Deep within the hollow of Mount Xiyang, beneath layers of obsidian and quartz-veined stone, the air shifted. Not from heat or wind, but from the breath of something ancient awakening.The moment the Tribunal emissary vanished into light, Yunlei felt it—a pulse in the ground, like a heartbeat in the mountain itself. The Star within his chest resonated with it.“Something’s stirring,” Yunxian whispered. Her fingers traced a glyph forming in midair, ancient characters that shimmered and disappeared.Zhao rubbed his temples, still pale from the truth seal’s assault. “This place… it’s not just the ruins of the Astral Chorus, is it?”“No,” Mei said quietly. “It’s a door.”The mountain groaned, and a staircase unfolded from the earth, each step carved with shifting sigils. Without speaking, Yunlei descended first, his footsteps silent. The others followed, tension thick in the air.As they reached the base, the staircase ended in a cavern bathed in violet light. A throne stood in the center—

The Pale Bastion loomed above the horizon like a scar carved into the sky—its obsidian spires jutting out from a floating fortress ringed in thunder and wardlight. A relic of the Old Crown, it was both citadel and executioner, a place where voices disappeared and rebellions were smothered before they were named.Yunlei stood at the edge of a crag overlooking the fortress. Behind him, his companions were gathering strength, patching wounds, drawing breath—but he could not rest. The Star burned steadily in his chest, and the Pactblade pulsed with restless hunger.Ruoqin arrived silently beside him. “Three barrier arrays. One sky-tier lightning dome. Anti-spirit wards humming from the underbelly. Not built for defense—built for annihilation.”“And yet, we must enter,” Yunlei said.Zhao, crouched over a cliff edge, peered through a spyglass. “There’s a transport lift near the southern flank. Supply drops. No guards visible, which probably means they’re cloaked or trapped. Or both.”Yunxia

The mountain meadow where they landed was eerily still.Above them, the remains of the Pale Bastion faded into cloud and smoke, its ruin swallowed by sky. Wind rustled through the golden grasses, carrying with it no sound of pursuit, no cry of alarm—only silence, heavy and expectant.Yunlei sat cross-legged, eyes closed, hands resting on his knees. The Star was quiet, not dormant, but... listening. He could feel it subtly pulling at his awareness, as if waiting for him to notice something just beyond the veil of thought.“Anything?” Ruoqin asked, standing guard a few paces away, her glaive still drawn.He opened his eyes. “No soldiers. No trackers. Not even a spirit hawk. Either the Crown hasn’t noticed yet…” He frowned. “Or they don’t need to.”Mei stood with arms folded, her expression unusually hard. “You destroyed a fortress that wasn’t supposed to fall. That was meant to be eternal. The Emperor will know.”Zhao coughed as he tightened a bandage on his shoulder. “So… where does th

They arrived at dawn.The mist had finally broken, giving way to golden sunlight that bathed the mountains in fragile warmth. Ahead lay the gates of the Sun Lotus Sanctum, carved into the mountainside like a forgotten temple. Vines wrapped around its faded archway, but the symbol of the blooming lotus—half sun, half flame—still glowed faintly above.“This place shouldn’t exist,” Zhao whispered. “It’s not on any map.”“It was erased,” Ruoqin said. “On purpose.”Yunlei stepped forward. As he neared the entrance, the Star shimmered and dimmed—like a respectful bow. He paused, hand brushing the moss-covered door.Then he knocked.Nothing.He raised his fist again—this time with qi—and struck the ancient wood with measured force.A soft hum responded. Lines of glowing script bloomed across the surface, forming words in an ancient dialect few could read.Mei translated aloud. “One comes bearing the truth of flame. One comes bearing the burden of remembrance. May the debt be seen.”The doors

By dawn, the air above the Gray Hollows thickened with tension.In the war chamber of the Sanctum, a glowing map hovered midair—marked with shifting crimson sigils. Around it, Yunlei, Yunxian, Zhao, Ruoqin, and Shen stood in silence as a voice filled the chamber: solemn, sharp, and unmistakably imperial.“—By order of the Crimson Council, Yunlei of House Lu is hereby summoned to Highcourt Pavilion for formal inquiry. Refusal is tantamount to treason.”The message ended.Silence stretched like a drawn bowstring.Zhao scowled. “Well, that didn’t take long.”“Formal inquiry?” Ruoqin snorted. “They mean execution. Or at least public disgrace.”Yunxian folded her arms. “They’re threatened. He’s moved too fast, too boldly. The Council fears what he represents.”“They should,” Shen murmured.Yunlei stared at the map, where a red flare now pulsed over the capital—Highcourt Pavilion. “This was never going to be quiet. Not after the Black Orchid’s death. Not after I accepted the Phantom General