The colorless flame flickered once—acknowledging, not celebrating.
Tian Lei regarded the pill for a long time, his gaze steady and unreadable. In its quiet perfection, he saw not triumph, but reflection—fifty-six years of solitude, countless failures, and the gradual unmaking of everything he once was.
He reached out and caught it. The pill felt warm—alive, almost breathing in his palm. It pulsed once, faintly, as though the heavens themselves recognized its birth.
Then he smiled. A small, tired smile that held no arrogance, no pride—only peace."It's done," he murmured. "But I… am not."
He closed his hand, the pill vanishing into a small jade case sealed with a touch of his qi."This is not the end of the road," he whispered, "only the moment before the next ascent."
