The massive doors of the Heavenly Pavilion creaked open, revealing a long, dimly lit corridor. The air was thick with ancient energy, carrying the scent of aged parchment, incense, and something else—something unfamiliar.
She held her son tightly as she stepped forward, her footsteps echoing against the stone floor. The gatekeeper walked beside her, silent yet watchful. The elders trailed behind, murmuring among themselves, their eyes filled with curiosity and skepticism.
They did not believe in the boy.
But she would prove them wrong.
The corridor opened into a vast chamber. At its center stood a raised platform, surrounded by floating orbs of light that pulsed with a faint, ethereal glow. Strange symbols were etched into the floor, forming a formation she could not decipher.
Standing at the edge of the platform was an old man, his beard long and silver, his robes carrying the insignia of the Heavenly Pavilion's highest scholars. His gaze was sharp, yet his expression betrayed no emotion.
The gatekeeper stopped a few paces away.
"This is Elder Liang," he said. "He will conduct the first trial."
The elder's eyes swept over her, then settled on the boy in her arms.
"No dantian," he muttered. "And yet, his body absorbs qi like a living formation."
He gestured toward the platform. "Place the child here."
She hesitated, her protective instincts flaring.
"What will you do?" she asked.
Elder Liang did not look up as he traced symbols in the air, activating the formation.
"We will measure his essence," he said. "See if he is truly different—or if you are merely desperate."
A test.
She took a deep breath and stepped forward. Carefully, she laid her son down on the platform, his small body resting on the cold stone.
The moment she stepped back, the formation came to life.
The symbols glowed, rising into the air like embers caught in the wind. The floating orbs of light trembled, their glow intensifying. Energy surged through the chamber, humming with an ancient power.
Then, the first reaction occurred.
The symbols that should have formed a stable pattern shattered—breaking apart as if something had rejected them. The light flickered, then dimmed, unable to contain the boy's presence.
Gasps rippled through the elders.
"This… This is impossible!" one of them whispered.
The gatekeeper narrowed his eyes. "What's happening?"
Elder Liang's face, once impassive, was now lined with something close to astonishment.
"The formation… it cannot read him," he said. "It does not recognize his existence."
The murmurs grew louder.
"How can a child have no defined essence?"
"Even mortals have measurable life force."
"This defies the principles of cultivation!"
Amidst the chaos, the boy stirred.
A soft breath escaped his lips.
And then, without warning, the entire formation shattered.
A wave of energy exploded outward, sending the elders stumbling back. The floating orbs of light burst, their remnants dissolving into the air. The chamber trembled, as if something ancient had awakened.
Then, silence.
Dust settled. The light returned to normal.
And the boy lay there, untouched.
She rushed forward, gathering him in her arms. He was warm, safe—completely unaware of the storm he had just caused.
The elders stood frozen, their disbelief palpable.
Elder Liang exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper.
"This child…" he murmured. "He does not belong to this world."
The words sent a chill down her spine.
The gatekeeper stared at the boy, his expression unreadable.
Then, after a long moment, he turned to her.
"You said you wanted answers," he said.
She met his gaze, her grip tightening around her son. "Yes."
The corners of his lips curled slightly, but there was no warmth in the gesture.
"Then be prepared," he said. "Because the world will seek those answers too."