In a world devastated by calamity, Yijun's journey begins when his entire village is inexplicably wiped out. Desperate for answers and protection, he scales the mountaintop to seek aid from the legendary dragons. What he finds there is beyond his wi...
A sudden force seizes Yijun, pulling him backwards until the ground beneath his feet dissolves. He stumbles, flailing into emptiness-until a flash of light blinds him. He squints, raising a hand to shield his eyes. As his vision clears, he sees the ruined village materialize around him, sharp and vivid. The familiar wreckage surrounds him: shattered timbers, crumbling walls, the haunting echo of rain against desolation. Raindrops patter on his head, tracing cold rivulets down his hair and cheeks, and exhilaration sparks within him as sensation returns to his limbs.
At last he has returned to reality.
The dragon stands before him, palm outstretched, his hand steady yet trembling. Only seconds must have passed while he was immersed in the visions. "I gave him everything, even my life," the dragon says, his voice laced with a faint tremor, his sorrow so subtle yet unmistakable. His hand falls slowly, retreating like a wave drawing back from shore. "But he still wanted my death."
Yijun's mind races, piecing together that he means Jingwen. The dragon must have been seeing the visions together with him-relieving every memory, every betrayal. Again, he feels pity for him, even after everything he has said to him.
A fierce light hardens in the dragon's eyes, making the rare softness disappear from his glance. "I kept my promise. I have never broken the bounds. Not then, not now. I will pay for my mistakes, but this-" he gestures at the shattered landscape around them, "-this is not one of them."
With each step toward Yijun, the dragon's robes billow, and the air thickens, pressing against Yijun like an invisible weight. The sky churns dark overhead, and an ominous wind picks up, swirling debris around them. A prickling chill races down Yijun's spine, and his legs tremble as the dragon looms, his eyes blazing with a divine, terrifying light.
"Heaven has always been fair, though you mortals may not see it," the dragon intones, his voice colder than winter. "Whether you live long or die young matters little to Heaven. And Heaven has no objection if you should die today."
His face is ruthless, the same unyielding visage Yijun saw when he had unleashed his fury on the villagers, beasts, and warriors alike. Yijun's own breath catches, the words frozen in his mouth, his body locked in silent horror beneath the dragon's dreadful gaze. His throat is dry, and he forgets to breathe.
"But for the service you once rendered, I grant you mercy-this time. Let this be the end of our ties."
The dense aura dissipates, and the light floods back, lifting the oppressive shadows. The sky brightens above, and before Yijun can stammer any words of gratitude, the dragon casts one last, chilling glance his way, then turns as he did when they first met. Without a sound, he fades from view, his form vanishing like a candle blown out.
The rain's patter returns to Yijun's ears, breaking the silence that hangs in the dragon's wake. Colors around him sharpen, and the discomfort of his drenched clothes sets in, clinging coldly to his skin.
He stares at the empty space where the dragon had stood, watching the rain gather in the prints he left behind. A puddle fills, overflows, and spreads, erasing each mark.
He's truly gone.
Rain lashes against his face, fierce and unrelenting, forcing him to raise a hand in vain to wipe it away. The mountains on the horizon blur beneath the storm the dragon summoned, their jagged shapes melting into the storm-tossed sky as they retreat, soaring back toward their stronghold at Mount Hua. Fewer gods are in their ranks now. They were building an army to face the Heavenly Tribulation, but the clash came sooner than expected, and the price was higher than imagined.
The rhythmic beat of wings sounds close ahead as Lord Pelargos, wings splayed wide, leads the way. He shifts his stance atop his sword, a practiced balancing act, and his mind drifts back to the chaos of Midway. A pang stirs within as he recalls how Lord Lykos had torn his way into Midway with ruthless abandon, Lord Verres trailing in his destructive wake. Together, they cut a brutal swath toward the dragon, scattering mortals in their path without hesitation. Immortals pay little thought to mortal lives, yet he cannot shake the memory, nor ignore the tightening of his fist as screams echo in his ears. While the gods clashed, he and his followers tried to evacuate those who could escape their destruction.
They had heard whispers that the Heavenly Tribulation was not at full strength, but they hadn't expected him to kill two gods so effortlessly. Their losses sting, yet he finds a silver lining in the knowledge they gained from the fight. One thing is clear: their current strength is no match for the dragon. They must wait, biding time for him to weaken further, and only then might they stand a chance.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
