The next day dawned heavy and gray.
The sky hung low, swollen with the promise of rain, and the streets of Qingyang Town murmured with unease. Merchants whispered behind their stalls, eyes darting toward the distant hills where thunder rolled with unnatural rhythm.
The Lei Clan had arrived.
At the town's northern gate, banners snapped in the wind — black cloth embroidered with silver lightning bolts. Beneath them rode Lei Li, second heir of the Lei Clan, armored in obsidian leather, his gaze sharp and arrogant.
He reined in his horse, scanning the mist-wrapped ridge ahead.
"The pulse came from here," he said, his tone lazy but lethal. "Inside Lin territory. Convenient, isn't it?"
The man beside him — his uncle, Lei Zhen — smirked.
"The Lin Clan claims innocence, as always. But something stirred the Yuan flow. If they've found a relic, we'll take it."
Lei Li dismounted, boots sinking slightly into the damp soil. He raised his hand, and a faint spark of electricity danced between his fingers.
"Let's make them talk."
Back at the Lin estate, Lin Zhentian was already aware of their approach.
The patriarch stood on the balcony of the ancestral hall, robes billowing as wind howled through the courtyard. Beside him, Lin Xiao waited, fists clenched.
"The Lei Clan comes armed," Zhentian said quietly. "This is no courtesy visit."
Lin Xiao's jaw tightened.
"They're using this as an excuse to humiliate us. If they think my son—"
"Control yourself," the old man snapped, turning sharply. "If your son truly triggered that pulse, the Lei Clan's interest will only grow. We must protect him — but without confirming their suspicion."
A knock interrupted them.
A guard entered, breathless.
"Patriarch! Scouts report Lei troops crossing the east ridge. They'll reach the estate within the hour."
Zhentian exhaled slowly.
"Then we meet them at the gate. Prepare the younger disciples. We'll show them that the Lin Clan is not yet fading."
In a smaller courtyard at the edge of the manor, Lin Dong listened from the shadows, hidden behind a wooden lattice. His father's voice carried through the hall — words he wasn't meant to hear.
He felt guilt twist in his chest.
"Because of me…" he murmured. "They'll go to war because of me."
The rune on his palm throbbed again — a heartbeat out of sync with his own. It pulsed once, twice, then steadied, as if it were listening.
"You want me to use you again," he whispered. "But if I do, they'll see."
The rune glowed faintly in response.
Outside, the sky darkened. Thunder boomed, close this time.
The Lei Clan reached the main gate first — a formation of riders lined in perfect order. Sparks snapped in the air around them, the faint smell of ozone cutting through the damp wind.
Lin Zhentian stepped forward, flanked by Lin Xiao and several elders.
"Patriarch Lei," Zhentian called, his voice calm but resonant. "To what do we owe the honor?"
Lei Zhen dismounted with a grin that didn't reach his eyes.
"We felt a Yuan disturbance near your lands. Thought we'd help the old Lin Clan investigate. Unless, of course, you're hiding something."
Zhentian's eyes narrowed.
"We hide nothing. Whatever the heavens stirred, it is not yours to claim."
"Is that so?" Lei Li stepped forward, lightning flickering faintly in his palm. "Then you won't mind if we look for ourselves."
Lin Xiao's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"You will not cross that line."
The younger Lei warriors shifted, hands on hilts.
For a moment, the air itself seemed to hold its breath.
Then thunder cracked overhead — and lightning struck a nearby tree, splitting it down the middle. Sparks flew, hissing through the rain.
Everyone froze.
Because at that exact moment, Lin Dong's rune ignited again in the distance — a faint golden flare visible even through the storm clouds.
Lei Li turned sharply, eyes widening.
"There! That's the source!"
Before anyone could react, he leapt onto his horse and spurred forward.
Lin Dong stood alone at the far end of the courtyard, the light from his hand casting long, trembling shadows.
The two locked eyes through the rain — one born of privilege, one forged in pain — and though no words were spoken, something ancient stirred between them.
The first storm of Qingyang had begun.