The transfer was neither announced nor ceremonial. There were no farewells, no public explanations, no visible escort. Lin Ye was simply awakened before dawn and led to a sealed teleportation platform deep within the imperial camp. There, without witnesses or unnecessary words, Zhao Wen handed him a single object: a black plaque without inscriptions.
"This is not an order," he said. "It is proof that, for now, you exist to the Empire."
Lin Ye accepted it without asking questions.
The formation activated in silence. There was no blinding light, no sensation of space being torn apart like with common portals. The world simply blurred, as if someone had smeared a wet hand across a still-fresh painting. For an impossible instant, Lin Ye felt as though he were falling inward into himself—and then… nothing.
When he felt solid ground beneath his feet again, the air was different.
Heavier.
Older.
He opened his eyes and found himself on a vast plain covered in dark grass that swayed slowly despite the absence of wind. The sky was muted, as if sunlight reached the land only after passing through invisible layers. In the distance rose distorted mountains whose silhouettes seemed to shift slightly whenever they were not observed directly.
"So this is the Continent of Khaelor…" he murmured.
He had heard the name only in whispers, never in formal instruction. A marginal continent, excluded from the main routes, famous for one thing alone: here, the laws of the world were unstable. Not by accident, but by design. In ancient times it had served as a testing ground for cultivators of past eras—a place where the creation of Personal Domains had been forcibly attempted… with disastrous results.
The fragmented clock reacted immediately.
Not with pain.
With a sense of incomplete homecoming.
Lin Ye took a few steps forward—and stopped abruptly. Less than twenty meters ahead, a figure sat atop a low rock. It was an old man with long, disheveled dark-red hair, his skin marked by cracks that glowed faintly like dying embers. He did not emit an oppressive aura, yet reality around him bent ever so slightly, as if avoiding direct contact.
"You're late," the old man said without looking at him.
Lin Ye felt no surprise. Only quiet confirmation.
"I didn't know I had an appointment."
The old man laughed, a rough, scraping sound.
"No one who comes here knows that. But everyone arrives when they must."
He rose slowly and turned around. His eyes were not entirely human; within them burned a deep, ancient fire that scorched not matter, but causality itself.
"They call me Kael-Ur, though that was not my first name," he continued. "I was once the bearer of a Primordial Bloodline. I failed to form my Domain. And I survived."
Lin Ye frowned.
"And now?"
"Now I am a remnant," Kael-Ur replied with a crooked smile. "A living warning of what happens when you force the world before you're ready."
The old man stepped closer, stopping just beyond Lin Ye's reach.
"You smell of broken time."
The fragmented clock vibrated sharply.
"I'm not the only one," Lin Ye said cautiously.
"No," Kael-Ur nodded. "But you are different. Your anchor is not a bloodline… it is a function."
The old man raised a hand, and without touching him, caused the air between them to distort. For an instant, Lin Ye saw blurred versions of himself overlapping—one standing, one falling, one nonexistent.
"That," Kael-Ur said, "is what you've lost. Possibilities. Each time you steal an instant, the world charges you in futures."
Lin Ye clenched his teeth.
"Then why send me here?"
"Because here," Kael-Ur answered, "the world is accustomed to bleeding."
He turned and gestured toward the horizon.
"In Khaelor, there exist Ancient Bloodlines—remnants of pacts between mortals and concepts. Fire that does not burn. Thunder that does not destroy. Space that does not separate. Most have degenerated. A few… still remember what they once were."
Lin Ye understood immediately.
"You want me to awaken one."
"No," Kael-Ur corrected. "I want you to endure one."
The old man began to walk, and Lin Ye followed without questioning. As they advanced, the landscape subtly changed. Dark grass gave way to cracked earth, then to regions where gravity itself seemed to fluctuate slightly. In the distance came muffled roars—not of common beasts, but of something deeper, more conceptual.
"Here," Kael-Ur said, stopping before a narrow valley. "This is a Lineage Nest."
The air within the valley burned with invisible heat. It was not physical fire, but a pressure that made the blood itself throb.
"Bloodline of the Immobile Flame," he explained. "One of the oldest. It won't give you fire or explosions. It will grant resistance to causal collapse."
Lin Ye felt the fragmented clock react cautiously.
"And the price?"
Kael-Ur met his gaze.
"If you are incompatible, your blood will boil until it becomes history."
No dramatics.
No exaggeration.
Lin Ye stepped forward.
"I didn't come this far to turn back."
Kael-Ur nodded slowly.
"Good. Then listen carefully. Don't try to absorb it. Don't try to dominate it. Simply allow it to deny you."
Lin Ye entered the valley.
The world closed in around him.
Conceptual heat surged through his body like a silent tide. It did not burn his skin, but attacked something deeper—the coherence of his existence. The fragmented clock appeared instantly, vibrating violently as it tried to stabilize him.
"No," Lin Ye whispered. "Not this time."
He forced the clock not to activate.
The pain was immediate.
His blood felt thick, heavy, as if each heartbeat dragged centuries of memory behind it. He saw images that were not his own: cities burning without flames, suns collapsing in silence, wills consumed by their own ambition.
He fell to his knees.
The valley roared.
Kael-Ur watched from outside, without intervening.
"Endure," he murmured. "Or die."
Lin Ye clenched his teeth, and amid the chaos, he did something different. Instead of resisting the pressure, he yielded. He allowed the conceptual fire to pass through him—but without claiming it. Without stealing an instant. Without breaking the flow.
For one eternal second, nothing happened.
Then the fire withdrew.
Lin Ye collapsed onto his side, gasping, drenched in cold sweat. His body trembled, but it remained intact.
The fragmented clock appeared slowly. One of its gears—the one that had lost a fragment—emitted a faint pulse… and then stabilized slightly.
It did not repair itself.
But it stopped deteriorating.
Kael-Ur approached.
"Interesting," he said softly. "You did not awaken the bloodline."
"I know," Lin Ye replied weakly.
"But now," the old man continued, "it no longer rejects you. That is enough for now."
Lin Ye closed his eyes.
Deep within his consciousness, something new had appeared. Not fire. Not power. But a passive resistance to collapse when time tightened. He could not use it. He could not activate it.
But it was there.
"First foundation," Kael-Ur murmured. "Very slow. Very dangerous."
He looked up at Khaelor's muted sky.
"And there are still two more."
Lin Ye opened his eyes.
"Thunder… and space?"
Kael-Ur smiled for the first time.
"I see you're beginning to understand."
Far away, at a point the Empire could not directly observe, a sealed fragment of the Eye of the Throne reacted faintly.
The bearer had taken a real step.
Small.
Costly.
Irreversible.