The world had vanished.
Xu Zhou stood in the heart of the Awakening Array, but it no longer felt like stone beneath his feet. Space twisted and curled around him like smoke in reverse, each breath drawing in the scent of something not of this world—ancient, endless, and cold.
The pressure pressed down from every direction. Not the weight of stone or sky, but something heavier. The weight of distance. Of separation. Of the void itself.
He could feel it seeping into his bones.
Not pain.
Not power.
Presence.
The presence of something vast and eternal, like a sleeping star turning its gaze toward him. He felt... seen. Not by people. Not by the heavens.
But by space itself.
A tremor ran through his soul.
This wasn't an element. It wasn't a flame, a breeze, a surge of water, or a flash of light. It was the absence between them all. The structure of the world, the unseen lattice holding all things apart—and together.
And it had answered his call.
He was resonating with the fundamental silence of the universe.
---
The river came again.
Not through dream.
Not through the array.
Not through light or sound.
But within.
One heartbeat—he was standing in the plaza.
The next—he was back in the void.
The river shimmered before him, stretching into forever, its currents folding like mirrored glass, as if time itself were liquefied and set adrift.
Only this time, the air was different.
Not still.
Not silent.
The river watched him back.
A figure emerged, walking on the surface with unhurried steps.
Another silver-haired boy.
But not the same as before.
Where the first had lounged in golden light, half-asleep and serene, this one was sharper. Taller. His gaze was focused, and his presence was like the edge of a blade honed by centuries of thought.
He wore no robe, no armor—just simple black clothing that shimmered faintly with shifting patterns, like the folds of space wrapped around his body.
Xu Zhou hesitated, glancing around at the shimmering expanse. "Where… is this?"
The boy's expression didn't change. "This? This is the River of Time."
Xu Zhou's breath caught. "Time? But… I awakened the Space element. Why am I here?"
The boy smirked, the corner of his mouth tilting upward like he'd been waiting for that question.
> "Who said you only awakened the Space element?"
Xu Zhou stared.
The silver-haired figure crossed his arms, voice tinged with almost theatrical pride.
> "You awakened Time as well. Though… you can't control it. Not yet."
> "The first time you stumbled into this river, it was an accident. That's why another self said, 'didn't expect that.' Even I hadn't."
His eyes shimmered with distant memory, then focused again.
> "But this time… this time, it resonated with you during the Awakening. That ripple of time let me reach you. Just enough to pull you here."
> "I'm giving you a head start."
Xu Zhou stepped back, instinct tightening his chest.
The boy tilted his head.
"You're not afraid," he said. "Good."
His voice was calm, but something beneath it rippled the current. Like echoes in a canyon.
Xu Zhou found his voice. "Who are you?"
The boy gave a faint, wry smile.
> "A possibility," he said. "One of many."
> "Not the future. Not the past. Just… a step you might take."
Xu Zhou's mouth went dry.
"You… you look like me."
The silver-haired boy blinked. Then sighed—the slow, tired kind that said I expected better from myself.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered under his breath, "… I really used to be this dense?"
Then, deadpan:
> "Yes. I look like you. Because I literally just said I'm a possibility you might become a second ago, you idiot."
He gave Xu Zhou a flat stare, the kind only future selves can give their past lives—equal parts disappointment and reluctant sympathy.
Then he shook his head with the weary air of someone rethinking the timeline entirely.
> "This is why we don't talk to ourselves."
Xu Zhou flushed, ears turning pink.
"…Right," he mumbled, avoiding the boy's eyes. "That… makes sense."
The boy folded his arms and muttered, "Unbelievable. I forgot how much of an awkward mess I was."
Xu Zhou felt his face heat even more. "Hey!"
The boy arched a brow. "Don't worry. You grow out of it. Eventually. Mostly."
The teasing faded, replaced by a calm weight.
> "Now listen. Space isn't like the other elements. You can't just absorb it and punch harder."
> "You need a technique to interact with it—or it'll stay beyond your grasp forever."
Xu Zhou stiffened. "Then… I really am stuck."
The boy gave a short nod. "If left alone? Yeah. The Tianxu Continent doesn't have a single recorded Space technique. You'd have to create one from scratch."
He glanced sideways, as if measuring the distance between stars.
> "And trust me. I tried."
> "It took me seven years to make something barely usable. Ten before I could even call it a technique."
He paused, then looked back with a faint smirk.
> "You? You'd fall behind in seven months. Your cousins would be flying around on swords while you're still meditating in a field talking to rocks."
Xu Zhou groaned. "So what now?"
The silver-haired boy held out a hand.
Space shimmered in his palm—fractures of light, spinning like orbiting stars. They weren't runes, weren't words. They were intent. Logic. Compression. Meaning.
> "I'm giving you a seed," he said. "The technique I created. It's not complete—not even close. I'm only giving you enough to push you to the Spirit Tempering Realm."
Xu Zhou blinked. "Why not all of it?"
> "Because the rest has to be yours. Space doesn't yield to brute force or mimicry. It's an element of comprehension. And if I hand it all over… you'll only ever walk where I've walked. You'll reach me… but never pass me."
Xu Zhou stared at the floating fragments.
> "What's it called?"
The boy scratched the back of his neck. "Didn't name it."
Xu Zhou raised an eyebrow.
The boy looked away, slightly sheepish. "I was sleep-deprived. And bitter. And maybe slightly insane from spatial drift."
He cleared his throat.
> "You can call it Voidheart Sutra. It fits the theme of space as silence, and absorption as surrender to the void. Vague. Mysterious. Like all good space techniques should be."
Xu Zhou gave a dry look. "Sounds like you made that up just now."
The boy smirked. "I absolutely did."
Xu Zhou paused. Then coughed lightly.
"…Then do you have a technique for Time, too?"
The silver-haired boy froze.
His face went blank—utterly speechless. He blinked once. Then twice. And slowly turned his head with the expression of a man witnessing a divine joke played on himself by the heavens.
> "Are you seriously asking that?"
He rubbed his temples, visibly restraining the urge to yell at his past self.
> "Was I really this shameless? I just handed you a custom-built space technique forged from ten years of blood, sleepless nights, and spatial dislocation—and you immediately ask for another one?"
Xu Zhou blinked. "...Is that a no?"
The boy stared at him. Then let out a long, suffering sigh—the kind that came from decades of disappointment with yourself condensed into a single breath.
> "You're not strong enough to touch Time yet."
The words dropped like iron into still water.
His tone wasn't scolding. It was… absolute. Not a warning, but a truth of the world.
> "Time isn't something you can control now. When the time is right… when the resonance is strong enough—someone will pull you over again."
His eyes darkened slightly.
> "But it won't be me."
The fragments floated forward—one by one, phasing into Xu Zhou's head like thoughts he hadn't had yet but somehow remembered. They didn't burn. They didn't shine.
They resonated.
With silence. With distance. With everything that wasn't there.
> "Good luck," the silver-haired boy said. "From here on out… it's up to you."
And with that—
The river shattered.
Like starlight dropped into silence, it shattered without sound...—fragments dissolving into nothingness, leaving only the echo of meaning behind.
And then—
Xu Zhou's eyes opened.
A soft breath left his lips, slow and steady, like the exhale of a mountain finally settling into place.
But it wasn't the calm that caught the crowd's attention.
It was his eyes.
No longer the black of his birth —his irises gleamed with a light silver hue, as if forged from liquid moonlight and threaded with shifting reflections of distant stars.
For a heartbeat, the entire plaza seemed to still.
Even the spiritual energy in the air seemed reluctant to move, as if unsure whether to bow or flee.
Someone in the crowd whispered:
> "His eyes… they changed."
Another voice, awed and trembling, followed:
> "Silver. Like the river…"
The world rushed in. Light. Noise. Breath.
He was still in the array. Still surrounded by people—yet it all felt distant, like looking through glass.
His heart raced with the echo of something he couldn't name. His hands trembled slightly—not from fear, but from the aftershock of having touched something too big.
The river's rhythm still lingered in his chest.
And in his mind—those shifting fragments. The impossible seed.
A path that was not a path.
> Space was silence. But silence could still speak… if you listened.
And now, he would.
Because even if no one else understood what had just begun—he did.
The Awakening was over.
But his journey…
Had only just begun.
---
The array's glow dimmed.
Xu Zhou's silver hair settled softly against his shoulders. The illusory river behind him began to fade, unraveling strand by strand like a dream receding at dawn. All that remained were faint echoes—light that didn't reflect, silence that pressed.
And his eyes.
Silver. Not bright, but clear—like still water under starlight. A hush fell over the plaza, as if the very world had paused to look back at him.
No one spoke.
Not even the elders.
Xu Weiren, the patriarch, sat with his hands clasped tightly on the stone rail before him. He said nothing. His eyes did not blink.
Ji Haoran exhaled—slow, long, like he had been holding his breath for a century.
Xu Tiancheng and Ji Ruyan, still frozen midway between action and restraint, lowered their hands. Neither of them moved to speak. But something burned in their gazes—not fear, not joy—resolve.
The silence broke at last, not with words, but with motion.
Elder Xu Jian slowly turned back toward the stone monument.
No stars glowed.
No reading had been given.
But how could it?
There was no precedent. No measure.
What they had witnessed… did not belong to the world of ordinary things.
The elder turned back, cleared his throat once—but found no words.
Then, from the side, Elder Xu Minghai stepped forward, his voice low and firm:
> "Let the record show: Xu Zhou has awakened the Element of Space. Star grade—unmeasurable. Elemental anomaly—unknown river manifestation. Additional note: silver hair and eye transformation during resonance."
He etched the words onto the jade tablet with trembling hands.
Every stroke carved not just information, but history.
A stir went through the crowd.
Not loud. Not frenzied.
Just a deep, rising awareness.
They had witnessed something that would be spoken of for generations.
Xu Zhou stepped back from the array. His feet touched the ground as if returning from somewhere far away.
He did not bow.
He did not speak.
But his silver eyes swept over the crowd—and for the first time in his short life, no one dared meet his gaze.
He turned and walked toward his parents.
Ji Ruyan moved first, wrapping him in a firm, silent embrace. Xu Tiancheng's hand rested on his son's back, steady and warm.
Neither said a word.
Because words would not hold what this moment carried.
Behind them, the monument stood still. The array powered down. And the elders exchanged glances that spoke of emergency meetings, urgent messages, and sleepless nights to come.
But for now, it was over.
The Awakening Ceremony had ended.
And though none could see it—
Far above the clouds, the stars had shifted.