The East Sea was endless, a vast dominion of shifting tides, glittering palaces carved into coral reefs, and shadows of ancient leviathans drifting far below. It was a world ruled not only by strength, but by politics as treacherous as the waters themselves.
Taiyi, still called by his chosen name but now bearing the surname Long, had been taken in by the Dragon King of the East Sea. To outsiders, he was little more than a foundling—an orphaned child plucked from the border currents. To the dragon clans, however, he was a curiosity. His silver hair was striking, his blue eyes sharp yet unreadable, and though dragon horns curved faintly from his brow, his aura betrayed no trace of a true draconic bloodline.
That made him both safe to mock and dangerous to ignore.
---
From the very beginning, Taiyi played the role of the harmless adopted son. He did not complain when other dragon youths jeered at him, calling him "hollow-scale" or "half-blood." He did not fight back when beaten in training drills, nor did he boast when he sometimes displayed surprising bursts of speed or skill. Instead, he bowed his head, offered faint smiles, and gave the impression of a timid boy with no ambitions.
But in silence, he observed.
The East Sea court was full of rivals: dukes descended from ancient dragon generals, ambitious princesses who sought to marry into greater power, and cunning ministers whispering schemes in gilded halls. Taiyi never challenged them directly. Instead, he learned their habits, their temperaments, their weaknesses.
When a rival prince pushed him into the whirlpool trenches to drown, Taiyi feigned helplessness until the boy turned his back—then dragged him into the undertow with him, surfacing unscathed while the other gasped for air. When accused of cheating, he simply smiled and said, "I was lucky."
Luck. That was the word the East Sea nobles began to associate with him.
But in truth, it was not luck. It was calculation.
And little by little, those who mocked him began to underestimate him, treating him as nothing more than a harmless shadow in the palace. Exactly as he intended.
---
The Dragon King's Arena
Each year, the East Sea held the Arena of Currents, a series of duels where young dragons proved their worth before the Dragon King. Winners earned honor, resources, and recognition. Losers often left humiliated, if not crippled.
Taiyi entered, to the laughter of the court.
"Does the hollow-scale think himself worthy?" one noble scoffed.
"He'll be torn apart in the first match," another jeered.
The first battle pitted him against a dragon youth with scales like molten bronze. The boy lunged with raw power, claws tearing through the seawater like blades. Taiyi dodged, barely, and let himself be battered back again and again. The crowd roared with laughter.
But in the final exchange, when his opponent overextended, Taiyi twisted slightly, shifting the current so the bronze-scaled boy slammed into a coral pillar headfirst. The duel ended instantly.
"Lucky strike," the judges said.
"Pathetic victory," sneered the crowd.
Taiyi bowed humbly, eyes lowered. But deep inside, his calm mind recorded every reaction, every sneer, every whispered doubt.
His second battle came against a cleverer foe—a dragoness known for weaving illusions with her water arts. The crowd waited for Taiyi to be humiliated. Yet once again, Taiyi allowed himself to stumble through her illusions, his strikes landing just barely wide, his movements sloppy. The crowd jeered louder.
And then, at the last moment, he snapped his hand forward, striking the precise point where her illusion was weakest, shattering it in one blow. She faltered, stunned. He tapped her shoulder, claiming victory.
The court murmured. Still, they dismissed it as coincidence.
By the third battle, whispers began to shift.
"He always looks like he's losing… until the last strike."
"Is it really luck?"
But Taiyi remained expressionless, calm, his victories always narrow, always appearing accidental. He gave his enemies no reason to unite against him. Not yet.
---
Feng Jiu in the Sealed Fire Realm
Far away, beyond the sealed barriers of the Fire Realm, Feng Jiu awoke to a life both familiar and strange.
Her sister, Feng Xia, now ruled as the Phoenix Empress. The realm welcomed Feng Jiu's awakening with fire rituals, crimson banners, and choirs of phoenixes filling the skies. To the people, she was the reborn princess who had finally embraced her bloodline, her feathers burning brighter than ever before.
But inside, she felt hollow.
At night, she dreamed of blue eyes staring at her through the mist, of a silver-haired boy whose name she could not recall. She woke with tears burning against her lashes, her chest aching with a loss she could not name.
Feng Xia forbade her from leaving the sealed realm, claiming it was too dangerous beyond. And so, Feng Jiu poured herself into cultivation. Her phoenix flames grew purer, her control sharper. She danced with firestorms and walked unscathed through volcanic lakes. Yet no matter how high her flames soared, her heart remained chained by the weight of her forgotten memories.
---
While Taiyi schemed in silence and Feng Jiu burned in isolation, the higher worlds trembled.
It has been many years since the death of Elliot, once a pillar of balance, shattered ancient alliances. Realms turned on one another. Hidden clans emerged from shadows, seeking to carve their share of power. Demon tribes descended into open war.
And in the far reaches, whispers spread that the Peace Goddess—believed sealed away—had stirred. Though none had seen her, the fear of her vengeance alone was enough to send gods into hiding.
Those who knew her knew that she would not be bound for long especially after what happened to her son and this time they were sure that the universe will bleed.
The world, once bound by tenuous peace, now tottered on the edge of chaos.
---
Back in the East Sea, Taiyi's calm demeanor and narrow victories earned him both contempt and curiosity. The Dragon King, watching silently from his coral throne, began to take interest.
"Luck may be coincidence once," he murmured to his ministers, "but not thrice."
Still, he said nothing.
Taiyi returned to his chambers that night, sitting cross-legged in meditation. His silver hair floated around him like strands of moonlight, his horns glimmering faintly. He closed his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, he saw fire. Red silk. A woman's laughter echoing like a song half-remembered.
His chest tightened.
But when he opened his eyes, he was calm again. Unshaken.
"I will rise slowly," he whispered into the silent sea.
"And when I strike, no one will see it coming."