The storm had been circling for hours, clouds thick with restrained lightning. Yet not a drop fell. The sky above Crimson Sky Academy churned like a cauldron on the verge of spilling over. Below it, Su Mengtian stood at the edge of the Grand Formation Cliff, overlooking the sprawl of training grounds and barracks now repurposed under the banners of the Heavenly Spear Alliance. The wind tugged at his coat, but he remained unmoved.
Behind him, footsteps approached. "They've begun assembling near the Echo Chamber, Commander," said a voice—Liang Mu of the Hall of Echoes. "The strategists await final orders."
Su Mengtian nodded but didn't turn. His mind lingered elsewhere. Down in the barracks, he could sense the new pulse of order. He had given them unity, names, a vision. Now came the true test—discipline, deployment, and deterrence. All of it had to function without flaw as a single organization.
But something deeper gnawed at him. Not doubt—never that. It was anticipation, coiled tightly around something ancient inside him. Ever since the council's declaration, that sealed force—his true bloodline—had stirred more violently. The Thunder Guardian Dragon whispered through every gust and static surge in the air. It wanted out.
Still, it wasn't time.
He finally turned, brushing past Liang Mu. "Summon the Hall leads. Immediate council meeting."
Liang bowed, disappearing with a ripple of soundless speed.
Minutes later, deep inside the former vaults of the academy—now the Alliance's secure tactical chamber—the nine Hall representatives stood encircling the central table, which glowed with a 3D topographic projection of Eastern Polaris.
"The Hall of Shadows has begun embedding scouts along the southern ravines," reported Yun Qiao, masked and still as smoke. "Two dead zones there were less hostile than expected. We believe someone has pre-cleared beasts."
"Could it be the Capital?" asked Lian Yoru of the Hall of Astral Command, narrowing his eyes.
"No," said Su Mengtian, stepping closer. "Yueying's clan wouldn't risk exposure without political cover. Someone else is moving pieces" with an unknown intention.
"The Hall of Wyrmcallers confirms the migration pattern has shifted," said Mei-Hua, her eyes glowing with the influence of her bonded spirit eagle. "Some beastlords aren't acting naturally. It's as if something bigger is calling them elsewhere."
Su Mengtian frowned, drawing new lines on the map. "Then we set defensive nodes here," he said, marking the edges of a ridge system called the Skytrace Spine. "Echoes will synchronize long-range beacons to Ironblood towers. I want real-time weather and mana surges tracked every quarter cycle."
As the Hall leads absorbed their orders, something in the center of the map pulsed—an accidental overlay from the past system. A mark labeled "Project R—Sanctuary Ruins."
Everyone fell silent.
"…We scrubbed that region," whispered Arlan from the Hall of Valor. "Those ruins were sealed by the First Circle Council centuries ago."
"They were," Su Mengtian said, voice cold, "but that seal was broken two days ago. By me."
Gasps and stunned silence echoed through the chamber.
He turned to the group, eyes hard. "That location contains vaults left from the era before this world reshaped. Before the first dimensional breaches. Knowledge and weapons too dangerous for any state. That's where our next outpost will rise."
"You intend to excavate ancient pre-Breach tech?" Mei-Hua asked.
"No," he said. "I intend to understand why this world forgets what it fears. Because what's coming for us now... isn't going to fight fair."
At that moment, lightning lit the sky above the chamber's skylight, casting jagged lines across everyone's faces.
Night had long since fallen, but sleep was far from Su Mengtian's mind. He walked alone beneath the whispering trees beyond the Eastern Barricade, the rustling branches like voices teasing at secrets he couldn't yet hear. The wind crackled faintly—static electricity brushing his fingertips.
He stopped, closed his eyes, and pressed his palm against his chest. The thrum inside was louder now—his sealed bloodline knocking, snarling, begging. The Thunder Guardian Dragon wanted to burst free.
But if he did it now, they'd all know. The world would turn toward him too soon. The Capital, Yueying's clan, the old factions in hiding—they were watching, waiting for weakness or recklessness.
Not yet.
Still, he needed to release something. Just a glimpse. He stepped into the clearing and drew a sigil midair. The clouds above churned tighter. He allowed a fraction of his hidden power to bleed outward.
Boom.
The air split open as a spear of lightning slammed into the earth before him, carving a smoking scar into the stone. Trees bent backward from the force. The sky wept silver rain for just a second—and then it stopped.
Silence returned. His eyes glowed faintly, hidden by shadow.
"Soon," he whispered. "You'll roar soon."
Back in the war chamber, the nine Hall leaders worked tirelessly on logistical formations, troop divisions, energy node stabilizers, and beast territory maps. As a signal rune flared, Lian Yoru frowned. "Commander's not returned yet?"
"He will," said Yun Qiao simply, though a flicker of concern crossed her normally blank face.
Moments later, Su Mengtian strode in. His aura had changed—charged with something elemental, barely restrained. Yet he gave no explanation.
Instead, he pointed toward the new coordinates near the ancient sanctuary. "Deployment begins in two days. You'll each select two hundred elites per Hall. No less."
"And if the Capitals react?" asked Arlan again.
Su Mengtian's eyes met his with a force like gravity. "Then they'll learn they were never prepared for war. Only politics."
Lian Yoru smirked faintly. "I almost pity them."
"Don't," Su Mengtian replied. "No one pitied us when we bled alone."
As the council disbanded, a messenger burst in from the northern ridge, breathless and pale.
"Commander… scouts spotted unnatural convergence at Duskfang Vale. Aether turbulence, scale unknown. We think it's another gate forming."
Silence fell again. Su Mengtian's gaze narrowed.
"Alert all Halls," he ordered calmly. "The war isn't waiting. Neither will we."
That night, the storm finally broke.
And the first roar of thunder felt almost alive.