Long Aotian sat on the edge of his bed, waiting. His hands rested on his knees, and his breathing remained steady despite the anticipation coiling in his chest. The voice had told him to show his resolve, but what did that mean? What test would—
The world went silent.
Not quiet. Silent. The kind of absolute absence of sound that made Long Aotian's ears ring. He couldn't hear his own breathing. Couldn't hear the creak of wood or the rustle of wind outside. Even his heartbeat disappeared.
Then everything changed.
The small room vanished. The bed beneath him, the wooden walls, the medicinal herbs—all of it dissolved like smoke caught in a strong wind. Long Aotian found himself standing in a vast expanse of darkness that stretched endlessly in every direction. No floor beneath his feet, yet somehow he stood upright. No sky above, no horizon in the distance. Just infinite black.
His pulse quickened. Long Aotian turned slowly, searching for something—anything—to anchor himself. His eyes swept across the void until they caught on something in the distance.
Light.
Nine spheres of light hung suspended in the darkness, arranged in a perfect circle. Each one pulsed with a different color—crimson, grey, violet, azure, silver, black, white, gold, and one that seemed to shift between all colors and none. They hovered there, silent and still, yet somehow alive. Long Aotian could feel them calling to him, pulling at something deep in his chest.
Curiosity drove his feet forward before conscious thought caught up. He walked toward the spheres, each step somehow solid despite the absence of ground beneath him. The lights grew larger as he approached, revealing intricate patterns swirling within each one—scales, claws, wings.
Long Aotian reached the nearest sphere. It glowed with crimson light that reminded him of blood and fire. He hesitated for only a moment before extending his hand. His fingers brushed against the surface.
"INSOLENT!"
Nine voices roared as one, shaking the void itself. The spheres exploded with blinding brilliance, forcing Long Aotian to throw his arm up to shield his eyes. Heat and pressure slammed into him from all directions, driving him backward. His feet skidded across the non-existent ground, and when he finally managed to lower his arm and look up, his breath caught in his throat.
Nine dragons surrounded him.
They towered above him, each one massive enough to swallow mountains. Their scales gleamed in the darkness, catching light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. Wings stretched wide, casting shadows that shouldn't exist in a place without light. Eyes—dozens of eyes—fixed on Long Aotian with expressions that ranged from contempt to outright mockery.
Long Aotian's legs trembled. Not from fear, but from the sheer weight of their presence. These were creatures of legend. Divine beasts that existed only in ancient texts and whispered stories. Dragons. Real dragons. And they were looking at him like he was an insect.
One of the dragons lowered its head, bringing its face level with Long Aotian's. Its scales were the color of old blood, and its eyes burned with crimson fire. When it spoke, its voice rumbled like distant thunder.
"So this is the mortal who seeks our legacy?"
Another dragon—this one covered in grey scales that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it—snorted. Smoke billowed from its nostrils.
"It's just trash that can't even cultivate."
Trash.
The word hung in the air between them. Long Aotian heard it clearly, felt it land like a physical blow. But instead of the rage that had consumed him earlier, something colder settled in his chest. He met the grey dragon's gaze without flinching, his jaw set and his eyes hard.
The grey dragon's head tilted slightly, and a low sound rumbled from its throat that might have been laughter.
"Oh? You're not convinced?" Its lips peeled back, revealing teeth the size of swords. "Well then—kneel!"
The change happened instantly.
Pressure descended on Long Aotian like the entire weight of the heavens collapsing at once. It pressed down on his shoulders, his back, his legs. The air itself turned thick and suffocating, each breath requiring conscious effort. His bones creaked under the strain, and his muscles screamed in protest.
Long Aotian's knees buckled slightly. He caught himself, planting his feet and straightening his back with sheer willpower. Sweat broke out across his forehead and ran down his face in streams. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, nails digging deep enough into his palms to draw blood.
When the dragons had first appeared, Long Aotian had felt nothing but reverence. These were beings from myth and legend, creatures so far above mortals that they might as well be gods. Part of him had wanted to bow simply out of respect for what they represented.
But that was before they called him trash.
Before they tried to force him to his knees like a dog.
Long Aotian's teeth ground together so hard he tasted copper. His vision swam, going red at the edges as the pressure increased. Through the haze of pain, one thought burned clear and absolute in his mind.
I would rather die than kneel before anyone ever again.
The grey dragon Ruin, watched him with those mocking eyes. It seemed almost amused by Long Aotian's defiance. Then its expression shifted, and the pressure doubled.
Blood exploded from Long Aotian's mouth in a fine spray. He heard cracks—sharp, distinct sounds that came from inside his own body. Ribs. His ribs were breaking under the weight. His legs trembled violently, threatening to give out entirely. His vision darkened at the edges.
Still, he stood.
"I'm not trash," Long Aotian whispered through blood-slicked lips. His voice was barely audible, more breath than sound. "I'll never kneel."
The pressure increased again.
More bones cracked. Long Aotian's spine felt like it was being compressed into dust. His lungs couldn't expand fully, leaving him gasping for air that wouldn't come. Pain radiated through every nerve in his body, white-hot and all-consuming.
Somewhere deep inside him, rage stirred. Not the hot, explosive anger from before, but something ancient and primal. It rose up from the depths of his soul like a dragon awakening from centuries of slumber, roaring its defiance against the heavens themselves.
Long Aotian's eyes blazed with that rage. Even as his body broke apart piece by piece, even as darkness crept in from all sides, he kept his gaze locked on Ruin. His lips pulled back in something that wasn't quite a smile and wasn't quite a snarl.
He would not kneel.
The world tilted. Long Aotian felt his legs finally giving way, his knees bending despite every ounce of will he possessed. His consciousness began to slip, darkness swallowing his vision. He was falling, falling—
Then everything stopped.
A presence unfolded behind Long Aotian. He couldn't see it, couldn't describe it, but he felt it with absolute certainty. It was vast. Ancient. And utterly cold.
Two eyes opened in the darkness behind him—not physical eyes, but something more fundamental. Something that existed beyond normal perception. Within each pupil, a character burned with golden light: 無敵. Invincible.
Long Aotian's eyes, which had been drifting closed, snapped open. But the boy who looked out through them was gone. The immaturity, the weakness, the desperation—all of it vanished as if it had never existed. What remained was something else entirely.
The disposition changed. The aura changed. Long Aotian stood straight, his broken body somehow whole again, and when he moved, it was with the cold precision of a war god who had walked through ten thousand battlefields and emerged undefeated.
"Aren't you enjoying yourself too much, Ruin