The sky was burning.
Ash fell like dying stars, glowing embers adrift in a world already lost.
Towers of obsidian crumbled in the distance as waves of Qi clashed, tearing the land asunder. Through the smoke, figures surged, some human, some monstrous, each wreathed in energy that bent the very air around them.
At the heart of the chaos, a lone figure stood atop a fractured peak.
His robes whipped in the scorched wind, one sleeve torn, blood trailing down his arm. And yet, he did not fall.
His eyes blazed brighter than the infernos behind him. Stars circled his back in silent orbit, and space itself twisted with every breath he took.
He stepped forward, hand outstretched toward the enemy who should not exist.
Behind him, something lay still, a figure cloaked in flame, her hand limp in the dirt. Long hair drifted in the wind like strands of fire, her presence silent, her light fading from the world.
He didn't turn.
He couldn't.
A scream tore from his lungs, raw, broken, and endless.
The world trembled.
And the skies wept for the fallen.
Ryu jolted upright, breath ragged.
The dream clung to him, seared into his mind. He could still feel the heat. Still hear the screams.
Then the alarm buzzed.
A sharp whine shattered the silence, dragging him fully back into the present.
As the first light of morning crept over the jagged skyline of TyLing City, golden rays spilled through the narrow gaps between steel towers and shimmering glass. Below the streets buzzed to life. Buses hissed as they pulled up to crowded terminals, their doors clattering open for half-asleep commuters. Neon signs flickered off as cafés prepared the first brews of the day. Somewhere nearby, a food vendor shouted over the hum of traffic, offering hot food to passing students in navy-blue uniforms.
Inside a cramped dorm room nestled against the east wing of TyLing Academy, the alarm blared on.
Ryu groaned.
Seventeen years old, perpetually exhausted, and running on energy drink fumes, he rolled over and buried his face in the pillow like it might somehow rewind time. The alarm clock blinked in angry red digits: 07:15.
He had forty-five minutes until his first lecture.
"Shit, again?!" he muttered, voice filled with sleep.
He kicked off tangled sheets and stumbled to his feet. The room around him was chaos, a single bed crammed in the corner, a desk overflowing with notebooks and loose pages, a cracked tablet half-buried beneath an old hoodie. Dirty laundry had taken on a topographical form near the bathroom door.
Still half-asleep, Ryu navigated his morning routine like a soldier on autopilot. He grabbed a wrinkled shirt from the floor, wearable enough, and mismatched socks twice before giving up and shoving his feet into scuffed sneakers. He nearly brushed his teeth with face wash, caught himself just in time, and spat into the sink while mentally calculating the sprint to class.
No breakfast. Again.
He shoved his notebook into a half-zipped backpack, slung it over one shoulder, and ran out the door, hair in chaos and shoelaces trailing behind him. The door slammed shut with a final, accusatory thud, leaving the disaster of his dorm in his wake.
By the time Ryu burst into class, breathless, hair still rebellious from sleep, all students were already seated. His lecturer, a tall, no-nonsense man with wire-rimmed glasses barely glanced up from his tablet.
"You're late, Ryu," he said flatly. "File 3. Page 360. Take a seat."
Ryu muttered a sheepish "Yes, sir" and slid into a chair near the back, already dreading the rest of the day.
The lecturer tapped the board, bringing up a historical schematic.
"Today, we'll be covering the ancient spirit veins," he began. "These were channels used to harness Earth and Heaven energy, essential for forming one's spirit pool and cultivating enhanced physical and mental capabilities."
He paced slowly as diagrams of meridians, spirit nodes, and glowing figures flickered to life behind him.
"According to the texts," he continued, "a cultivator's body had to be tempered in stages to safely absorb this power. Without the proper foundation, the energy would overwhelm the body and destroy it from within."
Ryu's pen moved lazily, his notes already a mess of barely legible symbols and doodles, he started to rethink his decision to take ancient history.
"Cultivation began with Mind Tempering. Once the mind was refined, the body followed: Body, Bone, Viscera, Blood, and finally, Soul Tempering, known collectively as the Six Soul Stages. Completing these opened the path to the Practitioner's Stage, the first true step onto the Martial Dao."
The lecturer paused to scan the room.
"Nine sub-stages follow. Only after mastering them can, one ascends to the Elemental Stage, where a cultivator awakens their spiritual affinity and bonds with a natural element. From there, the path leads to the Ascension Stage, the threshold of near-immortality. And beyond that lies the final known realm... Transcendence."
He let the word hang in the air.
"Few are said to have reached it. Fewer still may have surpassed it. One name, of course, is always mentioned."
Ryu didn't need to hear it. He mouthed the words as the lecturer spoke to them aloud.
"The Divine Void Emperor."
The classroom was quiet, save for the soft hum of the ventilation system and the occasional rustle of styluses on tablets.
Then the teacher glanced at the time.
"Before we end, remember the field trip in two days. It runs over the weekend. We'll be visiting the Old Emperor's Ruins, a major historical site tied to ancient cultivation. Attendance is mandatory."
Ryu blinked. His pen froze mid-stroke.
That's this weekend?
He leaned toward the student beside him.
"Wait… that's this weekend?"
Soka, grinning like a kid about to raid a candy store, whispered back, "You forgot? Seriously?"
"Exams. Notes. I've been swamped."
Soka nudged his elbow. "Three days out of the city. Ruins. Legends. No lectures. You need this, man. They say some students get visions just by being near the site."
Ryu gave him a look. "You'd believe a potato was a sacred relic if someone carved runes into it."
Soka shrugged. "Scrolls don't write themselves. Some of those texts are thousands of years old."
"Still. Probably just weathered stone and overgrown moss."
"Which still beats another weekend in a study hall."
The bell rang, soft but final.
As students packed up, Ryu shouldered his bag.
"Later, Soka."
Soka gave him a lazy two-finger salute. "Don't forget to pack your sense of wonder."
Ryu rolled his eyes, but a faint grin lingered as he left the room.
Later that day, Ryu wandered out to the training fields behind the academy. He didn't join the martial drills, he wasn't bold enough for that, but he watched from the sidelines.
From the shadow of a weather-worn bench, he studied the students in motion. Their movements were precise, stance into strike, the transition of the speed of their limbs.
Ryu sketched them quickly, mapping each pose with annotations in the margins: balance shifts, muscle tension, energy dispersal. He wasn't just copying. He was deconstructing, breaking them down to their core mechanics.
He already had the seeds of a style in his head. Something fluid. Adaptable. His own.
Physically, Ryu was nothing special. Low stamina. Clumsy footwork. But he trained at night, when no one watched. Quietly. Relentlessly. Piece by piece, he built himself up.
By evening, drained from a long day of study and silent observation he returned to his dorm.
Dinner was simple but sacred, instant ramen upgraded with spring onions, a soft-boiled egg, and leftover gyoza crisped in sesame oil. His little ritual.
The next day came and went.
Another lecture, this one focused on the world veins, massive convergences of Earth and Heaven energy. Sacred zones. Sites of power.
"The strongest," the professor explained, "was beneath the old Emperor's Palace. A seven-point vein origin, rare even among recorded ley clusters. It's no coincidence the Divine Void Emperor rose from that place."
Ryu didn't linger after class. He rushed across campus, hoping to catch the final match of the martial arts tournament, a prestigious event drawing top-tier students from across the Collective Kingdoms.
The halls were crowded. The air buzzed with anticipation.
He rounded a corner and slammed straight into someone.
"Ah, sorry," Ryu said quickly, bowing without thinking. "I didn't see."
He stopped.
The man who turned toward him wasn't just irritated. He looked wrong.
His face was twisted into a half-snarl. Bloodshot eyes twitched, unfocused. One tooth jutted over his bottom lip, catching the light with something too sharp, too unnatural. His grin was crooked, as if warped across his face in a way that made Ryu's skin crawl.
His breath reeked of smoke and something bitter. And he moved with the twitchy, fragmented rhythm of someone barely holding themselves together.
Ryu's instincts screamed.
Back away.
But he didn't move.
His breath caught. Muscles locked.
He knew, too late, that he was in trouble.