I DESTROY THE LAW'S OF HEAVEN

PLAYING WITH FIRE

One wrong move would send a thousand swords straight through Thorn's heart.

The line of trembling miners moved forward step by agonizing step under the harsh sun. Sweat dripped down Thorn's neck as he stared at the massive black mirror resting on the wooden platform. Guard swords glinted in the light, ready to cut down anyone who panicked.

"Next!" a senior disciple barked, his voice filled with pure disgust. "Hurry up, you filth!"

A thin, middle-aged laborer shuffled forward to the black stone, his hands shaking violently. He bit his lip, letting a single drop of blood fall onto the dark glass surface. The stone instantly flared with a bright blue flame, illuminating the man's terrified face.

"Standard spiritual vein," the disciple announced coldly, writing on a scroll. "Move to the left. Next!"

Thorn took three slow steps forward, closing the distance. His mind raced. If he let his blood touch that stone, the primordial artifact in his chest would clash with the divine magic. The mirror would shatter, or worse, flare black and scream his secret to the entire camp.

The young miner in front of Thorn turned back, his face white as a sheet. "What if the stone burns me?" he whispered, his teeth chattering. "I heard a man died last year during a screening."

"Keep your head down," Thorn murmured back, his eyes fixed on the guard's sword hilt. "Do not show them your fear. They feed on it."

"I cannot stop shaking," the youth whimpered.

"Then shake," Thorn said in a low, sharp tone. "Just keep moving your feet."

"Next!" the guard yelled, shoving the young miner toward the platform.

The youth squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his thumb against a small blade on the pedestal, and touched the glass. The stone hummed softly, flickering with a faint, weak yellow glow.

"Trash vein," the disciple sneered, kicking the youth's leg to move him along. "Useless peasant. Get out of the way. Next!"

Thorn stepped up to the stone. The cold air around the platform smelled of copper and ozone. The senior disciple did not even look at Thorn's face, merely pointing a wooden rod at the sharp silver blade on the pedestal.

"Blood on the glass, rat," the disciple commanded. "We do not have all day."

Thorn reached out his hand slowly. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped beast, but his arm remained completely steady. He did not cut his thumb. Instead, he stretched his bare palm toward the black glass, keeping his fingers hovering just an inch above the surface.

He focused every ounce of his willpower inward, reaching for the icy lump fused beneath his breastbone. He needed control. Not a blast. Not a wave. Just a tiny, sharp needle of power.

"Hey, what are you waiting for?" the guard step closer, hand on his sword. "Cut your finger!"

"Apologies, master," Thorn said, his voice smooth and timid. "My hands are stiff from the pickaxe."

Thorn pressed his palm flat against the black stone.

Deep inside his chest, the primordial artifact hummed. Thorn did not pour his energy into the mirror. Instead, he commanded his power to unmake the stone's ability to react to energy. He erased the invisible magic pathways inside the ancient glass, severing its connection to divine law.

The stone went dead.

The inner glow faded completely. The black surface turned dull and grey, like a common rock pulled from a muddy riverbed.

The senior disciple frowned, leaning over his scroll. "What is this?"

Thorn pulled his hand back, keeping his head bowed in mock terror. "Did I do something wrong, master?"

The disciple struck the side of the testing stone with his wooden rod. Nothing happened. He slammed his palm against it, pouring his own glowing golden energy into the rock. The stone swallowed the energy and remained totally dark, unresponsive and hollow.

"It is dead," the guard muttered, stepping back in confusion. "The mirror broke?"

"Nonsense," the senior disciple snapped, glaring at Thorn with cold eyes. "The stone is fine. This rat simply has no spiritual vein at all. He is a empty shell. Pure human waste."

Thorn trembled on purpose, dropping to his knees on the wooden boards. "Please, master! I work hard! I can mine twenty bags a day!"

"Silence, dog," the disciple spit on the floor near Thorn's knees. "A man with zero energy cannot even trigger a basic screening stone. You are useless to the sect."

"What do we do with him?" the guard asked, crossing his arms. "The upper mines are for workers with basic energy."

"Send him to the bottom pits," the disciple said, turning his back on Thorn and writing a dark mark on his wooden tag. "Put him in the deep shafts. If the beasts do not eat him, the toxic air will finish him off by next week."

"Get up, trash," the guard growled, grabbing Thorn by the collar of his shirt and hauling him off the platform. "You heard the master. Down to the pit you go."

Thorn let himself be dragged away, keeping his face turned toward the dirt to hide the dark, cold smile touching his lips. It had worked. They thought he was weak. They thought he was nothing. Arrogant cultivators never looked closely at the garbage beneath their feet.

The guard shoved Thorn through a heavy iron gate guarded by four armored soldiers. Beyond the gate lay a steep, winding path that descended deep into the dark belly of the mountain. The air rising from the abyss was freezing cold, carrying the foul stench of rotting meat and old blood.

"Walk straight down," the guard ordered, pointing his spear down the pitch-black tunnel. "Do not come back up unless your cart is full of black ore. Move!"

Thorn walked into the dark, listening to the heavy iron gate slam shut behind him, locking him in the deep mines.

He walked for nearly twenty minutes, navigating the silent, narrow tunnels by feeling the rough stone walls with his palms. The silence down here was heavy, broken only by the distant, echo of strange creatures growling in the deep earth.

Thorn stopped near a turn in the tunnel. The air felt different here. It did not smell like dirt or rotten flesh. It smelled like ancient ice.

He held up his hand, letting a tiny spark of black energy light up the dark corridor.

At the end of the narrow path stood a massive doorway carved directly into the solid mountain rock. Heavy iron chains wrapped around the frame, bound together by a massive lock glowing with ancient seals.

Thorn stepped closer, his dark eyes widening in disbelief.

Carved into the center of the stone door were the exact same jagged runes that burned across his chest.