctively, guided not by memory but by something older. Each motion was simple: a lift of the hand, a turn of the wrist, a step forward into the unknown. But as he moved, the void trembled — the stars answering his movements like strings responding to a musician's touch.
In the mortal world, Qi obeyed the cultivator's command.
Here, it was reversed — the cultivator obeyed the heavens.
He raised his arms. The stars brightened.
He lowered them. The light dimmed.
With each repetition, his awareness deepened. The barrier between himself and the realm began to blur. Soon, he could feel every speck of starlight — each one alive, ancient, singing. Their sound wasn't heard but felt, a resonance that traveled through his bones.
He did not know how long he moved. There was no day or night, no hunger or fatigue. Only motion, and the harmony of the void.
Then something shifted.
The stillness around him rippled like disturbed water. The stars above twisted, forming shapes — constellations that burned with new intensity. He saw within them faint visions: silhouettes of warriors, masters of the Skywatch before him, each performing the same movement, each surrounded by their own field of light.
They were countless. Six generations of predecessors, their wills lingering in the Realm of Stars.
> "Those who walked before left traces," the voice said again, its tone quieter, almost distant now. "You walk their echoes, but your path is your own."
Ryu Jin stopped his motion, breathing hard though no air was truly needed.
He looked at his hands — faintly transparent, glimmering with light.
He could see the flow of Star Qi through his veins, slow and steady like molten silver.
So this is the essence of the Heavenly Star Art…
Not power, not destruction — harmony.
To align oneself with the rhythm of the heavens.
He exhaled, the last thread of breath leaving him like mist.
---
The Second Form — Falling Radiance
Without instruction, he knew the next step had begun. The circle beneath him expanded, threads of light connecting to the next star in the line. The void trembled.
And suddenly, gravity returned.
The stars above fell — not downward, but inward, collapsing toward him like meteors. His instincts screamed. He raised his arms in defense, and the Star Qi within him responded, flaring like a shield of silver fire.
The impact shook the sky.
The energy smashed into his guard, exploding in waves that rippled across the realm. For a moment, he felt as though he stood inside the heart of a storm made of light. The shield faltered. Pain lanced through his body.
> "Do not resist," the voice murmured from everywhere and nowhere. "Fall with it."
He clenched his teeth. Every instinct from years of martial training urged him to push back, to fight. But he remembered the first form — stillness before command.
He released the tension in his body, let his stance shift, and instead of resisting, he followed the fall.
The starfire no longer struck him — it moved with him. Together, they spun in a slow spiral, descending deeper into the realm. The chaos became dance, and he, the center of its pattern.
When the motion ceased, he was kneeling in darkness again.
The second star beneath him burned to life.
---
Silence returned.
Ryu Jin looked up at the endless sky. He could not tell how long he had been here. Days? Months? Time had dissolved into the rhythm of his breath.
He touched his chest — the light within had grown brighter, denser, but not yet whole.
He knew instinctively there were five more forms, each deeper than the last, each demanding more than strength — they demanded understanding.
But for now, the realm was still.
He sat upon the starlit floor, letting the energy settle.
---
As he meditated, the voice spoke again — softer this time, almost human.
> "You begin to hear the heavens. Few have reached even this far. But remember, Ryu Jin — the Heavenly Star Art is not merely a weapon of light. It is the mirror of one's heart."
He opened his eyes.
The stars around him reflected countless fragments of himself — each slightly different. In one reflection, he was calm. In another, enraged. In another still, broken and weeping beside the ruins of Skywatch Fortress.
His pulse slowed.
Each reflection moved with him, their motions echoing his own.
He understood then that every leader of the Skywatch had seen this place, had faced themselves in its mirrored sky.
"Then… the trial is not against others," he whispered. "It's against the self."
> "To command the heavens, one must first conquer the storm within," the voice answered. "This is the truth of the Seventh Star."
The stars dimmed again. The voice faded into silence, leaving him alone with the echo of his thoughts.
---
Ryu Jin rose, looking toward the infinite horizon of light.
He thought of his father, kneeling in blood and flame before the Five Heavens. He thought of the promise he had made — to uncover the truth, to restore the honor of the Skywatch.
That memory burned like a second sun within him.
He clenched his fist, and the stars nearest him flickered.
The realm itself seemed to respond.
The constellations above shifted, forming the faint outline of a dragon coiled around the heavens. The sight filled him not with awe, but a quiet certainty — that his father had once stood here, in this very place, and looked upon the same sky.
> "Father," he whispered. "I will finish what you began."
The pendant at his chest glowed, resonating with the rhythm of the realm. A quiet pulse of light surrounded him, warm and alive. The third star flickered faintly in the distance, waiting.
He took a step forward.
But before he could move, the voice returned one last time — now distant, like an echo from eternity.
> "Know this, child of the Skywatch: once the third star ignites, there will be no turning back. Until all seven forms awaken, the realm will not release you.
This is both your path and your prison."
Ryu Jin looked at the endless horizon.
Fear touched his chest — cold, fleeting — but it vanished beneath the calm of his conviction.
"I understand," he said softly. "If the heavens demand everything, then I will give everything."
He placed his palm over the glowing star beneath him.
It flared — brighter than before. The light surged upward, enveloping him until he became a silhouette within the storm of radiance.
His breath slowed, his consciousness sinking deeper, following the rhythm of the heavens.
The stars above rearranged themselves, forming the sevenfold path.
The third star began to pulse, faint but alive.
---
In the mortal world, deep within the cave, Ryu Jin's body sat motionless, eyes closed, the pendant hovering slightly above his chest. His breath was shallow, his skin faintly aglow with silver veins of light.
Outside, snow began to fall, covering the mountains in silence.
Within the Realm of Stars, time held no meaning.
The boy who had once been a fugitive now stood alone in the heart of infinity — the last heir of the Skywatch, bound to the heavens themselves.
And so the trial began in earnest.