---
The drums sounded at dawn.
Not for war. Not for celebration.
But for the Outer Sect's Annual Trial.
A tradition that had long since lost meaning. Meant for ranking. For selecting talents to be promoted. For giving those on the edge a false sense of purpose.
Xuan Yuan had not attended for three years.
And yet, this time, he walked toward the trial grounds.
Alone.
The crowd parted like the sea.
No one spoke.
Because even those who didn't know what he was... knew what he had become.
---
In the stands, elders whispered behind fans and folded sleeves.
"He returned only days ago. Why now?" "He has no recorded cultivation improvement." "Then why do I feel... unsettled when I look at him?"
A younger elder leaned close, voice almost inaudible.
"Because the world knows when something doesn't belong."
---
On the platform stood Wei Qing, the top-ranked outer disciple. Barely sixteen. Bold. Built on a mountain of praise and carefully cultivated arrogance.
He stretched his neck, rolling his shoulders with a grin.
"So even the dead walk now? Hah. I'll send you back to your grave."
Snickers echoed from the crowd.
Xuan Yuan said nothing. He stepped onto the platform.
The stone under his feet creaked, but not from pressure—from confusion. It was as if the ground was unsure it was supposed to hold him.
---
The presiding elder furrowed his brow.
"Xuan Yuan, state your intent."
"To remind Heaven it should blink."
"What?" Wei Qing snorted. "You think you're poetic now?"
The bell rang. The match began.
---
Wei Qing moved with sharp precision. His steps were practiced. His qi surged with confidence. A wind blade formed along his arm, sharpened by the Flowing Gale Art.
"I'll end this in three moves. Try not to die."
He burst forward, footwork flawless, blade aimed straight for Xuan Yuan's heart.
---
He's fast, Xuan Yuan noted, still unmoving.
Sharp control. Intent behind each step. Trained instincts.
But he believes the world will catch him.
He still trusts gravity. Still trusts time. Still trusts that when he moves, cause will create effect.
I no longer live in that system.
---
Wei Qing struck. The wind blade tore through the space where Xuan Yuan stood—
Except he wasn't there.
He hadn't stepped. Hadn't blinked. He simply wasn't where reality expected him to be.
Wei Qing staggered forward, spinning mid-air, trying to correct.
Behind him—a whisper.
Not of sound. Of reality bending to accommodate something it couldn't understand.
Xuan Yuan stood there, palm raised. Not to strike. Just open.
Wei Qing turned and screamed. He struck again—wind blade faster, desperate, frantic.
But his qi fractured before it left his fingers.
The art unraveled. The air rejected him. His knees hit the platform.
"What... what did you DO to me?!"
---
Xuan Yuan spoke without cruelty.
"I disagreed."
The elder overseeing the match rose shakily.
"He... he wins. Xuan Yuan is the victor."
A breathless silence fell over the sect.
Not because of victory. But because no one could name the technique he used.
No one could explain what had happened.
Because it had not followed any technique. Or cultivation. Or Law.
---
Later. Alone. Beneath the pine.
Xuan Yuan stared at the veins in his hand. They shimmered again. Not with power. With disagreement.
The trial was meant to test presence.
But what if my presence is not something the world should see?
He reached inward.
The second chain trembled.
It's not just strength. It's attention. The more they see me... the more they begin to remember what they were made to forget.
A bird landed on his shoulder. Fell asleep instantly.
Time slowed.
I must not break it. Not here. Not yet. Let them sleep while they still can.
And far above, in a realm where clouds never drift and stars do not blink—
Something stirred.
---