The chamber of bone and silence pulsed with divine resonance.
Ziyan stood alone at the altar, the second divine mark burning across his palm. Gold veined up his forearm in intricate spirals, glowing faintly, like celestial fire carved into flesh.
Behind him, three of the greatest young cultivators of the generation had just arrived.
Ye Qinglan's expression was unreadable—eyes like twin suns, flaring with restrained fury. The heir of Sunfeather Pavilion wasn't used to arriving second. Especially not to someone he didn't recognize.
"Who are you?" Ye Qinglan asked, stepping forward. His voice carried a controlled sharpness, each word edged like a blade. "Your aura doesn't belong to any of the Nine Peak Sects. And yet… that thing you just touched—"
"The fragment," Bai Yanyue interrupted softly, her moon-pale eyes narrowing as she examined Ziyan's hand. "It responded to him… like it remembered him."
The beastmaster woman crossed her arms, her twin sabers humming lightly. Her panther companion padded beside her, ears flat and eyes locked on Ziyan. "He smells like something ancient," she said. "Like lightning caught in bone. Divine… but unfinished."
Ziyan didn't flinch.
He knew better than to act weak in front of wolves.
"My name is Shen Ziyan," he said, meeting each gaze without backing down. "I don't belong to any sect. And I don't care about your titles."
Silence followed.
Then, Ye Qinglan chuckled. It wasn't a kind sound.
"No sect? No name? Yet the fragment of a god answers your call?" His eyes narrowed. "You lie."
He stepped closer.
The ground beneath his feet sizzled—flames igniting without spark, reacting to his rising spiritual pressure. The golden phoenix crest on his chest shimmered, and behind him, the illusion of a burning sun began to form.
Ziyan's breath caught.
> This is pressure from someone a full realm above me…
But the divine mark in his hand flared in answer, golden light pushing back against the heat. It did not fear the sun.
Ziyan stood his ground.
Ye Qinglan's gaze sharpened. "Perhaps you're a descendant of the fallen gods. A halfblood hiding among mortals. Or maybe you've stumbled into something meant for others."
"I've claimed nothing," Ziyan said. "The fragment came to me. If it didn't want me… I'd be ash."
That earned a silence.
Even Bai Yanyue tilted her head, intrigued.
Then, unexpectedly, the white-haired Oracle stepped forward. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried weight like falling snow.
"I saw you in a dream," she said to Ziyan. "You stood beneath a black sun, holding a hand that bled stars."
Ziyan's heart stopped.
"How—"
"Dreams are rivers," she replied cryptically. "And some destinies ripple backwards."
Before he could speak again, the ground trembled.
A sound—like bone grinding against bone—echoed through the chamber.
Then the altar cracked.
A hidden seal broke, and a second fragment rose from the shadows—this one shaped like a knuckle bone, etched with celestial glyphs. It floated midair, pulsing violently.
Ye Qinglan moved instantly.
So did Yanyue and the beastmaster.
But Ziyan reacted without thinking.
His divine mark flared and drew the fragment toward him like a magnet. But instead of merging, it shot toward Ye Qinglan, bathing him in golden light.
He screamed—not in pain, but defiance—as his body absorbed the fragment. His aura swelled, expanding like a burning solar flare.
A second divine mark formed across his chest.
All four cultivators froze.
Two fragments. Two wielders.
The altar was empty now.
But the meaning was clear.
> The fragments are choosing us.
And that meant one thing: the trials weren't just a test—they were a selection.
---
Outside the Dragon's Maw
The vortex expelled the four cultivators in rapid succession. They landed in the center of the arena once more, breathing heavily, robes torn, hair soaked with sweat.
The crowd erupted.
Gasps rang out as Ye Qinglan stepped forward, golden glyphs blazing across his skin.
Then another wave of silence fell when Shen Ziyan rose to his feet beside him—his arm veined with divine flame, his black robes swirling unnaturally despite the lack of wind.
"They… they both passed?"
"No! Look at their auras! They weren't just tested… they were chosen!"
From the high platform, Elder Yu Longshen's expression tightened.
He stood slowly, voice heavy with revelation.
"So the prophecy begins again…"
Behind him, dozens of elders from the Great Sects began to whisper amongst themselves. Several were already pointing toward Ziyan, trying to identify his origin.
One stood up.
An old man in robes of sky blue, eyes like thunderclouds.
"The boy," he said. "He carries the mark of the Celestial Hand."
Yu Longshen nodded grimly. "The second child… has awakened."
---
Back in a private residence granted to trial victors, Ziyan sat cross-legged in meditation.
But his mind was far from calm.
> Two fragments now exist. And one is in Ye Qinglan's body.
The visions from the labyrinth haunted him still—the shattered hand drifting through eternity, its nine pieces falling like comets across the mortal world.
What was the "Celestial Hand"?
And why was it choosing wielders?
A knock broke his thoughts.
He opened the door to find Bai Yanyue standing there, alone.
"You didn't answer my earlier question," she said, stepping in uninvited. "How did the fragment recognize you?"
Ziyan hesitated. "I don't know."
"That's a lie," she said softly. "But I won't press. Not yet."
She placed something on his table. A scroll, wrapped in silk.
"What's this?"
"A map. To the next Trial. It's not being announced yet—but I foresaw it in my meditation. The location is an ancient ruin to the north. The Valley of Fallen Names."
She turned to go.
But before she left, she paused at the threshold.
"Be careful, Shen Ziyan. Ye Qinglan isn't just ambitious—he's chosen by a sect that believes in divine supremacy. Now that he has a fragment… you are his enemy."
Ziyan met her gaze. "And you?"
She gave a faint smile. "I'm the moon. I do not burn. But I see all."
Then she was gone.
---
Elsewhere — In Shadows Beyond Heaven
Far beyond the borders of the Eastern Province, in a temple carved into the corpse of a dead god, a cloaked figure knelt before a well of black fire.
"My Lord," the figure whispered. "Two fragments have awakened. The gods stir once more."
A voice responded from the darkness.
"You will go to the Valley of Fallen Names. Ensure the third fragment falls into our hands."
"And the wielders?"
"Test them. Break them. But do not kill them yet."
A pause.
"Soon… the Hand will be whole again. And the Heavens will bleed."