The sky no longer thundered. It roared.
Above the vast circular platform where Shadow and Jian Mu stood—bruised, bloodied, and breathing fire—descended a figure unlike anything the mortal world had witnessed in millennia. The clouds churned not with rain, but with divine will. Lightning didn't strike—it knelt.
A towering remnant of raw power emerged from the heart of the storm. Cloaked in robes stitched from arcs of lightning and armor wrought from ancient jade and celestial steel, the being descended slowly. His long hair flowed like a river of starlight, eyes burning with layered galaxies of stormlight. His steps cracked the platform without touching it. His voice, when it came, wasn't sound. It was judgment.
> *"You who call yourselves disciples of the modern world… You who claim the right to tread this sacred hall… You stand before the inheritance of the last sovereign of thunder."*
The Remnant of the Thunder Lord stood motionless. Yet his very presence pressed down like a mountain.
> *"I am but a fragment of will. A voice left behind by a man who burned away his mortality to carve a storm into the heavens."*
Yu Bailing, still bleeding despite the patchwork healing the tomb granted him, stepped forward arrogantly. "Thunder Lord, we four have reached this place through blood and merit. Surely your legacy—"
The Thunder Lord's voice silenced him with a whisper.
> *"Legacy is not given. It is not inherited by bloodlines, titles, or arrogance. It is seized by those who can carry the burden."*
Zhen Yue narrowed her eyes. "Then say it. What is your trial? Let us finish this."
The sky split again. A vast ring of floating thunder platforms, each engraved with different glyphs, materialized around the edge of the storm's heart. Each pulsed with terrifying spiritual energy.
> *"You are six. But only one will walk out bearing my mark."*
> *"This is the Trial of Sovereignty. Six gates, six tribulations. Each born from my memories, my battles, and my failures. Only one who conquers all may claim my name."*
Jian Mu stepped forward, fists clenched. "Only one…?"
> *"Only one."*
> *"You are allies no longer. You are rivals standing before the mantle of godhood. Each trial will isolate you. Strip you. Show your essence. You will not win with borrowed strength. You will not triumph with stolen names. You will walk through storms—and the storm will remember who walks true."*
Shadow said nothing. But inside, the words struck deeper than any sword. This wasn't just a fight. It wasn't even about proving power.
It was about becoming *more*.
> *"Step forward,"* the Thunder Lord boomed. *"Choose your gate."*
The six contestants slowly began to drift toward the floating thunder gates. Each glowed with a different hue. Red. Silver. Green. Violet. Black. And blue.
Shadow's instincts pulled him toward the blue gate—the purest resonance of lightning Qi.
Jian Mu paused beside him. "If we survive… don't hold back."
Shadow met his gaze. "Never have."
They parted.
---
Shadow stepped through the blue gate.
The world melted.
He appeared in a skyless plane, clouds whirling above like a sea trapped in the air. Lightning danced around him—but not randomly. It moved in **patterns**—complex, beautiful, and terrifying.
Before him stood a wall of thunder. Dozens of glyphs flickered in and out, ancient formations, many unknown to even the greatest modern scholars.
A voice—this time closer to human—spoke directly in his mind.
> *"This was the first gate I ever created. A wall to protect the last living remnants of my home during the Demon Eclipse. Ten thousand invaders. One man. One formation."*
> *"Break it—or be broken."*
Shadow stepped forward, slowly at first. His eyes scanned the glyphs. The lines weren't just defensive—they adapted. Shifted. Reacted to his very thoughts.
He tried to run Qi into one. It shifted. Countered. Reversed.
He stepped back.
*"I can't solve this by force,"* he whispered. "This isn't a puzzle. It's a conversation."
He sat down.
Closed his eyes.
Let his spiritual sense expand.
And for the first time since entering the tomb, he didn't fight. He **listened**.
One glyph pulsed.
Then another.
Soon, he was mapping the rhythm—not with logic, but with instinct. With *resonance*.
Two hours passed. Then three.
He moved a single finger.
Lightning responded.
Then another.
He smiled.
His Qi flowed through his body—not violently, but in a weaving pattern. He copied the formation's rhythm, not overpowering it but matching it.
*"Like playing music with thunder,"* he murmured.
The wall opened.
And beyond it, a staircase.
Above it, the next trial.
He stood.
And stepped forward.
The storm didn't roar this time.
It whispered his name.
---