The plaza outside the Grand Arena roared with thunderous excitement.
Thousands of cultivators had gathered—each one adorned in the finest robes their sects could afford, their presence flaring with pride, ambition, and the scent of blood barely concealed beneath silk and jade. The crowd ranged from fresh-faced outer disciples to arrogant young lords wielding spirit treasures glowing with ancestral light.
But none of them held the presence of Shen Ziyan.
At least—not yet.
Hidden beneath an enchanted robe, the divine energy within his body was suppressed to a whisper. But Ziyan knew that the moment he released it, the entire city would feel it. And so, he stood quietly at the edge of the gathering, observing everything.
Beside him stood Scholar Xuan, who would serve as one of the neutral arbiters for the Trials. His face was unreadable, but his eyes never stopped scanning the crowd.
"The true wolves are here now," Xuan muttered. "And some wear sheep's clothing."
Ziyan followed his gaze. From the main gates of the arena, a large contingent of cultivators strode in—resplendent in robes of silver and gold, the insignia of a phoenix clutching a sun sewn onto their chests.
"The Sunfeather Pavilion," Xuan said. "Arrogant but powerful. Their heir is that boy in the front."
Ziyan watched as a tall, radiant youth led the group. His hair shone like burnished gold, his eyes sharp and unyielding. A flying sword hovered behind him, its aura piercing the sky like a comet.
"That's Ye Qinglan," Xuan whispered. "The Sun-Phoenix Prodigy. He's rumored to be a dual-path cultivator—body and flame."
Ziyan said nothing.
He didn't need to. He could feel it—the energy radiating off Ye Qinglan was no illusion. The man's cultivation had already reached Spirit Manifestation Realm, a stage Ziyan hadn't even begun to touch.
> If I fought him now… I'd lose.
The thought lingered like a thorn.
But it didn't bother him.
He hadn't come to win—yet. He had come to learn, to grow, and to begin walking the road that led to godhood.
More groups poured into the arena.
From the north came a procession of monks, silent and barefoot, bearing prayer wheels and silver bells. The leader was a girl no older than seventeen, with snow-white hair and a third eye faintly visible on her forehead.
"Bai Yanyue," Xuan whispered. "They call her the Moon-Eyed Oracle. She sees not with her eyes, but with her soul. Be cautious around her."
From the east came a group of cultivators riding enormous beasts—sky leopards, flame wolves, and mist panthers. Their bodies were decorated with tribal tattoos that shimmered with spiritual light.
"Beastmasters from the Verdant Fang Sect," Xuan said. "Warlike. Ruthless. But honorable in their own way."
Ziyan's eyes lingered on one of them—a woman in green armor with twin sabers on her back. Her gaze swept across the crowd, piercing and cold. When her eyes met Ziyan's for a brief second, a strange smile played across her lips.
"She noticed me," Ziyan murmured.
Xuan chuckled. "Of course she did. Even hidden, you smell like a divine beast awakening."
---
High above the arena, the stone dragon's eyes began to glow.
The clouds parted. A deafening roar shook the heavens.
A figure descended from the sky—a man in flowing white robes, hair tied in a single long braid, a jade fan in hand. He landed gently on the floating platform at the heart of the arena, his cultivation aura washing over the entire city like a tidal wave.
"Elder Yu Longshen," someone whispered. "The Dragon Sage of the Eastern Province."
Ziyan stared at the man, feeling like an ant before a storm.
Yu Longshen opened his fan, smiling as his voice echoed across the arena.
"Welcome, young cultivators! You have gathered here today, not for war, but for glory. The Stone Dragon Trials are a sacred tradition passed down since the age of the Three Emperors. And today, it returns."
He raised his hand.
The massive stone dragon above them shuddered. Its mouth opened, revealing a swirling vortex of golden clouds.
"The First Trial is called The Path of Echoing Bones," Elder Yu announced. "A labyrinth formed from the memories of ancient beasts slain by the dragon's breath. Within it, you will face illusions drawn from your own fears, regrets, and buried truths."
He paused.
"Lose yourself… and your mind may never return."
Murmurs swept through the crowd. Even seasoned cultivators looked nervous.
Elder Yu continued, "Only those who reach the heart of the labyrinth may continue. There are no teams. There is no mercy."
Ziyan's blood ran cold.
A trial of illusions—of inner truth. He had already faced such things during his training with Xuan, but this would be something far greater.
"Let the trial begin!"
The vortex opened fully, and one by one, the cultivators began to rise into the air, drawn into the mouth of the dragon by invisible force.
Ziyan closed his eyes and stepped forward.
---
Within the Echoing Bones
The world twisted.
When Ziyan opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the arena.
He stood in a forest of bones—massive skeletal remains, thousands of meters tall, curved like the ribs of titanic beasts. The air was thick with the scent of blood and ash.
Each step echoed strangely, like he was walking across someone's memory.
In the distance, he could see flickers of light—other cultivators wandering through their own trials. But they were too far to reach. The trial had separated them all.
Ziyan clenched his fists.
Then he heard it.
A soft whisper behind him.
> "You could've saved them…"
He spun around—and saw his parents.
Alive.
Smiling.
Calling his name.
Ziyan took a step forward, his heart clenching.
Then he froze.
Their eyes were wrong. Too black. Too wide.
The illusion trembled—and shattered.
The forest screamed.
Dozens of forms surged out of the bone walls—shadow beasts made of smoke and sorrow. They charged at Ziyan, screeching.
He raised his hands instinctively.
The golden mark blazed.
For a split second, the entire trial space trembled.
And then power erupted from his palm—a golden wave of force that vaporized the shadows instantly.
But the backlash hit him like a hammer. His body cracked, ribs snapping under the divine recoil. He staggered to the ground, gasping for breath.
> "Too much…" he coughed. "I'm not ready to use it freely…"
Even so, the path before him had cleared.
He walked onward.
---
At the Heart of the Labyrinth
Time lost meaning inside the Path of Echoing Bones. It could've been hours. Days.
Ziyan fought illusions of his past, his future, and even himself.
He faced a version of himself who had grown bitter, cruel, and consumed by divine madness. That battle lasted long into a bleeding red dusk—until Ziyan finally stood over his doppelganger, exhausted but victorious.
Finally, he reached the heart.
It was a vast chamber—silent, circular, with an altar made of obsidian.
Hovering above it was a small shard of gold.
His palm burned.
Another fragment of the divine hand.
He reached out, fingers trembling. The moment he touched it—
Visions.
A battlefield between gods.
A tower that reached beyond the stars.
A shattered hand, falling across universes.
A voice spoke again.
> "One of Nine… Reforged in the Mortal Flame…"
Ziyan screamed as energy surged into him.
He fell to his knees, sweat pouring down his face.
The mark on his palm grew brighter, now etched with a second layer of golden pattern.
He wasn't alone.
Behind him, three other cultivators arrived—Ye Qinglan, Bai Yanyue, and the beastmaster woman.
They stared at him in stunned silence.
Ye Qinglan narrowed his eyes. "What… are you?"
Ziyan slowly stood, golden energy still humming in his veins.
He met the prodigy's gaze without fear.
> "I don't know yet," he said. "But I will find out."