The night was thick with silence, an oppressive quiet that seemed to smother even the faintest breath. Thick clouds veiled the sky above the Cloud Blade Sect's outer arena ruins, hiding the moon and stars, leaving only shadows to dance on the broken stones and shattered pillars. The scent of dust and ancient earth hung heavy, whispering forgotten tales of a once-mighty sect now fallen into obscurity.
In the center of this desolation knelt a lone figure, slender and frail, wrapped in tattered robes that fluttered weakly in the cold breeze. His name was Yao Yi, a name once scorned and ridiculed within the sect, now trembling under the weight of an impossible fate.
For sixteen long years, Yao Yi bore the cruel label of "wasted soul." Born with a sealed spirit root, he could not sense the vital qi that gave cultivators their strength. Unable to walk the path of cultivation, he was scorned, mocked, and cast aside as the sect's greatest failure.
Tonight, however, the oppressive silence broke.
A faint emerald glow stirred beneath Yao Yi's skin, pulsing like veins of jade awakening from a long sleep. His body trembled violently, bones aching and cracking as if breaking free from a prison of years. Dust and debris lifted from the cracked stone floor, swirling around him as if caught in a gentle storm.
Around the arena, dozens of disciples watched in stunned silence, whispers of disbelief rippling through the crowd.
"He was supposed to be spiritless," a young voice whispered, trembling. "That's Yao Yi... the one with the sealed root. How can this be real?"
Before anyone could answer, a sudden burst of radiant light exploded from Yao Yi's chest. The ground shook violently beneath him, cracks spiderwebbing outwards. The glowing green energy enveloped him, casting eerie shadows on the broken pillars.
From the center of the light, a circular object slowly emerged, floating just above his chest. It was a mirror, ancient and perfectly smooth, etched with nine faint symbols representing the celestial suns of legend. But at its center burned a tenth sigil, glowing with a forbidden light, pulsing as though alive.
Gasps echoed through the crowd. An elder stepped forward, voice trembling with awe. "That mirror... it was lost during the Era of Collapse. No one believed it still existed."
A cold, ancient voice whispered into Yao Yi's mind: "You bear the lost sun. You are the Tenth."
Confusion and awe swirled in Yao Yi's mind. How could a boy like him—once the laughingstock of the sect—carry such a burden? His breathing slowed, heart pounding with a storm of fear and hope. The burning pain in his chest softened, replaced by a warming surge flowing through his veins.
The seal imprisoning his spirit core shattered silently, releasing a flood of spiritual energy that surged through every fiber of his being. For the first time, Yao Yi could feel the pulse of the earth beneath him, the breath of the stars above, the flow of qi in the air—and the wrathful gaze of heaven itself.
The gathered disciples and elders fell silent, their faces a mix of fear, awe, and uncertainty. The eldest among them spoke gravely, "This is no accident. The prophecy of the lost sun... it may be true."
A young disciple, voice filled with disbelief, shouted, "If he is truly the Tenth Sun, what then of the nine suns we know?"
The elder's eyes hardened. "That is the question we must answer. But one truth stands—this moment marks the dawn of a new era."
Yao Yi rose slowly, his eyes burning bright with newfound determination. "I will no longer be a shadow in this world," he declared. "From this day forth, I will carve my own path—no matter the cost."
The ancient mirror flared once more, bathing the arena in blinding emerald light, before settling into a soft, steady glow.
The heavens roared their fury.