I slid the strange object back beneath the pillow and turned to leave—only to find Ren standing near the doorway, watching me. His gaze flicked toward the spot where I'd hidden it.
"So you found my old phone," he said quietly. "I looked at it just the other day. That photo… me, before I became a True Immortal. Sometimes I forget I was ever that fragile. Time folds in on itself. Decades collapse into minutes."
I walked past him. He stepped aside without a word. But something twisted in me—tight, sudden. I stopped, turned, and struck him across the face.
He didn't flinch. Just looked at me with those hollow eyes. Eyes that never gave anything away unless he chose to. His face was unreadable, indifferent. And yet behind that silence, I felt it—the weight of something vast and unreachable. Something he would never let me see.
He spoke again, voice low and steady.
"Goodbye, Gǔlóng Yáo. I won't be staying in this residence anymore. I'm getting my own place—so I don't bother you with my presence."
He didn't wait for a response. Just turned toward the hallway, the stormlight catching the edge of his jaw, and walked away like he'd rehearsed it. Not dramatic. Not cruel. Just final.
I saw him say goodbye to my little sister. She watched him leave, eyes wide and wet, hands clenched at her sides like she didn't know whether to reach for him or let him go. He didn't linger. Just gave her a quiet nod and stepped into the storm.
I walked toward her—slow, careful. She didn't look at me.
"I didn't intend for him to leave because of me," I said.
She nodded, barely. "I know," she whispered. "But he left anyway."
Then she turned and walked back to her room without looking back. The door closed behind her—quiet, final.
I looked outside. Ren's figure was already fading into the storm, his steps slow but sure. I watched him go.
I would've forgiven him—easily—if he'd just hugged me. I might be a proud ancient dragon, but my pride always dwindles when it comes to Ren. Always. I wear the act like armour, like ritual, like I'm supposed to make him earn it. But the truth is, I'd forgive him in a heartbeat if he just held me and said he loved me.
As I walked alone, the storm still clinging to my robes like a memory, I found my new residence without effort. It was quiet. Untouched. The kind of place no one had dared claim—not because it was hidden, but because it felt like it already belonged to someone.
Three figures passed just as I reached the entrance.
Velanisse Historia.
Her fiancé, Yubai. And Lingxue.
They didn't speak. Not yet. But their presence was deliberate—like they'd timed it so I would see them together.
Velanisse's flame-orange hair was tied high, her robes tailored to draw attention. She walked with the kind of poise that demanded admiration, even from those who hated her. Yubai stayed close, posture rigid, eyes forward. He didn't glance at me. Not once. But Lingxue did.
She looked at me—not with fury, not with disdain. With calculation. Her ice-blue gaze swept over me like frost across stone. She didn't stop walking. But she didn't look away either.
Velanisse noticed. Her steps faltered. Just slightly. Enough to betray the tension.
I didn't speak. I didn't move. I just stood at the entrance to my new residence, watching them pass.
They didn't greet me.
They didn't challenge me.
They didn't acknowledge me.
But they didn't ignore me either.
They walked past like royalty passing a monument—pretending not to care, but unable to look away.
I stepped inside. The door closed behind me. Quiet. Final.
I looked at my residence.
It was exactly how I left it—the last place I created before I returned to Earth. The formations were intact. The air was still. The silence hadn't shifted. It was clean. Tidy. Maintained.
Someone had kept it that way.
Not a servant. Not a disciple. Someone who knew what this place meant. Someone who remembered.
But I knew this:
They hadn't just preserved the residence.
They preserved the moment.
The memory.
Me.
I looked at my old phone from Earth and clicked on my photos. There were so many memories from the past—images of my family and my eight close friends. Three of those friends became my wives: Bai Phoenix, Talia Eternal Blood, and Mariko Uchiha.
Afterwards, I got back up, took a shower, and returned to my real appearance. I wrapped myself in a towel and examined my dragon tattoo, which mirrored Venya's; hers was on the right side, while mine was on the left.
I sat at the table and made food for myself, eating slowly as old pictures flickered across the screen—videos too, fragments of a life once ordinary, once stable. I smiled. That version of me lived in rhythm with the world: predictable, grounded, untouched by myth. But now, the present hums with the supernatural. Fantasy coils through every hour. The table remains the same. I do not.
I left my residence as the storm approached, raining tears Gǔlóng Yáo refused to show. I walked into it without an umbrella, letting the rain soak my hair, my robes, my silence. Disciples watched from beneath their coverings. They bowed—not out of fear, but reverence. I had become the number one disciple of the sect. Not by decree. By inevitability.
Some worshipped me.
Some disliked me for reasons they never spoke aloud.
Others remained neutral, their eyes unreadable.
A few liked me.
Even that felt ceremonial.
I entered a cave that appeared ordinary. No aura. No markings. Just stone, dust, and silence. But I remembered what I'd buried here—resources sealed away an eternity ago, waiting for the moment I'd need them.
I took them.
And in a breath, I ascended.
Step 1000.
The Divine Realm.
I used only five percent.
The rest remained untouched.
Hidden.
Waiting.
I veiled the surge.
Masked the breakthrough.
Made it look like I was still in the Demi-God Realm.
And reached Early step 710.
I climbed to the highest peak of the sect mountains, robes trailing behind me as the wind whispered through the stars. Above, the sky stretched infinitely—cold, clear, and scattered with constellations. I looked up, and in that silence, I saw them: the countless worlds I had made.
One shimmered into view—dragons wheeling through the sky, riders locked in aerial combat. It was a competition, fierce and ceremonial, the kind that crowned legends.
Another flickered beside it: a woman seated on an obsidian throne, armoured and helmeted, her posture regal, her silence absolute. She ruled without speaking—her presence was enough.
Then my gaze shifted. A man in battle-worn armour sat atop a grey warhorse, sword raised high. Mortal men and women bowed before him, their cheers echoing across the valley. He had conquered orcs, goblins, giants—his crown gleamed, his victory unquestioned.
Elsewhere, an elven woman played a harp beneath moonlight, her voice weaving through the trees. Her kin surrounded her, the kingdom listening in reverent silence as her song shaped memory into myth.
Beneath the mountains, dwarves mined deep within their ancestral halls, presenting riches to their king and queen—gems, metals, relics of old. Their pride was quiet, but vast.
And finally, I saw a woman in a tavern guild, seated behind a worn oak desk. She handed out missions to mercenaries—maps, scrolls, contracts. Her voice was brisk, her authority unchallenged. She didn't fight. She directed. And the world moved because she said so.
I looked away. That would be the next place I'd go—with our Eternal Empire behind me, and the stars ahead. The inspiration was a mosaic of mortal memories: The Lord of the Rings, Game of Thrones, The Witcher, and countless other tales I once watched with mortal eyes.
I descended from the mountain's peak, the stars still echoing behind my eyes, and returned to my residence.
But as I stepped through the threshold, I saw them again.
Velanisse Historia.
Yubai.
Lingxue.
They stood together, not speaking, but aligned—like a painting meant to be seen. Velanisse's flame-orange hair caught the light, her robes tailored to provoke admiration. Yubai stood beside her, posture rigid, gaze forward, the perfect fiancé. But it was Lingxue who looked at me.
Not with fury. Not with disdain.
With calculation.
Her ice-blue eyes swept over me like frost across glass—measuring, remembering. She didn't speak. She didn't smile. But she didn't look away either.
She spoke to me, voice cool and deliberate, each word chosen like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath:
"Tell me, Number One Disciple—have you heard the mission our masters have assigned? We're attending a wedding. An allied sect. My master's son is the groom. He's marrying the Saintess of the Sun and Moon Sect."
She didn't smile. She didn't blink.
It wasn't gossip. It was a declaration.
A reminder that even ceremonies were battlegrounds. That alliances were forged not just in war, but in vows, veils, and quiet power.
I answered her plainly. "No, I haven't heard. When are we attending?"
She didn't blink. "We're going now."
No ceremony. No warning. Just decree.
Velanisse adjusted her robes, flame-orange silk catching the light like fire made flesh. Yubai stepped forward, already prepared, his posture rigid, his silence loyal. Lingxue didn't move. She simply turned, her ice-blue gaze lingering on me for a moment longer—then she walked.
I followed.