The Rift of Ashen Flames had grown darker, stretching endlessly across the horizon, its surface broken by jagged cliffs and rivers of molten ash. The chains above quivered like living tendrils, their rhythmic trembling pulsing with an ominous heartbeat. Every step the nine chosen took echoed against the shattered stone, blending with distant whispers—the cries of the consumed, the regrets of the fallen, and the faint laughter of something old, eternal, and hungry.
Ruoxue moved deliberately, Silent Glove drawn. The glow from her half-moon sigil traced silver arcs across her pale skin, pulsing in rhythm with the Rift itself. Yinxiu remained beside her, a calm but imposing presence. His silver-white robes caught the faint light of the Wraiths around them, and his eyes—those relentless, storm-colored eyes—never left the path ahead.
Around them, the other chosen struggled with the Rift's subtle pull. Qiao Feiyan's hands shook as she clutched her sword, her breath coming in sharp bursts. Shen Yucheng's usually composed demeanor was fraying, a tension in his posture betraying the struggle of his mind. Lian Huiming's sharp gaze scanned the terrain as if he could calculate the Rift's next movement. Feng Yulan's instincts guided her, but her lips trembled, muttering incantations under her breath. Mo Xueran, ever silent, stood like a pillar of stillness, his aura steady, drawing quiet strength from the chaos.
Yinxiu's voice cut through the heavy air. "Remember, it feeds on your fears. The illusions will try to claim you. Do not let them."
Ruoxue's eyes narrowed. "We move toward the relic. Stay alert. Stay together."
The Rift pulsed beneath their feet. Chains rattled overhead. Somewhere deep in the blackened horizon, the whispers swelled, each one a voice of past disciples who had been devoured. The air shimmered as if the Rift itself were alive, observing, testing, calculating who would falter first.
**********
Meanwhile, far above the Rift, the Nine Courts convened, their immortal presence stretching across the heavens. The gods and goddesses sat upon their thrones of obsidian, crystal, and flame, their attention fixed on the mortal struggle below.
Meihua Jing, Goddess of Beauty, reclined with a grace that belied her sharp intellect, her jade eyes tracking the threads of mortal energy. "They move into the Rift," she observed, her voice like wind over blossoms. "And yet, they know nothing of the hunger that dwells within. Shall we intervene?"
Zhichen, God of Wisdom, leaned forward, his fingers steepled, eyes narrowed. "Intervention risks undoing the trial itself. One of them carries a mark older than her memories. The Rift will seek it… and shape her destiny."
Huo'an, God of Flames, slammed his fist on the railing, flames licking his forearms. "They are mortals! They are untested against such chaos. She is… unproven. I warn you, she may not survive."
Panling, God of Judgment, eyes cold as frost and unwavering as stone, spoke in measured tones. "The mark has chosen her. Interference will destroy the purpose of the Rift's trial. We observe, and we wait. Judgment must be earned, not imposed."
Hua'er, Goddess of Flowers, tilted her head slightly, petals blooming softly around her. "Even the strongest may falter when confronted with illusions of themselves. It is not merely the Rift—they must face the reflections of their own hearts."
Yishen, God of Wishes, hovered slightly, a subtle presence of unseen intent. "And some will not return. Fate allows no exceptions. Loss is inevitable. Only the worthy will claim victory."
Shihua, Goddess of Time, traced her fingers along a golden hourglass. "Time moves differently here. Moments stretch, compress, and repeat. The Rift tests endurance and the mind. Her will is strong, but how long can it hold?"
Fenglei, God of Dreams, eyes like swirling clouds, leaned back. "Dreams may tempt them. The Rift will conjure what they desire—and what they fear. Beware the cost of indulgence."
And finally, Yueren, God of Flowers—or rather, God of Wishes' counterpart, overseeing hope and unfulfilled desires—sat with quiet observation. "All mortals seek the path of least suffering. The Rift gives none. What remains is character."
The nine debated silently, their energy pulsing faintly toward the Rift, a faint reflection of their divine presence. None dared interfere—yet each pulse of power echoed into the mortal trial, shaping the very world below.
They didn't name her; but they already knew who she was.
**********
Back within the Rift, the first illusions came swiftly.
Qiao Feiyan froze as the ground beneath her shimmered. Her village appeared, buildings burning, smoke curling into the sky like serpents. Her parents stood amid the flames, faces twisted with accusation and despair. "Feiyan… why did you leave us?" their voices called.
Panic gripped her chest. Her hands, which had held her sword so tightly, shook. The urge to flee, to save them, was overwhelming.
Ruoxue's voice pierced the illusion like a blade. "Feiyan! It is not real! The Rift feeds on your fear. Do not succumb!"
Qiao Feiyan's breaths came in ragged bursts. Slowly, the vision cracked. The flames dissolved into ash, revealing the jagged, charred ground of the Rift. Her grip on her sword tightened anew. "I… I see it," she whispered.
Lian Huiming faced a far more insidious trial. Shadows stretched across the jagged terrain, forming visions of himself in power, in triumph, with disciples of the Nine Courts bowing in reverence. Yet in the shadows lurked betrayal—figures of those he had trusted, twisting against him, mocking, undermining, snatching the fruits of his imagined victories.
Huiming's jaw clenched, fingers twitching around his sword hilt. "I will not…" he muttered. A quiet voice echoed beside him—Mo Xueran. "You do not need their approval, Huiming. Only your conviction matters."
Shen Yucheng's trial came as a brutal mirror of failure. Memories of missions gone wrong, comrades lost, and honor squandered played before him. Every heartbeat felt like a drum of shame. Yet he did not bend entirely. He exhaled slowly, eyes closing. "I accept it," he said, voice steady despite the tremor of panic. "And I move forward."
Feng Yulan's illusions were crueler still—endless corridors stretched before her, twisting impossibly, whispering that escape was impossible, that every step she took was futile. Yet, relying on instinct rather than logic, she navigated the maze, trusting her companions' guidance and the rhythm of the Rift beneath her feet.
Mo Xueran faced illusions of calm and chaos interlaced, each choice a potential trap. Yet he moved with absolute stillness, observing, guiding, a stabilizing force among the faltering disciples.
Ruoxue did not falter. The Rift pulsed at her sigil, Ashen Wraiths circling like vultures, whispering her deepest insecurities. The demon that had whispered to her before now took more tangible form—a construct of shadow and flame, impossibly tall, with eyes like twin voids that seemed to see into every secret thought she had.
"You think you can resist?" it hissed, voice echoing in her mind. "I know your fears. I know your desires. I will feed, and you will break."
Ruoxue's fingers tightened around her sword. She inhaled, centering herself. "No," she whispered, her voice carrying over the Wraiths' shrieks. "None of us will break. Together, we rise—or together, we fall. I will not be claimed."
The Rift shivered. Chains above quivered; the ground trembled. Yinxiu moved instantly, sweeping a hand through the encroaching shadows, silver light tearing through them like molten steel.
"Focus!" he growled. "Every step, every strike, every breath—use it. The Rift responds to unity, not fear."
For hours—or was it days?—they fought, navigating terrain that shifted beneath them, illusions that preyed on their weaknesses, and Wraiths that coalesced from their lingering doubts. Each disciple confronted their personal trial:
Qiao Feiyan faced fire and loss, survived by holding onto courage.
Lian Huiming confronted ambition and betrayal, choosing loyalty.
Shen Yucheng faced shame and guilt, embracing accountability.
Feng Yulan navigated impossible mazes, trusting instinct over illusion.
Mo Xueran served as the steadying center, guiding and shielding when fear threatened to overtake.
The Rift pulsed again. The demon reformed into a more terrifying shape, a colossal amalgam of fire and shadow. Its voice thundered across the plains:
"You are fools to think your unity can resist me. Each one of you carries weakness, and I will feast upon it!"
Ruoxue stepped forward, Silent Glove gleaming with the reflection of chains above. Her sigil blazed bright white and blue, illuminating the immediate area. "We are more than our fears. We are what we choose to be. You will not claim us," she said, voice unwavering.
The demon recoiled slightly. The flames flickered, momentarily losing their edge. The Rift itself shuddered as if recognizing her determination.
Yinxiu's lips curved faintly. "She is not only chosen," he murmured. "She is remembered."
Above the Rift, the Nine Court observed, tension rippling through the divine ranks. Shihua, Goddess of Time, exhaled. "She surpasses expectations. The Half-Moon Child… is shaping her own destiny."
Huo'an, God of Flames, slouched slightly, observing the mortal struggle below. "Her will burns like fire. I underestimated her. Perhaps she will endure."
Meihua Jing, Goddess of Beauty, smiled faintly. "Strength alone will not save her, but her heart… and her companions… might. The Rift cannot bind unity."
Zhichen, God of Wisdom, leaned back, nodding. "She is learning faster than I anticipated. The illusions bend but cannot break her. The Half-Moon Child will emerge changed… perhaps more than even the Courts expect."
The group pressed onward. The relic glimmered faintly on the horizon, its pulse like a heartbeat. The Rift was alive around them, testing each step, each movement, each thought. Shadows became mirrors, mirrors became mazes, and the flames whispered, pleaded, and roared.
Yet Ruoxue and her companions advanced, step by step, the rhythm of their unity keeping the Rift at bay. They were not just fighting Wraiths—they were fighting themselves, their own insecurities, the whispers of the past, and the hunger of the Rift.
At last, they approached the relic. Its glow was steady now, like a calm heartbeat amidst chaos. Ruoxue inhaled, feeling the pulse of its energy. The trials were not over—but for the first time, she felt the sense of control.
The Rift had tested them, but they had endured. And for now, the relic waited, its secrets bound to whoever could claim it.