It began not with thunder, but with silence.
A silence so unnatural, so thick, that even the cicadas stopped their song and the wind seemed to hold its breath. Rui, standing on the terrace outside his chamber, looked up sharply. The clouds above were perfectly still—painted on the heavens like a canvas. The golden sunrise that had bathed the palace moments ago dimmed, as though swallowed whole by something vast and unseen.
Then the sky cracked open.
A bolt of lightning so brilliant it turned night to day tore through the heavens, striking the northern gate of the imperial city. The ground quaked violently, knocking Rui off his feet as flames erupted in the distance. Another flash, then another, came in a pattern unnatural to any storm. No thunder followed—only silence.
Until the screaming began.
"Your Majesty!" Liu Shun burst through the doors, blood on his sleeves, eyes wide with panic. "The sky—there are things descending from it—beings of gold and fire—"
Rui rushed past him, heart pounding, his instincts as a cultivator flaring to life. He leapt from the terrace, qi surging in his veins, and landed gracefully in the eastern garden just as Li Yuan came barreling toward him, armor half-buckled, his eyes full of fury and fear.
"They've come," the emperor said, breathless.
Rui nodded. "The gods."
As if in answer, the heavens opened wider.
Descending through the shattered sky came figures wrapped in light and flame. They did not fly—they fell, graceful and terrible, as if the weight of the divine itself dragged them to earth. Winged shapes—some avian, some draconic, some entirely unknowable—circled above the palace. One landed atop the Imperial Hall, a spear of starlight in its hand, its gaze fixed on the heart of the empire.
The palace guards screamed. One attempted to strike the being, but his sword turned to sand in his hands before he could land a blow. The god looked down, lifted its palm, and the man disintegrated into ash.
Li Yuan clenched his fists. "Sound the horns. Gather the court mages. Send word to the southern shrine—we must awaken the wards."
Rui caught his wrist. "No," he whispered. "They're not just here for the throne."
Li Yuan's gaze met his. "They're here for you."
A deafening roar split the air as one of the divine beasts swooped low, scorching a row of temple roofs with its molten breath. Rui lifted both arms, summoning his qi into a spiraling barrier of light. The flames broke against it, but he stumbled from the force.
"They're testing us," Rui murmured.
"No," Li Yuan said darkly. "They're warning us."
A second god descended before them—this one clothed in silver wind and sapphire robes. A mask of moonlight covered its face, but when it spoke, its voice echoed inside their bones.
"The blood of the phoenix must not ascend the mortal throne. The balance has tipped. We return to restore it."
Li Yuan stepped forward, defiant. "You have no claim here! This is the realm of men!"
The god turned its masked face toward him. "And men have forgotten their place."
It raised its hand—and Rui moved.
In a flash of motion, he was before Li Yuan, shielding him with his own body, his cultivation flaring in a burst of golden fire. The divine energy met Rui's power head-on—and exploded outward in a shockwave that shattered every window in the palace.
When the dust settled, Rui was on his knees, blood dripping from his lips, but still breathing.
"You dare harm him," Li Yuan growled, drawing his blade, "and I will show you the wrath of a thousand dynasties."
But the god did not move. It simply tilted its head. "Your love for the cursed bloodline clouds your reason."
Behind them, Rui slowly rose to his feet. "Why now?" he demanded, voice ragged. "Why return after centuries of silence?"
The god's voice was colder now. "Because the prophecy nears fulfillment. The heavens cannot allow a child of divine flame to ascend alongside a mortal king. The union threatens the veil."
Rui's breath caught. "Then this is not war—it is execution."
"Unless you yield," the god said. "Withdraw your bond. Burn the scroll. Renounce your claim to the throne beside him. And we will depart."
Li Yuan reached for Rui's hand. Rui didn't pull away this time.
"I'd rather burn the heavens themselves," the emperor said.
The god stared, unreadable. Then turned away.
"So be it."
In the next breath, the gods rose again—flashes of light streaking upward into the sky, disappearing into the shattered clouds—but their message was clear.
War had begun.
That night, all across the empire, the sky remained fractured—black veins of divine energy stretching across the stars like a cracked mirror. Cultivators across every sect felt it: a shift in balance, as if the very fabric of qi had become unstable.
Inside the emperor's private war chamber, maps were unfurled. Seals of protection were tested. Sacred scrolls, once hidden in forgotten vaults, were summoned to the light.
But amid the chaos, Rui sat beside Li Yuan, their shoulders touching.
"They'll keep coming," Rui said softly.
"I know."
"They will go after the temples next. After the ruins. After the people."
"I'll fight them."
Rui turned to him. "Even if I'm the reason they come?"
Li Yuan's voice was low. "Especially then."
Their hands found each other under the table. Not in fear—but in defiance.
For now they knew what was at stake.
The gods had returned.
And they would not be merciful.