The Ye Clan estate shimmered beneath a dawn sky streaked with gold and ash, the air thick with the fading hum of Tian Xu's defeat and a sharper tang—blazing qi laced with menace. The courtyard lay still, the fire crackling weakly as Ye Hua stitched a torn cloak, her gray eyes darting to the hill where a red-robed figure stood, his qi a blazing storm casting long shadows. Ye Qing leaned on his spear at the gate, his grizzled face etched with exhaustion, his voice a low growl as he urged Ye Jun and Ye Mei to stay near the hall. Ye Chen sat by the barricade, etching a ward into a cracked stone, his twisted leg braced but his focus unyielding. Ye Ling paced the western wall, her dagger a restless gleam, her braid swaying with each tense step.
Lin Feng stood atop the gatehouse, his silhouette a dark pillar against the blood-streaked light. Tian Xu's fall had unshackled his divine power, but the red-robed figure—those golden eyes glinting with fury—stirred a deeper unease, a threat beyond personal betrayal. His muddy-brown gaze pierced the horizon, calm yet relentless. Inside, Zhan Tian's divine soul surged, the seal fully broken, golden qi now a boundless tide within his veins. Each battle had forged this frail shell into a weapon of divinity, and now that weapon gleamed. He tilted his head, the hum vibrating through the air, power thrumming within—closer to the god's might of old, ready to face the unknown.
Ye Ling climbed up, her boots crunching on damp stone, her voice a low snarl. "That red robe," she said, dagger spinning. "Not Tian Xu's dogs?"
"No," Lin Feng replied, descending. "Something higher. Watching me."
Her grin flashed, fierce but wary. "Let's cut him down, then."
"He's not here to fight yet," he said, meeting her fire with frost. "Get them ready."
The clan rallied in the courtyard, their movements a thread of iron through their fatigue. Ye Qing planted his spear, Ye Chen pocketed his stone, and Ye Hua stood with the kids, her hands trembling but firm. Lin Feng faced them, his presence a steady flame in the rising tension.
"A new foe's here," he said, voice slicing the air. "Not Tian Xu's—not yet ours to fight. He's watching. We don't flinch. We stand."
Ye Qing's grip tightened, his voice rough. "Watching? For what?"
"Me," Lin Feng said, eyes glinting. "Woods to guard, walls to hold. Stay sharp."
Ye Chen's sharp gaze cut through, probing. "He's strong. Stronger than Tian Xu?"
"Likely," Lin Feng said, unyielding. "Move."
The clan sprang into action. Ye Ling darted to the woods, checking snares with a hunter's haste—barbed twine taut, stakes firm. Ye Chen carved wards along the walls, his strokes swift, the air humming with faint power. Ye Qing and the kids piled logs into a jagged barricade, their small hands steady despite the hum. Lin Feng worked alone, reinforcing the gate's keystone array—a lattice of qi, golden and fierce, pulsing with intent. The unleashed power flowed freely now, pain a distant memory, his frame a conduit for divinity.
The hum sharpened—a low, resonant drone that prickled the skin. The red-robed figure stepped forward, his qi a blazing storm—Golden Core realm, early-stage, a leap beyond Tian Xu's Foundation peak. His face remained shadowed beneath a hood, but his golden eyes burned with a fury that rivaled the sun. His voice echoed, deep and commanding, carrying across the valley. "Zhan Tian, the heavens see you. Your rise ends here."
Ye Qing shouted back, spear raised, his voice a growl. "He's ours! Come claim him!"
The figure's laugh was a low rumble, shaking the earth. "Claim? I judge." He raised a hand, qi flaring—a crimson wave rippling forth, not an attack, but a pulse that tested the air. No warriors followed, no beasts charged—just him, a solitary storm watching from the hill.
Lin Feng stepped beyond the gate, alone. "Hold," he murmured to the clan, then faced the figure. "You know me," he called, voice steady. "Who are you?"
The figure's golden eyes narrowed. "A watcher of the Crimson Order. Tian Xu was a pawn—your defiance drew our gaze. The heavens won't tolerate a fallen god's return."
Lin Feng's qi surged—golden light flaring, a tide unbound. "The heavens buried me once. I'm back."
The figure's laugh deepened, a sound of disdain. "Bold words, broken soul. Prove it." His qi pulsed again, a crimson arc lashing out—not to strike, but to provoke, grazing the earth before Lin Feng with a hiss of molten heat.
Lin Feng met it, golden qi flaring brighter—pain gone, power pure. He struck the air, a golden pulse shattering the arc into sparks. The figure's hood shifted, a flicker of surprise in those golden eyes, but his stance remained firm. "A spark," he said, voice a blade. "Not enough."
The gate trembled as the crimson qi tested the wards—Ye Chen's runes flared, holding firm. Ye Ling darted out, her dagger poised, but Lin Feng raised a hand. "Not yet," he said, eyes locked on the figure. Ye Qing gripped his spear, ready to charge, but held at Lin Feng's word. Ye Jun peeked from the hall, clutching a rock— "Now!" Lin Feng shouted. He hurled it, small but fierce, striking the hill near the figure's feet. Dust rose, and Ye Ling grinned, her dagger flashing as she tensed.
The figure's qi surged—Golden Core power rippling, a blazing storm. "Children's tricks," he said, brushing the dust aside with a flick of his hand. Lin Feng stepped forward, golden qi coiling—a challenge, not a strike. The figure's golden eyes glinted, assessing, then he turned, his voice echoing back. "The Crimson Order will come, Zhan Tian. Your spark will fade."
He vanished, his qi a fading blaze, leaving the hill empty. The Ye Clan exhaled—Ye Ling's sharp laugh, Ye Qing's gruff nod, Ye Chen's stunned silence. Lin Feng turned, the golden qi settling, his stance steady despite the weight of those words.
Ye Qing clapped his shoulder, grinning. "You're a damn blaze, lad! Sent him running without a fight!"
Ye Ling sheathed her dagger, her eyes blazing. "He's scared—you're unreal!"
Ye Chen limped forward, his voice sharp. "Golden Core. He's beyond Tian Xu."
Lin Feng shrugged, calm as stone. "He overestimated his shadow. That's his mistake."
That night, the clan huddled in the hall, the fire roaring with scavenged wood. Ye Hua pressed a rag to Lin Feng's grazed arm—scratched by the crimson arc—her voice soft. "You're our storm," she said, tears welling. "We'd be lost without you."
"Storms endure," he said, letting her tend it. "We're rising higher."
Ye Ling sat close, her tone low. "You glowed—gold, bright as the sun. Don't dodge."
He met her gaze, steady. "Stay with me. You'll see."
She smirked. "Always."
Later, alone by the gate, Lin Feng knelt, tracing the keystone's golden array—now a permanent mark of his power. The seal was gone, its fracture a memory, replaced by a boundless tide of divine qi. The Crimson Order's watcher had tested him—a new foe, tied to the heavens that once cast him down. He guided the power, forging his frame—senses sharpening, strength deepening, a god reborn.
Ye Chen joined him, his shadow faint. "They'll come," he said, blunt. "Stronger than him."
Lin Feng rose, meeting his eyes. "Let them. I'm stronger now."
Ye Chen's lips quirked—a spark of resolve. As silence fell, a low rumble shook the earth—not fire, but steel and wind. Lin Feng's head snapped up—a silver-robed figure appeared in the distance, qi a shimmering gale, eyes glinting with cold intent, flanked by warriors bearing the Crimson Order's mark.