The skies above the Dawnyu Sect had darkened, not with clouds, but with unease.
At the base of the Jade Oracle Pavilion, disciples and elders alike gathered. The air was cold despite the spring bloom, and silence held the courtyard in a tense grip. In the center stood Zhen Hu—robes stained, pulse steady, breath hidden. The wounds of battle still clung to his frame, but none of those bruises compared to what stood ahead.
This was no lecture.
No lecture could weigh down the soul like this.
This was a Conservation Trial.
A rare process enacted only when the Balance of Sect Zen was in question—when a disciple's energy source, nature, or actions risked corruption of sacred flow. The ancient stone circle at the center of the courtyard had awakened for the first time in over two centuries. Faint scripts, etched by long-dead Oracles, glowed faintly beneath Zhen Hu's feet.
The Oracle of the Dawnyu Sect—High Seer Mei'shan—arrived in a gliding silence, her robes whispering starlight. She wore the Mantle of Threadsight, embroidered with the emblems of past soul readings. Behind her followed a line of Elders, including Elder Juon and Elder Qiao. But the one who held the most weight was already seated.
Patriarch Zhen Xun.
Zhen Hu's father. A man torn between blood and doctrine.
He did not speak.
Not yet.
Aelira hovered beside Zhen Hu in a translucent shimmer. Her form barely visible to the mortal eye, but tangible to the heart. Her voice brushed his ears like a blade drawn gently along skin.
"You are not ready for this light," she warned. "And yet you must stand beneath it."
He did not answer. His eyes were already searching the crowd for one face.
Mie Xian.
She stood near the third tier of outer disciples, her fingers clenched in the sleeves of her robes. She had wept when they'd taken him. Not because she knew what he was—only that he was in pain. Her heart trembled with confusion.
And now, it trembled with fear.
The Oracle raised a palm. Her words were not loud, but they echoed as if the wind itself carried them.
"We call this soul to light, and its root to memory."
Zhen Hu's body tensed. The Conservation Base beneath him flared, locking his feet with Zen-bound chains. These were not physical—they were formed of Purity Seals, meant to restrict any energy not aligned with the sect's foundational tenets.
The Oracle's hand hovered over a silver basin filled with Mirrored Dew—a rare alchemical fluid used to reflect truth during soul readings.
"Reveal your Intent," she said. "Let the basin know your name."
Zhen Hu's lips parted. But before he could speak, Aelira's hand swept through the void and touched his spine.
"Let me veil you," she whispered. "They are not yet worthy of the full truth."
A ripple of cold surged through him. His Nytherion energy, thick with decay and death-intent, coiled like a serpent beneath his skin. Aelira bent the shape of it—filtered it—until what the Oracle saw was... fractured.
In the basin, shadows writhed, but they did not form the grotesque horrors Zhen Hu knew they would.
Still, the Oracle's eyes narrowed.
"Your soul bears the scent of divergence," she murmured. "It touches something… Transcendent."
A stir ran through the crowd. Transcendent. The word alone was nearly taboo to utter when not in reference to a world power or the long-lost Pillars of Ascension.
Mie Xian's eyes widened. Not in judgment. But in dawning realization.
Elder Qiao stepped forward. "He has not been taught these paths. No scripture, no technique from our halls would yield such resonance."
Elder Juon added, "Perhaps it is not technique. Perhaps it is something older. Or… foreign."
Zhen Xun finally rose from his seat. When he spoke, his voice bore no anger. Only weight.
"I raised this boy. I buried his mother with my own hands."
His gaze fell on Zhen Hu like a storm pressing against a candle flame.
"But I will not let my sect burn for his silence."
He turned to the Oracle. "Let the trial proceed over three days. He shall remain within the Inner Shadow Pillar. No cultivation. No guidance. No visitors."
The sentence hung like a guillotine.
Zhen Hu bowed. Not in submission. But in restraint.
Aelira leaned close to his ear.
"They believe they are binding you."
Her voice was cool as frost, and crueler than usual.
"But all they've done is build the cradle… where a god will awaken."