The coral thorn stirred on the ocean floor. It was no longer inert.
Heaven's Will had fractured, but instinct still flickered within its pieces. The thorn twisted, seeking resonance—what had cracked the sky? Who had walked where myths should not?
The answer pulsed through the waves.
And far above, the fisherman spoke again. His voice echoed words older than the Gu World:
"No fate. No step. No name."
Sea-beasts recoiled. One spirit fish burst into fragments.
The coral thorn began to glow—softly, then brighter, then violently.
Something was coming.
Not a Venerable. Not a clone.
A myth-shaped will without anchor.