In Fang Yuan's aperture, the silence began to crack.
No tremor. No attack. But a note—a sound that rang not in the air, but in logic itself.
Fang Yuan turned his gaze skyward.
The vault above his immortal aperture—stable for centuries—rang like a bell struck from outside.
He did not move.
Instead, he smiled.
"The world remembers me," he murmured.
But he did not say it with pride.
It was a warning.
Moments later, across the time-accelerated valleys of his inner world, several of his clones staggered. A few fell. One stared at the sky and began laughing.
Another whispered, "It has begun."
But only Fang Yuan knew what truly stirred:
A pathless truth, too real to remain forgotten.
And above him, in the shards of Heaven's vault, the light pulsed again.