The cave still shimmered with pale light. Streams of white energy coiled around Zeravon's body, slipping through his skin as if the light itself had chosen him. He remained unconscious—yet somewhere within, his world had awakened.
A faint glow flickered inside his inner world. Slowly, his inner self opened its eyes—and froze.
The once-silent void within him had transformed into a vast, endless expanse. Stars hung in every direction, each one burning with a color and pulse of its own—blue, crimson, silver—each radiating secrets that belonged to different realms.
The air carried a divine calm, laced with a fragrance like dawn after rain. The barren land had become a living paradise—lush forests, blooming flowers, rivers of light winding between them. But at the very center stood a door.
It was old—ancient beyond time. Red-silver runes shimmered across its surface, alive with a quiet aura that bathed the inner world in a sacred glow.
Zeravon stepped closer, every heartbeat echoing in the silence. When his hand neared the door, his vision blurred—then shattered into light.
He saw a girl.
She sat before a zither, fingers moving across its strings with divine grace. A young cultivator stood at a distance, listening. No wind stirred, no sound existed but her music—a melody that slipped past the mind and sank into the soul.
Zeravon felt a sharp tug in his chest.
He had seen this before. He knew this sound.
Memories stirred beneath the surface, clawing to rise—then the vision dissolved like mist. The door stood before him once more, waiting.
He reached for it. His hand touched the cold surface—nothing happened. He pressed harder, and the still air trembled. Then, from nowhere, a chill swept through the world, and a low voice whispered:
> "Zeravon… you cannot open this door yet. Time must guide you. When the seal breaks, you will discover something about yourself—something that will decide your future."
Zeravon spun around, but no one stood there. Only a faint vibration lingered in the air.
> "You cannot see me,"
the voice continued, calm yet vast,
"but know this—I am not your enemy. I am you… and you are me. You may not understand now, but one day, you will."
The words sank into him like ripples across still water. His breath quickened; confusion warred with unease.
> "Now listen carefully…"
The voice deepened, and suddenly visions flared—like shards of a shattered mirror. He saw the competition, Wuji XieJun, the sealed box, the glowing token. Memories unfolded before his eyes as though someone else had lived them.
> "But I never did any of that," Zeravon said, eyes wide. "This is my body—but I never did those things!"
The voice didn't laugh. It spoke with serene certainty:
> "No… you didn't. I did. I used your body when you could not."
Zeravon's heart pounded. His mind reeled.
> "Remember this,"
the tone sharpened like steel wrapped in silk,
"what you've seen must remain secret. No matter the cost. If anyone learns the truth, your future will crumble—and what is lost can never be mended."
A pause. Then softly:
> "And you must grow stronger, quickly. What approaches cannot be faced by the man you are now. When you awaken, I will be gone. After that, everything rests on you."
The echo faded, leaving only silence—and then, Zeravon's consciousness snapped back.
He opened his eyes inside the cave, gasping for breath. The world felt real again, yet charged with unseen power.
> "It wasn't a dream…" he murmured. "That voice—was real."
He looked down. Ancient runes glowed faintly across his skin, white and intricate, alive with sacred light. Within seconds, they dissolved into his flesh, vanishing completely.
Zeravon steadied himself, crossing his legs into a meditative stance. He reached inward—toward his core, which pulsed at the peak of the Sacred Veins Realm. He pushed.
Pressure surged. Bones cracked—
crack… crack… crack.
Blood trickled from his lips, yet he did not stop. Each breath stoked the inner flame until it blazed beyond pain.
Then—
BOOM.
The core shattered, reforming anew—balanced, radiant, alive. White energy erupted from his body, flooding the entire cave. The light crashed against the cave's seal but could not escape; the barrier held firm.
When the brilliance subsided, Zeravon's hair had grown long, his features sharpened, his aura calm yet fierce. In his eyes burned a tranquil flame.
> "Mystic Core Formation… Mid Stage."
He donned a clean white robe, checked his storage ring, and walked toward the cave's exit.
At the entrance, a faint mark shimmered in the air—the same seal placed upon him by the mysterious being. Zeravon reached out and felt its pulse.
> "Even if I unleash all my strength… I can't scratch it."
A shadow crossed his expression. Then he exhaled slowly.
> "It must be him—the one behind all this."
Without another word, he stepped into the night.
The forest welcomed him with a whisper. Cool air brushed his skin; the moon hung pale above endless trees. The night was long, and within Zeravon, a new era had begun.
He walked in silence, the broken sword still hanging from his shoulder—the same one that had shaken the arena. After a while, he stopped beneath an old tree and gazed at the weapon. Dried blood still stained its blade.
> "I won't need you anymore," he said quietly.
He lifted the sword high and hurled it deep into the forest. It sliced through the air, struck a boulder, and half-buried itself in the ground. A faint spark of white light flared—and died.
Zeravon turned away without looking back, his steps steady and calm.
When the forest stilled again, a soft silver radiance glimmered where the sword had fallen. From between the trees, a girl emerged.
Her steps were light, each movement carrying an almost musical rhythm. Her hair shimmered with the darkness of night, and her eyes glowed like calm starlight.
She knelt, touched the sword. The blade trembled faintly, a thin line of blue flame flickering along its edge before fading.
The girl smiled softly.
> "So this is it… Zeravon."
She slipped the blade into her robe and began walking in the same direction he had gone.
---
The forest path opened to a river—a narrow ribbon of light winding through the trees. From afar, Zeravon saw the water, clear and bright, a faint blue luminescence drifting beneath its surface.
He stopped. The only sound was the hush of flowing water.
When he looked into the river, his reflection stared back—but something was off. His face was calm, yet in his eyes, two opposing energies swirled and danced.
> "Something here feels… different."
He crouched by the bank, closed his eyes, and let his consciousness slip into the river. His body remained still above, but his spirit sank beneath the current.
Below the surface, the world was serene—fish, stones, corals. Yet the water vibrated with strange energy, as if time itself rippled in slow motion. Zeravon reached out; his soul-hand brushed the current, and the river answered with a gentle wave of light.
Then he saw it—
Suspended in the water's heart floated a golden pill, shrouded in mist. Around it, the flow of time seemed frozen.
Zeravon drifted closer. The pill's energy was neither warm nor cold—an impossible equilibrium, a paradox of all elements entwined.
When he extended his hand, a shockwave thundered through the depths. Images flashed before his mind—
a burning temple, an ancient battlefield, a man gripping this very pill and screaming:
> "Never again! This must never happen again!"
Zeravon gasped. Something deep within him stirred awake. The pill pulsed gently, almost calling to him.
Then a voice echoed through the water—faint, ancient, mournful:
> "This is the Time-Sealed Pill. Those who touched it… changed their futures forever."
Zeravon closed his eyes.
> "Then let it change," he whispered. "I carve my own path."
Light burst from his soul and wrapped around the pill. The entire river blazed white—and the pill dissolved, merging into him.
He opened his eyes back on the riverbank, drenched in moonlight. His hand glowed with a golden mark—the exact hue of the vanished pill.
> "What was that… and why does this power feel alive inside me?"
He inhaled deeply, steadied his pulse, and continued walking downstream. The forest breathed around him, alive with unseen whispers.
Far behind him, among the trees, the same girl followed silently. The sword gleamed faintly at her side.
Her voice, soft as the wind, broke the quiet:
> "No matter the cost… I must claim that pill."
Zeravon sensed movement behind him but didn't turn. His focus was inward—on the strange energy pulsing through his veins, on the new resonance linking him to something far beyond comprehension.
A new journey had begun—
one not just of strength and cultivation, but of fate itself.
The forest winds stirred, carrying his name like a prophecy yet to unfold.
> And in that whisper, destiny took its first breath.
To Be Continued...
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