The blue-lit corridor was silent as a tomb, the air thick with ancient dust and memory. Xiao Feng's boots pressed gently against the ground, each step deliberate. His eyes—pale and blind—remained focused ahead, but not with sight. What he saw was not what others saw.
In the darkness behind his shut eyes, his Sea of Consciousness shimmered like a great, endless sky, painted in shades of wind and breath. Shapes appeared to him in currents—whispers of air moving around obstacles, the scent of ancient stone disturbed, the pulse of life buried deep within the world. That was how he saw now.
Not with light, but with truth.
Beside him, Chen Hao exhaled slowly, gripping the hilt of his sword tighter. "Do you feel that?" he asked.
"Yes," Xiao Feng said softly. "The walls are listening."
The corridor narrowed. Carvings lined the walls—dragons locked in combat, warriors fleeing cities on fire, and strange circular symbols that pulsed faintly under Xiao Feng's awareness. He reached out and let his fingers drift across the grooves.
"These are old," he said. "Written in the tongue of the First Keepers. This place wasn't just made to imprison… it was made to remember."
Chen Hao frowned. "What kind of people build a memory like this?"
"People who knew their mistakes would return," Xiao Feng murmured. "Unless someone remembered why they happened."
Ying Long stirred on his shoulder, wings fluttering. The little dragon let out a sharp hiss—not of anger, but warning.
From beneath the floor, a low growl rumbled.
Something was coming.
The passage opened into a chamber far larger than before. A circular arena, ringed by statues of dragons in various forms—storm dragons with fanged lightning, earth wyrms with coiled spines of stone, sea serpents with flowing manes of coral. And in the center stood a sealed gate, half-ruined, covered in glowing glyphs and bound by thick chains of light.
Chen Hao stepped forward, eyes narrowed. "Looks like the next trial begins here."
"No," Xiao Feng said, brows furrowed. "The trial has already begun."
From the shadows behind the gate came a hissing breath—like hot steam escaping a volcano's throat.
Then came the voice. Deep. Rough. Ancient.
"Little summoner."
The words echoed not in the air, but inside Xiao Feng's mind. He staggered slightly, grabbing Chen Hao's arm.
"I know this voice," he said. "It's him. The second dragon."
A claw pierced through the gate.
Searing red scales scraped stone. Flames spilled through the cracks. And then, the creature emerged—a colossal wyrm, black as night, its body dripping molten venom from every fang. Its wings were torn, like old war banners, and its eyes were pits of burning gold.
"Do you remember me now, boy?" it snarled.
Chen Hao stepped in front of Xiao Feng. "Back up. This thing's not a vision."
"No," Xiao Feng said, reaching out. "He's real. He's awake."
The dragon lowered its head, exhaling a stream of fire that carved lines into the floor without touching them.
"I burned cities for you," it said. "Bled for you. And when the seal came, you were the one who turned away. You sealed me here."
Xiao Feng's fingers trembled. "I did… in another life. I was the Guardian. You were my summon."
"I was your brother in battle!" the dragon roared. "And now you stand before me… blind. Mortal. Weak."
Ying Long flew off Xiao Feng's shoulder, growing midair until he landed in front of the black dragon—his small form now towering, radiant, glowing like moonlight on silver armor.
Two dragons. One of poison and fire, the other of wind and light.
"Enough!" Ying Long snapped, his voice ringing like chimes through steel. "He is not who he was. But he remembers. And he chooses."
The black dragon laughed bitterly. "Then let him prove it. In combat. Or in bond."
Chen Hao turned. "What does that mean?"
Xiao Feng answered with a grim tone. "He wants to challenge me. Either I defeat him… or I tame him again."
Chen Hao groaned. "Fantastic. And I'm just here with a pointy stick."
But Xiao Feng was already stepping forward, calm. The mark on his palm flared. The arena responded. The floor lit with ancient runes—a summoning circle, cracked and weathered, but still potent.
The black dragon lunged.
Xiao Feng closed his eyes tighter.
In his Sea of Consciousness, the battle began.
But it wasn't a fight of flesh and bone—it was one of will.
Inside that endless plane of wind and storm, the black dragon rose. Xiao Feng stood before him, surrounded by spectral echoes of dragons from ages past.
"You still don't understand what I was," the dragon said.
"I do now," Xiao Feng replied. "You weren't just power. You were my shadow. My rage. My vengeance."
"And yet you sealed me away."
"Because I let anger consume me," Xiao Feng whispered. "And I couldn't live with the cost."
The dragon circled him, tail coiling around the wind itself. "So will you reject me again?"
"No," Xiao Feng said. "This time… I will accept you."
A silence passed.
Then the dragon struck.
Flames met wind. Poison met breath. The two forces collided in a battle that shook the very foundation of Xiao Feng's consciousness. But with each blow, Xiao Feng refused to yield.
He did not attack. He understood.
"I don't fear you anymore," Xiao Feng said, stepping through fire unburned. "You were my pain. My fury. And now… you are my strength."
He reached out.
The dragon snarled.
And then bowed his head.
A second mark burned into Xiao Feng's palm—fiery red, shaped like a claw wrapped in flame.
Outside, in the physical world, the arena trembled.
The black dragon reared, then knelt.
"I serve once more," he said. "Not because I was forced. But because you remembered."
Chen Hao stared. "What just happened?"
Ying Long smiled. "He bonded. The second dragon is his now. Again."
Xiao Feng opened his eyes—blind still, but glowing with power.
He turned to the sealed gate. The chains broke, one by one, falling with a chime of ancient music.
"Two trials," Xiao Feng said. "Two dragons."
Chen Hao raised an eyebrow. "what's next a beast?
Xiao Feng looked grim. "No. Worse."
He stepped through the now-open gate.
"The third trial is myself."
Far away, in a ruined temple high in the northern peaks, a third presence stirred.
Not dragon. Not spirit.
But something older.
Its eyes opened.
The final trial had begun.