The gray-white mist of the Wildlands was torn apart by a strange, uncanny presence, as if the very edge of the world had been forcibly ripped open. The four of them stepped to the far end of the Wildlands, where before their eyes appeared a vortex-like rift in the void. The swirling abyss resembled the eye of an endless chasm; within the black whirlpool shimmered crimson and ghostly blue lights, like inverted stars suspended in a bottomless void. The wind sounded deep and low, whispering to them, yet echoing like the distant roar of an ancient god, tearing at their very souls.
Xuan Ye clenched his rune array, brow furrowed. "This place… it's unlike North Mountain or the Eastern Sea. The aura in the Wildlands' depths feels as if it's consuming existence itself."
Ye Chenyu stepped toward the vortex. Each footfall felt as if he were stepping on invisible void; the ground beneath them moved with the wind, seemingly drawing away their warmth and strength. The gray-white mist churned violently. He even heard his own breathing torn into fragments, a fear unlike any he had ever known flooding his heart—this was not an opponent to be fought, but the gaze of the world's primordial will.
Chaos. Its form was blurred, yet impossible to look upon directly. Four wings, six legs, a faceless shape; each appendage writhed like living black streams of light, twisting air and bending light, even slowing the flow of time around them. Every subtle motion resonated like a deep, somber bell in Ye Chenyu's mind. He could almost see the Wildlands torn asunder, bones and withered trees shattering into fragments, the air itself flowing like liquid into the rift.
Xing Lan crouched low, sensing the ripples within the void. Her eyes glimmered with blue light. "It… it's not a living being, but a primal existence. Every breath it takes tests whether you truly belong to reality."
Suddenly, fragmented echoes erupted deep within Ye Chenyu's mind—blurred images of his childhood, familiar symbols, and erased shards of memory. He saw himself standing in a pitch-black room, walls etched with indecipherable runes, shapes he had never seen yet somehow instinctively recognized. He realized that the Wildlands' depths were not merely a spatial terminus—they mirrored bloodlines and destiny, and perhaps his own origins were closely tied to the fabric of the Spirit Realm itself.
Chaos' appendages silently stretched forth, piercing the gray mist, as if brushing against their consciousness. Each sweep made Ye Chenyu feel as if he were being erased and simultaneously reshaped. He wanted to cry out, but sound seemed swallowed by the air, leaving only the vision of himself reflected back in his mind. Liyue Ying stood beside him, her gaze cold and unwavering. She placed a hand on Ye Chenyu's shoulder; runes along her fingertips flickered, a faint shield-like light blocking the encroachment of Chaos.
Xuan Ye's rune formations on the ground glimmered with ghostly blue lines, each quivering as though resisting the void's fluctuations. Countless illusions were suppressed, yet some still breached the defenses—Ye Chenyu saw himself falling and rising countless times within the Wildlands, consciousness intertwined with visions, nearly unable to discern reality.
Xing Lan's low voice broke through: "Do not look upon its entirety—simply feel its existence." Following her gaze, Ye Chenyu caught only the outlines of the appendages, the swirling currents of the vortex, and fragments of the Wildlands being drawn into the void. He understood that Chaos was not merely a force but a regulation, a symbol of primordial order and the void itself.
At the edge of the vortex, a ripping pain tore at his chest. He faintly saw shards of his childhood memories torn as if by lightning: parents, home, runes, the Wildlands… all being reconstructed by an ancient power, as though telling him—his existence from the very beginning had been woven into the cycle of the Spirit Realm.
Chaos' appendages surged violently, the void whirlpool howling as if tearing apart the entire Wildlands. Gray-white mist roiled, bones shattered, and blood-red vapors spread. Ye Chenyu nearly succumbed to despair, yet Liyue Ying's bloodline resonance, Xuan Ye's rune formations, and Xing Lan's ancient blood power converged into a faint shield, stabilizing them.
Chaos had not fully revealed itself, yet it gazed down upon the four with faceless eyes, as if the entire Wildlands were its own veins. Its very existence mocked life, memory, time, and order, making one question whether they even belonged to reality. Ye Chenyu realized that every step into the Wildlands was a challenge to existence itself.
He raised his hand, looking into the vortex's depths. Fear, obsession, and resolve intertwined in his eyes. He understood that he must record all of this—no matter the outcome, the secrets of the Spirit Realm must not be forgotten. He whispered softly, "I… will document all of this."
The Wildlands' wind responded lowly, as if echoing or even mocking him. The chaotic void still writhed in the vortex, the four figures trembling slightly amidst the gray-white mist. Deep within the Wildlands, the ultimate force slowly awakened, heralding the coming of the boundless, annihilating Yellow Wilds—the true trial was about to begin.