The courtyard of the Heavenly Stele stretched vast and solemn, its marble floors gleaming under the rising sun. The monumental stone loomed at the center, carved with countless names that glimmered faintly like stars—legacies of disciples who had once stood where the young hopefuls gathered now.
It was said that the Stele could not be deceived. It bore the judgment of Heaven and the will of the sect. To carve one's name into it was to be acknowledged by both.
Today, it was Luminarael's turn.
He stepped forward. His figure was slender yet radiant, his white robes whispering in the wind. A quiet stillness followed him, like the hush that precedes the first rays of dawn. His eyes, unclouded and earnest, regarded the stone not with fear or arrogance, but with a childlike curiosity—as though meeting an ancient friend for the first time.
The watching disciples whispered.
> "That's the lotus-born boy…"
"They say a celestial omen appeared at his birth."
"Hah, omens don't carve names. Let's see if Heaven recognizes him."
The elders, robed in dignity, sat above the square in a line of authority. Among them, Elder Yun, keeper of the Stele, stroked his silver beard, his gaze sharp as blades. He had witnessed many names fade to dust before the Stele's silence.
"Go on," he intoned.
Luminarael pressed his palm against the stone. Coldness seeped through his skin, ancient and unfathomable. For a breath, nothing stirred. The crowd began to murmur.
And then—
The Stele breathed.
A deep hum rippled outward, reverberating through the courtyard. Lines of sacred light unfurled from within, climbing its surface like rivers of molten gold. The air grew heavy, thick with a divinity that pressed even elders into silence.
Gasps erupted.
"The Stele is moving!"
"Impossible—so quickly?"
"No… it's awakening!"
The light wove itself into characters, each stroke deliberate, luminous as the sun breaking through night. And there, among immortal names, a new one blossomed with serene majesty:
LUMINARAEL.
The name shone with gentle brilliance, not forceful, not domineering. It was like a lotus blooming upon still waters, soft yet unyielding, impossible to ignore. Unlike other names that dimmed over time, his radiance lingered, refusing to fade, as though the Stele itself cherished it.
A profound silence fell.
Some disciples bowed instinctively. Others clenched their jaws in resentment. One senior disciple's nails dug into his palms until blood welled, his voice a hiss between his teeth:
> "How can a newcomer… surpass us so?"
But Luminarael only tilted his head, eyes wide with innocent wonder. To him, this was not triumph—it was a dialogue.
"…you recognize me too?" he whispered softly, as though speaking to the stone itself.
And the Stele pulsed, once, twice, like a heartbeat answering his.
A shiver passed through the assembly. Was the Heavenly Stele truly… responding to him?
On the dais, Elder Yun's hand trembled as he gripped his staff. He had guarded the Stele for centuries, but never once had he seen it answer a disciple.
"The lotus-born… this child is…" His voice faltered.
High above, obscured by drifting clouds, the Sect Master of Ethereal Heaven Palace watched in silence, his gaze deep as the cosmos. He alone whispered words none below could hear:
> "The lotus blooms in thunder's shadow. Heaven acknowledges his heart, but such brilliance will summon storms. Will our sect weather what follows… or shatter beneath it?"
The light faded at last, but the impression did not. Every disciple carried away the memory of that name, etched not only upon the Stele, but into their hearts.
Some revered it.
Some feared it.
Some envied it.
And thus, the name of Luminarael entered the annals of the Ethereal Heaven Palace—not merely carved upon stone, but etched into destiny itself.
The ripples had begun.