To others, this would be the hardest trial.
But Morax knew— for this reckless child, it might be the easiest.
Faced with the spearstorm that blotted out the sky, Xuekui steadied his spear tip against the ground and took one step forward beneath the golden light.
A single step.
A courage that challenged the heavens. Morax sighed with helpless amusement. Of course the sight wouldn't frighten him.
"Fine," Bosacius muttered, watching the child's composure. "I take back what I said about him not being a yaksha."
"Why?" Mernu asked.
Bosacius watched Xuekui—who hadn't shown emotion even after wounding a god—now smiling with the bright excitement of a child given a new toy.
His eyes shimmered—either lit by gold, or lit from within.
"If this isn't a yaksha," Bosacius said softly, "then there's no such thing as a yaksha." On the field, Xuekui's pale blue eyes turned hollow.
A wondrous state bloomed in his heart. The descending "principle" felt familiar.
In that instant, the emptiness in his mind seemed to slow time itself. A memory—familiar and strange—rose.
And suddenly, Xuekui understood what he'd lacked when tracing his birth. It was "principle."
The world dimmed and brightened.
Xuekui stood in wind and snow, scanning the blizzard.
He knew he was searching for something—something he didn't yet understand, but would recognize the moment he saw it.
Blue motes drifted in the storm, wavering toward him.
A blue crystalfly floated past his cheek, unaware of him.
Xuekui's head followed it slowly, and an inexplicable sorrow rose in his chest. He walked after it.
As it wobbled onward, it flew lower and lower—pressed down by something unseen. Xuekui glanced at the heavy sky. The storm was too thick to see through the clouds. As the crystalfly drifted farther, Xuekui felt cold and tired.
He realized those sensations belonged to the crystalfly. They were sharing perception.
A creature of Cryo, yet feeling cold—this violated common sense. So this cold wasn't temperature.
It was something that scraped at spirit and consciousness. This was a place covered by the "principle" of cold.
Even elemental life was worn away by such "principle." The crystalfly was nearing the end of its life.
Then a warmth appeared ahead—slightly easing the chill against the soul.
Guided by instinct, the crystalfly sank into the snow, choosing the warmest place and folding its wings.
Xuekui touched the snow.
The crystalfly was naturally drawn here—a place of pure leylines, rich in Cryo.
The leylines, like a mother cradling her child, gently received the crystalfly—even as an empty shell.
Principle: vast, boundless, strong. Leylines: weaker, yet unbroken, endless.
Here, they formed a balance so perfect it felt like coincidence. Heaven's principle. Earth's leylines.
Where they met and ground against one another, the blizzard quietly buried the small crystalfly. One faint consciousness ended.
Another began. Xuekui looked up—
A remnant will drifted in from the southwest, resisting the erosion of cold "principle," forcing its way through the storm like a drowning man reaching for the last rope.
It plunged into the snow and fought with the newborn consciousness for dominance. In the end, the intruder—spent and powerless—was swallowed by the newborn.
And the instinct to fight was etched into the soul. So that was it…
Xuekui finally understood his sorrow.
Watching his former self walk toward death—how could he not feel bitter? No wonder others remembered what they were before taking human form. He didn't.
Because he truly was a newborn.
Xuekui lay back into the snow that covered the crystalfly. Then—
A pale hand pierced through the snow.
In the real world, Morax's patterned spears hovered, poised to fall—yet didn't. He'd sensed the child's trance, the strange profundity radiating from him.
He stopped, curious.
Not long after, Xuekui's focus snapped back to Morax. Morax didn't ask what he'd seen.
The trial continued.
The spearstorm fell like rain, heavy with "principle." Then Morax's eyes widened.
Xuekui's new form—
Two pairs of blue-white crystal butterfly wings formed behind him, one large, one small. They bore diamond patterns, lacking the stiffness of ice constructs. They rose and fell like living wings.
Xuekui looked up. Every spear's trajectory was clear. Cryo gathered. His own "principle" took its first shape.
Spears that entered his Cryo domain slowed— from near-invisible speed to the pace of ordinary thrown weapons.
The wings fluttered.
The small white-haired yaksha drifted lazily through the air, changing posture as if unhurried— Yet each movement was precisely timed, letting spear after spear skim past him.
A butterfly, dancing in the storm. He'd known it.
Flying should feel like this—free, careless, unbound. The watching adepti had their mouths hanging open. They could sense Xuekui's limits.
He couldn't possibly withstand such an attack.
He wasn't "hiding strength" earlier—everyone had seen him pushed to desperation. Which meant—
He'd broken through again, mid-battle. They swallowed hard.
An instant awakening.
A phrase dismissed as fantasy—
Now happening before their eyes.
They watched the butterfly-winged yaksha rise, spear in hand, then plunge like a dancer toward Morax.
Even if the ending was uncertain…
This scene branded itself into their minds forever. Later generations would say:
When the Geo Lord cast a storm of spears, an ice butterfly danced beneath the sky.
Who says the world has no genius?
Only fear they'll tear the heavens' clothes.