The wind that swept across Dawn Village that night carried whispers of sorrow and storm. The full moon, veiled by drifting clouds, cast an ashen glow over the thatched rooftops. Dogs barked, children whimpered in their sleep, and deep in the far corner of the village, a lone hut stood surrounded by silence.
Inside, a boy sat cross-legged on a mat of old straw, his thin frame trembling with exhaustion.
His name was Lian Fei.
Beads of sweat rolled down his face as he pressed his palms together, eyes shut tight, forcing the thin traces of energy in his body to circulate.
A faint glimmer of spiritual light flickered around him—weak, unstable, and pitifully dim.
Then, as always, it vanished.
The light faded.The stillness returned.And Lian Fei coughed blood.
"Again…" he whispered hoarsely, "it failed again."
The coppery taste filled his mouth. His breathing grew shallow. Still, he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.
For seven years, he had watched the other children of Dawn Village join the outer sects of cultivators, return in robes of glory, their spiritual roots blazing like miniature suns. They soared through the skies on swords, commanded the elements, and looked down upon those who could not awaken.
And he—he remained the one without light.
In this world of cultivation, a man without a spirit root was no different from a cripple.Without one, there was no path forward. No cultivation. No strength. No future.
And in the eyes of others, no worth.
Outside, distant laughter echoed from the village square. The disciples from the Azure Flame Sect were holding a recruitment trial that night. Lian Fei had gone once, years ago. He still remembered the humiliation—the looks of pity, the whispers of contempt.
"No spirit root?""Trash like that shouldn't even dream of cultivation.""He should just till the fields like his father did."
His father.Lian Jian—the village blacksmith, once proud, once strong, until a failed forging burned him alive. His mother followed soon after, her spirit crushed by grief.All that remained of them now was this hut, and the rusted hammer leaning against the wall.
Lian Fei clenched his fists until his nails drew blood.
"If Heaven denies me a spirit root," he muttered through gritted teeth, "then I'll steal one from the stars themselves."
He closed his eyes again and forced his mind to calm. He began to chant the Basic Qi Condensation Formula, the only manual he could find, salvaged from an old, discarded scroll in the village library. Its pages were torn, ink faded, but it was his only hope.
He guided his breath slowly—Inhale. Circulate. Merge.Exhale. Refine. Stabilize.
But again, his meridians burned in protest. The spiritual energy he tried to absorb dissolved into nothingness, slipping away like water through clenched fingers.
Pain shot through his chest. He fell to the floor, gasping.
It was useless.
He lay there for a long moment, staring at the cracked ceiling of the hut. The night outside seemed endless. The only sound was the rain that had begun to fall, soft at first, then heavier.
"Maybe… the heavens really abandoned me," he whispered.
He thought of his mother's last words before she passed away, when he was barely ten:
"Even without light, my son, you must walk forward."
He had walked. He had crawled. He had bled.But all he found was darkness.
He rose slowly, his knees weak. He reached for the small oil lamp on his table, but before his fingers touched it—
A blinding flash of lightning tore through the sky.
The air thickened. The ground trembled.And then—the heavens split open.
A bolt of divine thunder descended, striking not the mountain, not the trees—but his hut.
The world exploded into sound and light.
The walls shattered. Fire and ash filled the air.Lian Fei was thrown backward, his body colliding with the floor, his skin seared by raw power. Pain consumed him—searing, endless pain.
And then…A voice.
"Mortal blood… detected.""Primordial seal—awakening."
The voice was neither male nor female, neither near nor far. It spoke inside his mind—clear, cold, eternal.
Lian Fei's eyes flew open. "W-who's there!?"
"Host identified: Lian Fei.""Heaven's mark… restored.""System initializing…"
Golden symbols of light erupted from his chest, swirling like runes of flame. His entire body trembled as the symbols sank into his flesh, burning into his heart. The pain was unbearable, yet his consciousness remained anchored, as if an unseen force refused to let him fall.
The storm outside grew wilder. Thunder roared, but this time it did not frighten him.He could feel it—the pulse of the storm, the heartbeat of heaven itself resonating with the mark in his chest.
When the light finally faded, silence returned.
Smoke rose from the ashes of his hut.The ground around him was scorched into a perfect circle.And there, on his chest, a faint symbol glowed—the shape of an ancient rune, one no mortal scholar could decipher.
Lian Fei staggered to his feet, breathing hard."What… what was that?" he gasped.
No answer came. Only the steady hum of the mark within him.
He stumbled outside. The rain had stopped. The clouds were breaking apart, revealing a sky scattered with stars. Each droplet of water that clung to the grass reflected his trembling face.
He looked at his hands. They were still shaking—but different. He felt something now.Something alive.
He raised his palm and concentrated.
A spark of light flickered.Tiny, but real.The faintest trace of spiritual energy danced between his fingers.
His heart stopped.
Then it hit him. The realization. The impossible truth.
He could cultivate.
After seventeen years of being called a cripple… he could feel the energy moving through his meridians for the first time.
Tears welled in his eyes, though he refused to let them fall.He clenched his fist, holding that fragile spark as if it were the most precious treasure in the world.
"Mother… Father…" he whispered. "The heavens didn't abandon me after all."
He looked up toward the stars.
"But I will make them regret making me wait."
Lightning flashed again in the distance, as if answering his vow.
And in the shadows of the ruined hut, unseen by him, the faint outline of an ancient sigil shimmered on the scorched ground—its runes whispering secrets of forgotten gods and fallen realms.
The Heaven's Forsaken Seal had chosen its host.