Wei Feng crashed onto a plateau of glimmering obsidian, knees skidding over stone scorched by ancient flame. The Watcher didn't follow—no, it hovered above, pulsating like a sentient heartbeat, its thousand eyes turning inward... watching something else.
He looked around.
The world had changed.
Gone was the canyon. In its place stood a vast hall carved from living crystal, its walls reflecting not light, but memories—his memories.
The Trials had begun.
Across the hall, a throne shimmered into view. Upon it sat a man cloaked in silver flame, eyes glowing with the fury of countless wars. His face—older, worn, but familiar. Too familiar.
Wei Feng's breath caught. "Father…?"
The figure didn't answer. Instead, he lifted a blade—long, curved, and pulsing with the crimson essence of the Bloodroot Flame.
Wei Feng staggered back. That weapon was sealed. Lost.
"How…?"
A voice echoed—not from the figure, but from the walls, the very air:
"Only those who remember their roots may command their future."
Lin Yue suddenly appeared beside him, pulled in by the trial's pull. Her hand gripped his sleeve.
"Is this real?"
He nodded slowly. "Real enough to hurt. Real enough to change us."
The man on the throne rose. The flame around him intensified.
With each step forward, the heat of a thousand generations surged. This wasn't just a test of power.
It was blood calling to blood.
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