The path to the Imperial Pavilion twisted through shifting gardens, each filled with illusions of time. Blossoms fell in reverse. Rivers flowed upward. And statues of forgotten cultivators turned their heads as Kael passed.
He walked alone, flanked by silence. No guards. No servants. Just the wind whispering ancient names through lacquered bamboo.
At the center stood a pagoda built of nightsteel and stardust wood, floating an inch above the earth. Each step toward it felt heavier, as if reality itself resisted.
The doors opened before Kael could touch them.
Inside, incense burned—bitter and sweet, like old blood on snow.
At the far end of the chamber, the Emperor sat.
He wore no crown. No armor. Only white robes threaded with cosmic script. His eyes were closed, his presence still. But even in silence, he was overwhelming—a pressure that bent the soul, not the flesh.
Kael bowed.
"You are late," the Emperor said, voice like frost cracking stone.
"I was not summoned by time," Kael replied. "But by will."
The Emperor opened his eyes.
They were voids filled with stars.
"Sit."
Kael obeyed, folding his legs before the throne.
"You've shaken the Trials," the Emperor said. "The sects whisper. The clans rage. The Silent Court begs to move against you."
"I expected worse."
The Emperor smiled faintly. "Do you know who you are, Kael of the Outer Ring?"
"I know what I'm not," Kael answered. "I'm not their puppet. Not your pawn."
"Wrong." The Emperor's gaze pierced through him. "You are both."
Kael said nothing.
The Emperor rose from his seat, robes flowing like mist.
"You are the echo of a war that never ended. The last breath of a lineage we buried in shadow. Your blood hums with locked gates. Your soul sings in tongues lost to time."
He circled Kael like a predator.
"You've broken formation laws. Defied trial paths. Your presence is rewriting prophecy."
Kael looked up. "Then why am I still breathing?"
"Because I need you to open the Vault."
The name struck like lightning.
Kael's mind surged with memory—the obsidian gate, the voice in the mirror, the visions in the night.
"The Vault lies beneath the capital," the Emperor said. "A prison. A tomb. A door to something greater than this world."
"Why me?" Kael asked.
"Because only someone outside fate can open it."
The Emperor stepped back, hands clasped behind his back.
"You will continue the Trials. Win. Rise. Draw attention. Draw enemies. And when the eyes of the world are on you…"
"You'll use me," Kael finished.
"No." The Emperor's voice turned cold. "I will offer you a choice."
Kael's brow furrowed.
"Power that bends nations. Or truth that unravels them."
He was dismissed without ceremony. No guards followed him back. But he could feel it now—the weight of destiny threading through every step.
When he returned to the outer gardens, Lin was waiting.
She stood beside a lantern tree, its glowing fruit swaying in the wind.
"You saw him," she said softly.
Kael nodded. "He sees too much."
"What did he want?"
Kael looked past her, toward the Trial Grounds, where the next test would be announced at dawn.
"He wants me to open a gate," he said. "But I'm not sure what's behind it."
Lin's eyes held a flicker of fear. "And you? What do you want?"
Kael met her gaze.
"I want to choose."
Later that night, a fire broke out in the Grand Pavilion.
One of the core disciples was found dead—eyes wide open, body untouched.
No wounds.
Only a black feather clutched in his hand.
The Silent Court called it sabotage.
The Emperor called it inevitability.
Kael?
He called it a warning.
Because deep inside his core, the obsidian shard was pulsing again.
And in its rhythm, he could hear the Gate begin to whisper his name.