The first thing Lu Mao remembered was warmth — his mother's arms and the scent of wild herbs. Her voice would hum like wind in the trees, carrying tales of gods and fallen stars.
"You carry a spark of that light, my son," she used to whisper. "A spark even the heavens might one day fear."
He never knew what she meant. Back then, his world was small — fireflies dancing over quiet waters, spirit deer grazing by their hut, and his mother's laughter blending with the sound of the river.
Then, one morning, the laughter stopped.
A tremor rolled through the ground. Birds took flight in a storm of wings. The air thickened heavy with killing intent. Lu Mao froze, clutching his mother's robe as she stepped outside. The horizon burned gold with light — not sunlight, but blades and armor gleaming through the forest.
"By decree of Emperor Lu Shen, seize the woman and the boy!" a voice thundered.
His mother's qi flared instantly, the gentle aura around her twisting into something fierce and radiant. "Mao'er, hold tight," she whispered, voice shaking, "and close your eyes."
Then she ran.
Branches whipped past, cutting her skin, leaves brushed across Lu Mao's face as he bounced against her back. He could hear her heart hammering — thud, thud, thud — faster than his own. Roots cracked under her feet as she leapt through the dense jungle, each step shattering bark and stone.
Behind them, roars echoed. Energy blasts tore through trees. The scent of burning wood and blood filled the air.
"Don't look back," she whispered through ragged breaths, though Lu Mao hadn't even dared to open his eyes.
He could feel her trembling. Her breath came in short gasps, sometimes stopping entirely before she forced herself onward again. He didn't understand — only that something vast and cruel was chasing them, and his mother was scared.
The jungle ended suddenly.
Before them spread a vast, glowing lake that seemed to defy heaven itself — its waters flowing downward, cascading endlessly into a bottomless abyss. The Divine Waterfall. Its mist shimmered like starlight, each droplet carrying the faint hum of celestial energy.
"Mother?" Lu Mao whispered. "Where are we—?"
A roar drowned his voice. A streak of golden light tore through the sky and struck her back. She stumbled, the force driving blood from her mouth.
Her knees bent. Her grip around Lu Mao tightened painfully.
"Mao'er," she gasped, blood dripping down her chin. "No matter what happens… you must live."
Energy flared again behind them — a killing strike that split the ground. Without hesitation, she turned, gathered what little qi she had left, and leapt straight into the falling light of the abyss.
The world vanished.
Wind screamed. Water roared. Lu Mao felt the crushing weight of the current tear at them, the cold biting through his small body as his mother's warmth began to fade. Her arms trembled but never loosened.
"My son…" her voice was faint, nearly lost to the thunder. "Even if I die… I will protect you…"
And then — silence.
The fall seemed endless, through mists and shattered rocks, through realms unseen. Her pulse slowed. Her breath stopped.
When the torrent finally spat them out into the lowest realm — a land of broken mountains and gray skies — her body was limp.
Lu Mao's tiny hands clutched her robes. "Mother?" he whispered. She didn't move. Her hair floated around her face like dark silk, eyes half-closed, lips still curved in the faintest smile.
He tried to shake her awake, but she was gone.
Tears blurred the world. The river's current pulled her away no matter how hard he reached. Somewhere in the chaos, a small wooden vessel rolled free from her spatial ring, glowing faintly with protective qi.
He crawled inside, clutching a lock of her hair against his chest. The vessel sealed, spinning in the current as darkness swallowed him.
The river carried him through shattered canyons and valleys until it reached a place where the heavens no longer looked.
There, among the jagged rocks, crouched a man — ragged, sharp-eyed, a thief known to few and trusted by none. His satchels overflowed with stolen gold, yet his gaze was restless, hunted.
When he saw the vessel drifting toward him, he frowned.
Inside, a child — pale, bloodstained, unconscious — glowed faintly beneath the moonlight.
Jin Wu hesitated. His hand hovered between the boy and his treasure.
He cursed under his breath. "Damn it… not today."
The current tugged at his sacks of gold. With a snarl, he kicked them into the river and pulled the vessel to shore.
That night, the thief gained a son.
And the heavens lost one of their own.
Beneath the fractured sky of the lowest realm, the boy stirred. A faint pulse of light shimmered beneath his skin — black and gold, like a sleeping star.
The God Devouring Vein had awakened.
And thus began the rise of the bastard son of heaven.