The Sovereign's Throne lay in ruins, its fragments drifting across dimensions like dying embers caught on an eternal wind. But peace was never absolute.
Lin Sheng stood atop a plateau overlooking a convergence of worlds now known as the Celestial Bloom—a nexus where Earth, the Immortal Realms, and hundreds of smaller planes gently intertwined. Here, the Accord was no longer a weapon. It was a memory.
He had chosen to let go of godhood. But consequences never died quietly.
Below, embassies of mortal sects mingled with remnants of celestial clans. The vast World Council was forming, a dream Fei'er insisted upon. Mira became the architect of its laws, and Jin Rui, its reluctant but respected enforcer.
Lin Sheng? He was trying to live.
Yet, the nights had changed.
Stars flickered with unsettling rhythms. Time, though stabilized, sometimes repeated moments like a song stuck in loop. And in his sleep, he heard the whispers.
"You shattered the throne… but what of its chains?"
One night, a thunderclap awoke the Celestial Bloom.
A gate opened—not created by mortals or divines, but left behind by the Sovereign itself. It pulsed with old power, beckoning not with force, but with invitation.
Lin Sheng was already awake when Mira approached.
"It leads somewhere we never mapped," she said, her voice steady despite the pulse of fear in the air.
Jin Rui joined them. "We seal it."
Fei'er disagreed. "No. We understand it. Before another claims it."
Maerion's voice—his presence—returned in Lin Sheng's mind.
"There were other Thrones."
Without hesitation, Lin Sheng gathered his old allies and stepped through the gate.
What lay beyond was a realm unlike anything before.
Not heaven.
Not hell.
A library—infinite, circular, endless. Shelves of thoughts, scrolls of decisions, tomes of failed realities. And at its heart, a candle.
It flickered. Then it spoke.
"You unseated the Sovereign. But did you ever ask who built the Throne?"
The candle's flame bent into a humanoid form—neither man nor woman, young nor old.
"I am the Archivist. Keeper of all Ascensions. And I have questions."
Lin Sheng stood still. "Ask."
The Archivist extended a hand. "Why did you end your cycle?"
"Because cycles that feed on obedience should break," Lin Sheng answered.
"Then prepare for your consequences. A thousand Ascendants, once denied, now stir. Some wish to serve you. Others… to replace you."
The shelves around them began to bleed.
Words liquified. Ink became shadows. Stories screamed as forgotten Sovereigns clawed their way from pages lost to ambition.
Lin Sheng called forth the remains of his Accord—but it was unstable. The Guardians were dormant. Only Hope remained.
And that would not be enough.
"We need new allies," Mira said.
"We need new truths," Fei'er whispered.
"We need to write the next cycle," Lin Sheng said.
The Archivist opened a final book.
Blank.
"It begins here. Write carefully."
To be continued in Chapter Twenty-Five – "Thrones Beyond Ink"