The crystal-shard wasteland glittered under a sky of fractured light, its jagged prisms slicing the air with reflections that dazzled and disoriented, each facet a blade that cut the gaze. Winds whispered through the spires, sharp as steel, carrying flecks of quartz that stung like needles against exposed skin. The ground was a mosaic of broken edges, treacherous and unyielding, humming with a latent sharpness that set the nerves on edge. Beyond a fissure where the crystals pulsed with silver fire, a rift gleamed—a radiant slash that vibrated with a force so precise it could part the fabric of fate. The Ether Blade, the sixty-fifth force, had awakened, its boundless edge of infinite power a silent vow to carve Lin Feng's spirit to pieces.