The sky had never done that before.
At first, it was dismissed as cloud cover—an unusual formation drifting too slowly, gathering too deliberately above the eastern ridge. Farmers in the nearby fields paused in their work, shading their eyes, uneasy but uncertain why. Clouds came and went. Weather changed. The heavens did not explain themselves to mortals.
But this was not weather.
The clouds did not move with the wind.
They gathered in a circle.
At the center of that circle, the sky darkened—not as night fell, but as though something had thinned. The blue faded unevenly, revealing a pale distortion beneath, like stretched silk pulled too tight.
Someone screamed.
The sound carried from the lower town to the outer walls of the Guardian Sect.
By the time the warning bells rang, the distortion had grown large enough to be seen clearly from the sect's upper terraces.
It was a hole.
Not torn. Not broken.
Opened.
Within it, light did not pour out. Nor did darkness spill forth. Instead, there was depth—an impossible sense of distance compressed into a space no wider than a city square.
The sky had become a window.
And something lay beyond it.
The Guardian Sect moved quickly.
Disciples were recalled from patrols. Formation flags were raised along the outer perimeter. Elders gathered atop the Hall of Vigilance, their expressions grave as they stared toward the eastern sky.
No one spoke at first.
They did not need to.
"This is not a natural phenomenon," Elder Han said at last.
His voice was steady, but his hands were clasped behind his back too tightly. At Qi Cultivation Level Six, he had lived long enough to recognize patterns—and this did not belong to any he knew.
Vice Sect Master Wei stood beside him, his gaze sharp.
"It resembles neither spatial collapse nor formation failure," Wei said. "And yet… it is stable."
That was what troubled him most.
Disasters were violent. This was calm.
Too calm.
The Sect Master arrived moments later.
Master Gu's hair had gone completely white in recent years, though his posture remained straight. Qi Cultivation Level Eight—once a realm that inspired confidence. Now, it felt like a ceiling pressing downward.
He did not ask questions.
He simply looked.
The distortion in the sky pulsed faintly, not with energy, but with presence. It did not radiate pressure. It did not threaten.
It waited.
"How long?" Master Gu asked.
"Less than half an hour," Elder Han replied.
"And the mortals?"
"Panicked," Vice Sect Master Shen said. "As expected."
Master Lu nodded once. "Contain it. Calm the surrounding towns. No cultivator below Inner Disciple is to approach."
"Yes, Sect Master."
Orders rippled outward.
Below the sect, the mortal settlements were in chaos. People gathered in streets, pointing upward, whispering prayers to half-forgotten gods. Some fled toward the mountains. Others knelt where they stood, convinced this was judgment long overdue.
They were not entirely wrong.
For decades now, the world had been weakening.
Spiritual energy had thinned year by year, so gradually most had not noticed—until cultivation stalled. Until breakthroughs failed. Until elders aged without progress and young disciples struggled to even feel the flow of Qi.
The heavens had been silent through it all.
Until now.
Within the Hall of Vigilance, the elders convened.
This was not a formal meeting. There were no incense rituals, no ceremonial declarations. Time pressed too closely for that.
"Could this be a remnant realm?" one elder asked.
"Too stable," another replied. "Remnants collapse."
"Then a hidden inheritance?"
"If so, why now?"
The questions piled up, unanswered.
Master Gu listened without interruption.
Finally, he raised a hand.
Silence fell.
"We will not speculate blindly," he said. "What matters is intent."
"Intent?" Vice Sect Master Shen echoed.
"Yes," Master Gu said. "If this were calamity, it would already be upon us."
The portal—if it could be called that—had not expanded further. Nor had it receded. It remained fixed in the sky, patient, indifferent to fear.
"It is an invitation," Elder Han said slowly.
The words felt dangerous the moment they were spoken.
An invitation implied choice.
And choice implied consequence.
Before anyone could respond, a shout echoed from the outer terrace.
"Something's coming out!"
Every cultivator in the hall turned sharply.
They moved as one, flowing onto the open platform overlooking the eastern sky.
From the heart of the distortion, a figure emerged.
It did not step through.
It simply appeared—standing upon empty air, as though the sky itself had accepted its weight.
A man.
He wore pale robes that did not stir in the wind. His hair was dark, bound simply at his back. His features were calm, unremarkable, yet impossible to ignore.
There was no aura.
No pressure.
No visible cultivation.
And yet—
Every elder present felt it.
Not fear.
Recognition.
The figure looked down upon the sect.
His gaze did not linger on formations or defenses. It did not assess strength. It passed instead over the mountains, the halls, the gathered disciples—then settled, briefly, on Master Gu.
He inclined his head.
Not deeply.
Just enough.
"I am Qingshi," the man said.
His voice carried easily, though he did not raise it.
"I come as an envoy."
No one moved.
Qi circulated instinctively through meridians. Formations hummed quietly beneath the stone.
Yet nothing reacted to him.
No barrier rejected his presence.
No ward flared.
He stood there, untouched by every protection the Guardian Sect possessed.
"Envoy of whom?" Master Gu asked.
His tone was measured, but his core tightened. He could not sense the man's cultivation at all—not because it was hidden, but because there was nothing to grasp.
Qingshi's eyes were clear.
"Of the Lord of the Immortal Realm."
The words struck like a stone dropped into still water.
Ripples spread.
Several elders inhaled sharply. A few disciples faltered, nearly losing control of their Qi.
Immortal Realm.
The term belonged to legend. To scripture. To stories told when cultivation had been plentiful and the heavens felt closer.
Not to the present.
Vice Sect Master Shen took a step forward. "If such a realm exists," he said carefully, "why reveal itself now?"
Qingshi regarded him calmly.
"Because the fragment has reached a threshold."
The word was unfamiliar in this context.
"Fragment?" Elder Han repeated.
"This world," Qingshi said, "is incomplete."
Silence followed.
The elders exchanged glances, unease deepening.
"Our world has endured for thousands of years," Master Gu said. "Incomplete or not."
Qingshi inclined his head again. "Endurance and completion are not the same."
The portal behind him pulsed faintly, as though responding to the exchange.
"I bring an invitation," Qingshi continued. "Not a command."
"To whom?" Master Gu asked.
"To you," Qingshi said simply. "And through you, to those you choose."
Master Gu's gaze sharpened. "On what terms?"
"Integration," Qingshi replied.
The word carried weight even he did not elaborate upon.
"Your world may enter the Heaven of Resting Peaks," he said. "There, spiritual energy is stable. Cultivation is possible. Decline will cease."
A breath passed.
Then another.
"And the cost?" Vice Sect Master Shen asked.
Qingshi did not answer immediately.
"When a fragment integrates," he said at last, "it accepts order."
"What order?" Elder Han demanded.
"The Lord's."
The sky above them remained fractured.
The portal waited.
Master Gu closed his eyes briefly.
In that instant, he saw the faces of his elders—aged, stalled. The strained efforts of disciples who trained harder each year for lesser results. The mortals below, unaware that their world was quietly running out of breath.
He opened his eyes.
"If we refuse?" he asked.
Qingshi met his gaze.
"Then the decline will continue," he said. "Until there is nothing left to integrate."
The words were not a threat.
They were a statement.
Master Gu looked once more at the sky.
Then at the sect he had sworn to protect.
"Give us time," he said.
Qingshi inclined his head.
"The portal will remain," he said. "When you are ready, step forward."
With that, he turned.
The sky folded around him.
And the heavens did not close.
End of Chapter 12