Rain wept over Azure Tempest City.
Each drop carried the scent of cold metal and forgotten prayers, drumming softly upon rooftops, masks, and trembling lanterns. The streets below shimmered with reflections of gold and shadow — a city alive, yet afraid to breathe too loud beneath the heavens' gray eye.
Upon the tallest spire, a lone figure stood against the storm.
His cloak rippled like smoke, his presence devoured the light. Tiān Lán — once a god who ruled frost and thunder — now walked in mortal skin.
His gaze, sharp as the edge of lightning, swept across the city's pulse. Through rain and mist, he saw not stone or people, but qi currents, swirling and clashing beneath the mortal world's illusion.
Rival sects, spies, mercenaries, greedy nobles…
All their movements danced like insects in his perception.
> "A city that thrives on secrets and lies," he murmured, his voice quiet as falling rain.
"Perfect hunting ground."
The storm answered with a flicker of blue-white light across the clouds.
---
A ripple.
Subtle, but to Tiān Lán, it was as loud as thunder.
Below, through the silver haze of drizzle, a cloaked figure ran through the market square — clutching a wooden chest close to their heart. Their steps were quick, deliberate… yet the rhythm of fear betrayed them. Their qi was trembling. Hunted.
Tiān Lán's expression did not change, but the air around him shifted.
Invisible threads shimmered faintly from his fingertips — Guardian Threads, his divine art reborn in this frail world. They spread like threads of destiny, unseen, unheard, yet absolute.
In a blink, one thread coiled around the chest, freezing it midair.
The figure stumbled, gasping, searching the rain.
> "Who sent you?"
Tiān Lán's voice came not from direction, but from everywhere — the sky, the street, the very rain around them.
The stranger's breath hitched. "I… cannot say… please…"
Tiān Lán appeared before them like the reflection of lightning on wet glass — silent, lethal, magnificent. His eyes glowed faintly with cold azure qi, and the rain curved around his body, unwilling to touch him.
> "You will," he said softly.
"I do not ask twice."
The figure broke. "Crimson Lotus! They— they know you've returned! They—"
The name froze the air.
Even the rain hesitated.
Crimson Lotus.
The same sect that had betrayed the heavens, slain the Frost God, shattered his divine soul.
And now they whispered his mortal name again.
Tiān Lán's eyes darkened, his power bleeding through restraint. The world dimmed for an instant.
He stepped back, releasing the chest. "Go," he said simply. "Run to them. Tell them the storm has come home."
The figure fled into the night, swallowed by rain and terror.
Above, thunder rolled like an ancient heartbeat.
And Tiān Lán smiled — a quiet, dangerous smile.
> "Let the fear spread first."
---
Night deepened.
The city's lamps flickered like dying stars, and the rain softened to a whisper. Tiān Lán leapt from rooftop to rooftop, his shadow a blur, his presence masked by the storm's rhythm.
Behind him, spirit beasts began to awaken —
A dragon of cloud and frost, coiling above the rooftops.
A fox of embered light, flicking its tails, leaving sparks on the wind.
They were not mere companions, but fragments of his divine soul — echoes of what he once was.
He descended into an alley.
The stench of iron and fear filled the air.
A group of Crimson Lotus enforcers surrounded a merchant, their red tattoos pulsing faintly with corrupted qi. One raised a dagger, and for a moment, lightning reflected on its blade.
> "Perfect," Tiān Lán whispered.
He vanished.
The next instant —
Threads lashed out like silver lightning.
One thug's weapon was yanked from his grip.
Another froze mid-step, eyes wide with terror.
Before the third could even scream, Tiān Lán's presence flooded the alley — cold, suffocating, absolute.
Rain hissed against the sudden frost.
> "You draw blades in my city," he said quietly, "and expect mercy?"
The leader tried to speak — but his voice turned to mist as qi constricted his throat.
Tiān Lán moved once. When he stopped, all three lay unconscious, their bodies unmarked — but their souls trembling from the echo of divine power.
He turned to the merchant, who fell to his knees.
> "Tell them what you saw," Tiān Lán said.
"Tell them the Phantom of the Storm walks again."
He vanished into the rain, leaving only frost where his boots had touched the ground.
---
But someone had been watching.
From across the rooftops, a cloaked cultivator had tracked every movement, every thread, every flicker of qi.
Their presence was faint but disciplined, like a blade half-sheathed.
> "Your precision is terrifying," a voice said at last — melodic, female, echoing slightly through the drizzle.
"You kill like thunder: swift, unseen, inevitable."
Tiān Lán did not turn. "And you watch like shadow. Why?"
The figure stepped into faint light. A woman — her hair dark as stormwater, eyes glowing faintly silver beneath her hood.
> "Call me Xue Lan," she said. "I've followed Crimson Lotus for months. I know their roots. I know their rot."
Tiān Lán's expression did not shift, but his threads stirred faintly — testing her aura. It was strange: soft, fluctuating, yet undeniably powerful.
> "Then speak," he said.
"But know this — if you lie, not even rain will remember you."
Xue Lan smiled faintly. "Then you and I will get along well."
Their gazes met — cold lightning and quiet moonlight.
Two forces circling, testing, recognizing. Not allies yet, but not strangers either.
---
They stood at the city's edge, gazing beyond the rain into the vast, dark horizon.
Mountains loomed like slumbering titans. Rivers glowed with faint qi light. Distant sects pulsed with hidden power, each a world of ambition and deceit.
Xue Lan spoke softly.
> "Every hidden faction. Every wandering cultivator. The continent stirs again. They all heard the same rumor — that the frost god's soul has returned."
Tiān Lán's voice was barely audible, yet it rolled like distant thunder.
> "Then let them tremble. Let them prepare. I will reclaim what was stolen — my divinity, my soul, and my vengeance."
Xue Lan looked at him — truly looked — and for a heartbeat, she saw it.
The storm that once split heavens.
The man who had watched gods fall.
The loneliness that only immortals could know.
> "Vengeance consumes," she whispered. "But perhaps… it also remembers."
Tiān Lán turned away, the faintest glint of emotion flickering in his eyes.
> "Then let it remember me."
---
The storm eased.
Moonlight broke through the clouds, silver and pale, touching the rooftops where Tiān Lán stood once more.
His spirit beasts coiled around him, silent and reverent.
His Guardian Threads shimmered faintly, forming patterns of destiny in the air.
Below, Azure Tempest City slept — but uneasily.
Rumors of frost and lightning spread through the taverns, the guild halls, the underworld.
The Phantom of the Storm had returned.
Tiān Lán raised his gaze to the endless dark sky.
> "Tomorrow begins the hunt," he murmured.
"Every shadow, every whisper… will answer to me."
Lightning flared in the distance —
and for a brief moment, his reflection appeared in the storm:
a figure draped in frostlight, standing between heaven and earth, no longer mortal, not yet divine.
Tiān Lán, the god who fell, now walked once more.
And all of Wújí Tiānyuán would soon remember why even the heavens once feared his name.