The relic lay ahead, glowing with a steady pulse that seemed to beat in time with Ruoxue's own heartbeat. Unlike the flames and shadows that had roared and whispered around them, the relic's light was calm—yet it radiated power that pressed on the chest like an unspoken warning.
Ruoxue took a deep breath, Silent Glove in hand. Around her, the other chosen—eight in total—paused, each feeling the pull of the relic.
Qiao Feiyan's eyes darted nervously. "It's… so close. But I feel… something watching."
Lian Huiming's jaw tightened. "Not watching… testing. The Rift is alive. It will not let us leave without a price."
Shen Yucheng nodded silently, summoning a shield of frost around his form. Mo Xueran remained calm, silent as ever, his black robes blending into the shadows. Feng Yulan adjusted her stance, intuition guiding her steps toward the relic's glow.
And Yinxiu remained beside Ruoxue, a silent sentinel, as if anticipating the next strike of the Rift.
The ground trembled. The chains above groaned, black tendrils stretching down toward the mortals like predatory snakes. The shadows coalesced, forming the familiar demon, larger and more grotesque than before. Its eyes burned with an intelligence older than the Nine Courts themselves.
"You have come far," it said, voice like grinding stone, echoing in every direction. "But far is not enough. The relic is mine to guard, and only the broken may pass."
Ruoxue's grip on her sword tightened. "We are not broken," she said, voice calm but firm. "The Rift does not control us. We control ourselves."
The demon laughed—a sound that made the chains shudder and the ground quake. Flames swirled around it, yet the fire held no heat. Instead, it pressed on the mind, each wisp of smoke carrying a fragment of memory, desire, or fear.
The first illusions struck like knives.
Qiao Feiyan's vision returned—her home ablaze, screams of villagers echoing endlessly. But this time, the shadows mocked her attempts to fight, showing every possible failure she might commit. She dropped to her knees, clutching her head. "No… no!"
Ruoxue placed a hand on her shoulder. "It is not real. Breathe. Face it. Do not let it own you." She knelt still as if contemplating if the familiar voice she heard was true, or just one of her nightmares.
With a trembling exhale, Qiao Feiyan opened her eyes. The illusion faltered, flames cracking and fading into ash. She stood, sword ready, shaking but resolute.
Lian Huiming faced visions of betrayal—figures he trusted pointing blades at him, whispers of conspiracies he had never known. His mind screamed to strike first, to defend himself preemptively. But Mo Xueran's steady gaze reminded him: Fear is the enemy. Unity is the path.
He steadied his breath, letting the vision crumble under his own clarity. Shadows twisted but then dissolved, leaving the jagged stone beneath his feet.
Shen Yucheng's illusions were subtle and cruel—replaying missions gone wrong, comrades lost, honor tarnished. Every step he took was a replay of failure, yet he endured, drawing strength from his companions.
Feng Yulan's trial was endless corridors of mirrored reality, twisting endlessly. She could hear herself calling for help, seeing herself stumble, but she refused to follow. Each step forward was a victory, every corridor conquered by instinct and calm.
Mo Xueran remained a pillar, his own illusions subdued by centuries of inner discipline. He observed, intervened, and guided the others through the Rift's manipulations, a living anchor amidst chaos.
The demon grew impatient. Its form expanded, the blackened flames twisting into grotesque shapes of suffering. It whispered in Ruoxue's mind, feeding on the tension of the group.
"You are mine," it hissed. "You, the Half-Moon Child, carry the spark of forgotten flames. I will take it. I will consume it. And you will kneel before me, begging to be remembered."
Ruoxue's sigil flared violently, burning with silver and azure light. She planted her feet firmly. "No," she said, voice ringing across the Rift. "I am not yours. Not now. Not ever."
Yinxiu moved as one, the only one who seem not affected by the rift. For he was not chosen, he had decided to stay as if being the one marking their grade of who failed and one who had succeeded. He was a silent force of Providence. Silver light erupted from his hands, tearing through the wraiths that surged around them. His presence alone seemed to steady the Rift's shifting paths, giving the disciples a semblance of safety.
"Focus on the relic," he said quietly to Ruoxue, eyes locked on the pulsing light ahead. "The Rift fears purpose."
As they drew closer, the ground split beneath their feet. Lava and ash rose like geysers, scorching the air with phantom heat. The demon howled, coalescing into an enormous figure, multiple faces screaming and twisting into each other. Its arms stretched impossibly, blackened flames licking the disciples from all sides.
The nine chosen scattered, forming a defensive circle around Ruoxue and the relic.
"Stick together!" she shouted, moving as one with Yinxiu. "We end this together, or we die together!"
The demon attacked in waves. Ashen Wraiths surged forward, forming grotesque shapes of fire and shadow. Each disciple fought, some faltering under the weight of illusions, others moving with deadly precision.
Qiao Feiyan's sword slashed through the nearest Wraiths, every strike slicing the echo of her fears.
Lian Huiming conjured barriers of stone, turning attacks aside, and protecting those struggling with illusions.
Shen Yucheng's frost channeled the failures he had endured, freezing the shadows long enough for the others to strike.
Feng Yulan moved like water, weaving through illusions and threats, her instincts keeping the group's rhythm intact.
Mo Xueran anchored their formation, striking decisively at any who faltered, ensuring unity held firm.
Then came the moment of the relic. It floated above a pedestal of obsidian stone, pulsing with rhythmic energy. Every chain above the Rift tightened, black flames flaring around it like sentinels.
Ruoxue stepped forward alone, Silent Glove drawn. The demon's face split into a thousand mocking smiles. "You will not claim it," it hissed. "You are not worthy."
She inhaled, feeling the energy of the relic call to her. Her companions formed a protective circle, hands glowing with their own powers, reinforcing the bonds between them. Yinxiu stood closest, silver light flowing like a river between them, shielding her from the worst of the Rift's hunger.
"This is it," she whispered to herself. "One step, one choice, one strike."
She surged forward, every fiber of her being aligned with the relic. The demon shrieked, its illusions attempting one final assault, manifesting fears she had yet to confront—loss, loneliness, invisibility, failure.
Ruoxue struck. Silent Glove met the pedestal. Silver and blue light erupted, washing through the Rift like a tidal wave. Chains cracked. Wraiths screamed. The demon recoiled, shrieking as its form fractured under the intensity of their resolve.
The illusions shattered.
And for a heartbeat, silence fell.
Ruoxue opened her eyes. The relic hovered before her, calm, pulsing with steady rhythm. The Rift's flames still flickered, but their hunger had dimmed. The demon's form collapsed into a heap of ash and shadow, whispering faintly in retreat.
Her companions approached, faces pale, breathing ragged. They had survived the trial—but each had been changed, scarred by the illusions and their own fears.
Yinxiu's voice broke the silence. "It is done… for now. The Rift has yielded. But remember, its hunger never sleeps. Only vigilance keeps it at bay."
Ruoxue took the relic in her hands, feeling its pulse synchronize with hers. The Rift seemed to bow slightly, acknowledging her victory—but not surrendering completely.
She turned to the remaining chosen, nodding once. "We made it through… together. And we will continue to do so."
Above the Rift, the Nine Courts murmured among themselves.
Meihua Jing, Goddess of Beauty, smiled faintly. "She has passed the first trial… and surpassed all expectations."
Zhichen, God of Wisdom, inclined his head. "The Half-Moon Child is forging a path not even the Courts can fully predict."
Huo'an, God of Flames, clenched his fist. "She burns brighter than I imagined. But the Rift is not finished. It will test her again."
Shihua, Goddess of Time, nodded. "Indeed. Every trial prepares the soul for what is to come."
And the others observed silently, aware that while the relic was claimed, the true trial—the shaping of destiny, of Ruoxue herself—was only beginning.
The seven including Yinxiu, emerged from the heart of the Rift, bodies exhausted but unbroken, the relic cradled in Ruoxue's hands. The landscape of ash and fire remained behind, but its echoes followed them, whispering in the wind. The Rift had tested them, fed upon fears, and forced each to confront themselves in ways mortal eyes could barely comprehend.
But they had all endured.
And as the first glimmers of dawn crept across the twisted horizon, they knew that the trials of the Rift were only the beginning of a greater storm—a storm that would reshape the Nine Courts, and perhaps even the world beyond.