: Northern Lights and Dragon Dreams
The road north was not a road at all, but a gradual fading of civilization. Lush forests gave way to hardy, wind-sculpted pines, and then to rolling tundra where the ground was a permanent quilt of frost and tough grass. The air grew thin and carried a bite that went deeper than the winter chill of the Star Dou Forest. This was the passive, pervasive cold of the high latitudes, and with every step, Huo Yuhao felt the Ten-Thousand-Year Ice Lotus in his soul stir in quiet recognition.
He traveled light, living off the land with an efficiency that bordered on the supernatural. His Spiritual Detection, now constantly active in a fifty-meter radius, found hibernating tubers, hidden streams beneath ice, and the burrows of arctic hares. He practiced the First Level of his technique not in combat, but in survival. A focused thought could reduce a chunk of frozen, inedible lichen into nutrient-rich dust he could mix with water. A touch could disintegrate a barrier of wind-packed snow, revealing a sheltered alcove for the night.
"Fascinating application," Elder Electrolux noted one evening as Huo Yuhao purified a handful of snow into drinkable water with a whisper of his power. "You are learning to deconstruct not just matter, but states of matter. From solid ice to liquid water. The principle is profound."
"It's just easier than melting it," Huo Yuhao replied simply, though he felt the truth in the old ghost's words. The technique was becoming an extension of his will, a new sense.
The primary trial was the cold itself. He wore simple furs traded from a remote outpost, but the northern chill seeped through, seeking his bones. Instead of fighting it, Huo Yuhao began to meditate upon it. He sat in the lee of boulders as the aurora danced in green veils overhead, and he reached inward towards the Ice Lotus.
He did not try to take its power. He simply observed its nature. He felt its perfect, static cold—a cold that did not destroy, but preserved. A cold that was clean, silent, and absolute. Slowly, he tried to mimic this feeling in his own soul, letting his spiritual energy adopt a similar, tranquil frigidity. The shivering of his body began to subside, not because he was warmer, but because his spirit was learning to be at peace with the cold. A faint, crystalline sheen, invisible to the eye, began to cloak his Soul Sea.
"The affinity is taking root," Brother Heavenly Dream observed, buzzing with excitement. "Your second Martial Soul is still formless, but its nature is being defined! It will be the 'Ice of Eternal Preservation,' not mere winter's chill!"
The Whispering Crossroads
A week into the tundra, the Multiverse Chat Group whispers returned. They were stronger here, where the veil between worlds seemed thinner. He heard them as he walked, a mosaic of alien lives:
"...and then I told the Sect Elder, if your grandson touches my sister again, I'll feed him his own dantian..." (A voice brimming with youthful, terrifying arrogance.)
"The Kingdom's treasury is bare again. Perhaps a 'voluntary donation' from the merchant guilds is in order..."(A weary, cunning, feminine sigh.)
"My clone in the lower realm reports an anomaly. A destiny has gone... fuzzy. I must adjust the tribulation lightning parameters."(A dispassionate, administrative tone that made Huo Yuhao's blood run colder than the tundra.)
This last whisper lingered. It wasn't the same as the "Ten-Thousand-Year Plan" voice, but it belonged to the same cold, bureaucratic realm of celestial power. Adjust the tribulation lightning. The words were casual, a technician fine-tuning a machine. A machine that could smote lives.
Huo Yuhao felt a simmering anger. Were all gods so casually manipulative? Was his own path just a line on some divine ledger, subject to "parameter adjustments"? The revulsion he felt for the name "Tang" expanded into a broader, colder disdain for the unseen machinery of fate.
The whispers offered something else, too—not just voices, but fleeting, resonant concepts. As he pondered the "Sun Moon Star" technique, a random whisper fragment echoed: "...true reduction leads to the primal canvas. On the blank slate, new laws can be inscribed..." It was a philosophical shred, but it aligned perfectly with his practice. The technique wasn't about destruction; it was about creating the potential for something new.
The Draconic Compass Awakens
The landscape began to change. The flat tundra broke into jagged, black stone mountains that clawed at the sky. The air grew heavy, not with moisture, but with a deep, ancient pressure. It was here, amidst the primordial rock, that the Dragon God Scion Resonance within his soul treasury finally stirred.
It began as a low thrum, a vibration in his bones rather than his ears. Seven points of light, corresponding to the seven dragon son souls he carried, ignited in his spiritual awareness. They weren't pulling him; they were resonating with something ahead. A deep, melancholic song of lost glory, etched into the very stone and frozen winds of this place.
"We are close," Huo Yuhao breathed, his Spirit Eyes glowing softly as he scanned the forbidding peaks. "Dragon Valley."
"The pressure is immense, even after millennia," Electrolux said, his voice hushed. "This is a graveyard of legends. Tread with respect, young one. The dead here do not rest lightly."
"And their power is perfect for the next step!" Brother Heavenly Dream added, though his bravado was tempered by the solemn atmosphere. "To awaken those dragon souls in you, you need the pressure of a true dragon. There's nothing more 'true dragon' than the place they all returned to die."
Guided by the internal compass of the resonating souls, Huo Yuhao navigated a treacherous pass. He encountered no living beasts; the aura of dragon death kept even hardy northern spirit beasts away. Finally, he stood before a sheer cliff face that felt wrong. The rock seemed to shimmer, and the song in his soul grew to a chorus.
Remembering the principle from the Black Book's index—"Awakening requirement: Exposure to pure draconic pressure"—he knew brute force wouldn't open the way. He needed to resonate.
Closing his eyes, he quieted his mind and focused on the seven sleeping dragon souls within him. He didn't command them. He simply unveiled their presence, letting their dormant, noble essences emanate from him. He was a vessel, holding a fragment of their lineage.
The cliff face rippled like water. The air hummed, and a vertical line of molten gold split the rock from top to bottom, widening into an archway. Beyond was not a mountain interior, but a vast, mist-shrouded valley under a perpetual twilight sky. The ground was littered with bones that glimmered like jewels—mountains of ribs, skulls the size of houses, spines that ridged the landscape. This was Dragon Valley.
As he stepped across the threshold, the pressure spiked, a physical weight that drove him to one knee. But within him, the seven dragon souls burst fully awake. He felt their joy, their sorrow, their pride. For the first time, a clear communication formed, not in words, but in intent and image.
They showed him the location of the Dragon God's Tomb, the heart of the valley. They also conveyed a warning: the tomb was guarded by the lingering, combative will of the Dragon God's own fractured soul. To claim the baptism he needed, he would have to earn it.
Huo Yuhao rose, the draconic pressure now flowing around him, accepted by the souls within. He looked into the haunted, magnificent valley. The next step of his training was here. To temper his body with dragon's might, to awaken the power in his bones, and to commune with the remnant of the being whose sons he now carried.
He took a step forward, then another, the bones of ancient titans crunching softly under his feet. The journey to the Far North for simple cold training was forgotten. A greater trial, and a greater reward, lay directly before him.
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