The mountain rose like the blade of a forgotten god, slicing through clouds and crowned in eternal storm.
Mount Tianshara, the peak where stars were said to die.
The locals whispered its name only at dawn, fearing the voices that echoed from its heights. It was a place where gravity bent and the moonlight lingered long after dawn, where the wind sang in forgotten tongues.
It was here that Li Shen had come, the Phoenix Seed pulsing faintly at his chest, nestled in flame-inscribed cloth.
Before him lay a narrow staircase carved into the sheer rock face—a thousand steps vanishing into the mist above. The Sky Stair.
Each step he took buzzed faintly beneath his boots, as if responding to his breath, his aura.
Above, the storm rumbled.
The Grave of Stars waited.
Halfway up, he was not alone.
A rumble of thunder—then the sound of sandals on stone.
Figures emerged from the swirling fog—cloaked in indigo and lightning-threaded robes, their faces masked by porcelain, their auras sharp as broken glass.
The Storm Monks. Guardians of the Grave. Said to be descendants of the Celestial Order that once watched the heavens for signs of calamity.
Their leader stepped forward. She was tall, gaunt, her eyes silver beneath the mask's cracked edges.
"Turn back," she said. "This place is not for the living."
"I bear the Flame Line," Li Shen replied, drawing the Dawnpiercer Blade, which shimmered in response to the storm.
"And I seek what the sky no longer guards."
She narrowed her gaze.
"Then be judged."
The Storm Monks attacked like thunder.
Lightning split the clouds.
Li Shen leapt backward, drawing not one blade, but three—Ocean Soul, Mirror Vale, and Dawnpiercer—each in hand or circling his body with soul-force threads.
The monks came in spirals, attacking with Skyburst Steps—a movement style that left echoes of themselves with each strike.
Li Shen matched them with the Crimson Wings Mantle, flaring his aura in mid-air to twist direction and vanish through arcs of fire.
Blades clashed mid-flight.
Li Shen cut through two monks with a Phoenix Ember Whirl, then rebounded off a floating fragment of rock, propelling himself skyward with the Tidebreaker Flame Form.
Their leader met him mid-air, her palm catching the blade of Dawnpiercer in a burst of divine thunder.
The force hurled them apart.
She landed gently on the next ledge.
"You wield flame," she said. "But do you understand the sky?"
Li Shen lowered his stance.
"Then teach me."
She smiled behind the cracked porcelain—and raised her blade.
After the duel, Li Shen stood alone at the summit, bloodied but unbroken. The monks had not died—they had vanished into sparks, their trials complete.
Before him stood a great archway of obsidian and silver, carved with constellations that shimmered in real time. A moonstone seal pulsed at its heart, resisting his presence.
He drew the Eidolon Blade—its spectral edge singing with resonance—and sliced once across the seal.
It shattered with a chime like a midnight bell.
The Gate to the Grave of Stars opened.
Inside lay a temple built of floating platforms, hanging in an endless void lit by false stars. Gravity pulsed like breath. Above him, the sky was a dome of memories.
Each step he took played a note.
Each breath, a ripple through the cosmos.
Then came the voice.
"Welcome, Flamebearer."
A figure materialized—robed in night, eyes like nova-flame.
The Star Oracle.
The last of the Celestial Watch.
"I have waited for you," the Oracle said. "You who walk with blades forged in echoes and promises. The sky has seen your path. And it has questions."
The floor beneath them shifted—revealing a battlefield of constellations.
A memory.
A trial.
Li Shen found himself in a starlit arena, surrounded by the celestial echoes of his past—each a copy of himself at different points in his journey.
The Li Shen who had failed Master Xin.
The Li Shen who had fled Wraithbone Hollow.
The Li Shen who had struck in vengeance rather than mercy.
They attacked.
And he fought them all.
Not just with blades—but with growth.
He used techniques he hadn't known then, adapting their weaknesses, refusing to be who he had been.
He flowed like tide with Ocean Soul.
Reflected their fear with Mirror Vale.
Severed illusions with Eidolon.
And ended it all with a final upward strike from Dawnpiercer, slicing through the arena in a blaze of golden sunfire.
The echoes dissolved.
The Oracle smiled.
"Then the sky judges you worthy."
From the center of the temple rose a pedestal of meteoric iron. Upon it lay a sword—
Slender. Curved. Its edge shimmered with starlight, as if each strike contained the weight of a falling comet.
Its hilt bore six inlaid moons, and its name was carved in the High Script of the Celestials.
Astral Windblade – Lúnxiao.
The moment Li Shen touched it, stars fell from the temple's false sky. The sword sang in his hand, shifting weightlessly between stances. It merged with his qi effortlessly—each movement a ripple across space.
He now wielded five swords.
And the heavens were no longer still.
As he descended from Mount Tianshara, the Grave sealed itself behind him. The Phoenix Seed burned hotter at his chest, resonating with Lúnxiao.
A storm gathered in the east.
The Hollow Council moved openly now.
And from the shadows of the eastern marshes, a figure watched him with a curved blade and eyes that knew death.
The next trial waited in the Lotus Mire, where the Blade of Withering Bloom slumbered — and a deadly assassin of the Ashen Pact prepared their final greeting.