The Patriarch continued, his voice calm but filled with a hidden weight.
"The Founder, too, could not claim the sheath. It did not respond to even his call. So he did the only thing he could—he sealed it within a nascent realm, one that later became the Sacred Grounds of the Xian Sword Sect. He left behind a single prophecy:"
He raised his hand and slowly etched a glowing character into the air with his finger: "Sword."
"'One day, the sheath will call out. It will reveal itself to the one chosen not by blood, nor talent, but by will. The one whose path can carry all swords, whose heart bears no edge but guards all edges. That person shall be the heir of the Xian Sword Spirit, and the rightful bearer of the Sword Cradle Divine Sheath.'"
The light character dissolved into the air.
None of the elders spoke. Their thoughts were racing, their hearts unsettled.
Elder Yan Dao took a half-step forward, struggling to process it all.
