The ancient courtyard that had remained sealed beneath Thunderclad Basin's Command Pavilion for decades now stirred with life. Su Mengtian stood at the central platform, his posture upright, presence formidable. Behind him, the last echoes of the Storm Trial still lingered in the air, like the crackle of distant thunder.
Commander Fei Wu stood beside him, hands clasped behind his back, his expression solemn.
The stone floor split with a hiss, revealing a spiraling staircase descending into the earth. Su Mengtian exchanged a glance with Fei Wu, then moved forward without hesitation. His footsteps echoed downward, deeper into the vault of thunder history.
As the air thickened with ancient qi and dense war intent, Su Mengtian's eyes sharpened.
They emerged into a vast subterranean hall, where thousands of silhouettes stood unmoving — clad in dormant armor that shimmered faintly with thunder inscriptions. Each one bore the sigil of the Thunder Qilin — a majestic beast entwined with storm and judgment.
Standing in perfect formation below them were figures clad in obsidian-black armor veined with glowing blue currents: the Thunder Qilin Army.
"Your inheritance, General," Commander Fei Wu said, his voice reverberating with reverence. "The Thunder Qilin Army."
"These are no ordinary soldiers," Fei Wu said, his tone heavy with meaning. "These are men and women trained by your grandfather, Su Leilong, the last Supreme General of the East. They carry in their bones the discipline of war, the fury of the storm, and the will of the Qilin."
Su Mengtian's breath caught.
This was no ordinary militia. These were warriors personally trained by Su Leilong, his grandfather — the Storm-Wrought General of a past era. Their armor had endured time, their resolve untouched by decades of silence. They had not perished; they had merely awaited.
Fei Wu walked forward, voice firm. "These soldiers were not created by you. But they are yours now — bound by the bloodline of Su Leilong and his thunder legacy. Trained, disciplined, hidden — and now ready to march under your command."
Mengtian stepped before them. The pressure of leadership settled on his shoulders like a stormcloud ready to burst. Yet he stood tall.
With a deep breath, he channeled his qi into his voice. "I am Su Mengtian, son of Su Leilong's legacy. I have walked the Trial of Storms. I will lead you not as a shadow of the past, but as a thunderclap of the future. Will you rise?"
"I am not my grandfather," he began. "But I carry his blood, and I will carry his will. Stand with me, and I will lead you not just to reclaim what was lost—but to shape what should be."
There was silence.
Then — thunder rumbled.
One by one, the soldiers knelt in unison, a storm-forged rhythm that shook the entire chamber. The army bowed their heads. A chorus of thunder echoed overhead—not from the sky, but from the synchronized stomping of their armored boots upon the basalt.
"We've waited," spoke a towering man from the center, his beard streaked with silver lightning. "Waited for the bloodline to call us again."
Fei Wu gestured to Mengtian. "Step forward."
As Mengtian approached, his presence rippled with the power from the Thunderclad trials—elevated, refined, and unshackled. His heartbeat hummed like a war drum.
The army rose.
And roared.
"Glory to the Stormborn! Glory to the Son of Su Leilong!"
Mengtian's throat tightened. The gravity of legacy, of expectation, pressed into him like a gauntlet. But instead of faltering, he met their eyes.
The lightning-veined army slammed their fists to their hearts in answer.
"Commander"
The acknowledgment of 10,000 voices carried the weight of generations.
Fei Wu nodded slightly, allowing himself a flicker of satisfaction. "They have accepted you. But wield them wisely, Mengtian. Each unit holds different virtues. Each captain was once a storm in their own right."
Mengtian walked among them, noting the distinct squads: heavy shock troopers of thundersteel, swift riders with tempest hawks, long-range channelers who carried echo-blades. Every formation was built like a precise extension of war.
Fei Wu handed him a scroll. "The Thunder Qilin Formation Manual. It contains the war patterns, beast-calling channels, and relic bonding rituals. Only the successor may open it."
Su Mengtian took it with a quiet bow.
As they exited, Fei Wu led him to a war chamber adjacent to the vault. There, Mengtian was introduced to three key captains:
Yin Korr, a stoic war-veteran of iron-blood discipline, who once led the Vanguard Battalion.
Lin Rui, a tempest dancer who could channel lightning into her dual spears.
Hao Fengzhi, a tactician known for making storms dance in formation.
Each pledged loyalty to Mengtian after brief exchanges, old war tales flowing between them.
Fei Wu stepped forward, placing a sealed scroll in Mengtian's hand. "This is his war doctrine," the commander said. "Passed only when the storm accepts a new master."
As Mengtian opened it, the parchment sparked faintly—alive with storm qi. Battle formations, thunder chants, beast commands—it was a manual of war from a lost era.
As the sun dipped beyond the horizon, the day ended with Mengtian standing on the Command Pavilion's balcony. The Thunder Qilin Army was his now — the first real step toward shaping the military wing of his future organization.
But the moment was not over.
Fei Wu wasn't done.
The older commander led Mengtian to a wide celestial map that shimmered with floating islands and shifting ley lines. Among them, one stood out — massive, slow-moving, cloaked in mist and drifting over a distant ocean of storms.
"Do you see that?" Fei Wu pointed.
The map zoomed. A colossal island floated, its back forming the outline of an ancient beast — a Kun, older than nations, said to be a beast that could carry islands upon its back and dive through oceans of wind.
"It's called the Island-Carrying Kun, and it's been sighted only once a century. A sanctuary of lost spirit beasts and ancient contracts."
"The Island-Carrying Kun," Fei Wu said softly. "A myth among beast tamers. A living island. A spirit beast that sleeps for centuries and awakens only when a worthy master approaches."
The island shifted, and the shape of a massive creature—half-island, half-beast—stirred beneath. One golden eye opened, studying Mengtian from across the sky.
"It recognizes you," the commander whispered. "Your next steps may awaken legends."
Mengtian narrowed his eyes. "You want me to go there."
Fei Wu smiled. "Not yet. But soon. When your army is ready. When your halls are unified. That will be your trial beyond trials. Not of power — but of harmony. Because that Kun will not accept one who cannot balance sky and sea."
Lightning cracked across the sky.
Mengtian stood on the cliff's edge, the scroll of his grandfather's war doctrine in one hand, the roar of his newfound army still echoing behind him, and the gaze of a slumbering island beast before him.
Mengtian turned back to his troops, the echoes of legacy roaring in his blood.
The storm had passed. But its legacy had only just begun.
The true storm had yet to begin.