The students of the Monastery of Celestial Reflection were gathered in the main courtyard, a sea of grey robes buzzing with restrained excitement. Madame Su moved among them, her voice a low, steady stream of orders. "Form lines! Maintain discipline! This is not a market outing!"
The air itself felt charged, thick with anticipation for the legendary Vermillion Sunset. Then, the sky darkened.
It wasn't clouds. A vast shadow fell over the mountain, accompanied by a deep, subsonic hum that vibrated in their bones. Looking up, they saw a creature of myth blotting out the sun. It was a Kumpeng, but not just any—a Fire Kumpeng. Its wings, spanning the width of the Jiang palace, were not of feather or skin, but of shifting, solidified flame that dripped shimmering heat-haze into the air. Its eyes were pools of molten gold. The legend was real: Tiang Feng had not just tamed a Kumpeng; he had bonded with a being whose very birth had incinerated a thousand cultivators.
A stunned silence fell over the students. Gen exchanged a look with Liang. "That's... not a normal escort," Liang muttered, his usual calm replaced by unease.
"It's a statement," Gen replied, his eyes tracking the majestic, terrifying creature as it descended. Its presence wasn't just power; it was a declaration of readiness for war.
Immortal Jiang appeared then, walking calmly from the palace gates as if the apocalyptic beast above were a common bird. His gaze met Tiang Feng's, who stood impassively beside his flaming mount. No words were needed.
"Mount up," Jiang said, his voice carrying to every student. "The Sky-Swallow Peak awaits."
The journey was a spectacle in itself. The strongest disciples, including Gen and Liang, rode with Jiang on the back of the Six-Winged Sky-Dancer, its six wings beating in harmonious, thunderous rhythm. The rest were lifted in groups by the Fire Kumpeng, cradled in baskets of woven energy on its back, the heat a palpable force even through the protective shield.
They flew to the very edge of the Jiang Capital's protective mountain range, to a jagged, isolated pinnacle known as Sky-Swallow Peak. It was a spear of black rock thrust toward the heavens. From here, the capital was a beautiful, distant mosaic in the valley below, looking peaceful and small.
The students spread out along the peak, finding perches on rocks. The air was thin and cold, scented of ozone and stone. They waited.
As the primary sun began its descent, painting the western sky in gold and crimson, a strange tension built in the atmosphere. The light didn't just fade; it began to pool in a specific point in the empty sky to the north.
Then, it happened. A second sun ignited.
It was not a reflection. It was a smaller, intensely Vermillion sphere, bleeding light of a different, deeper frequency. It pulsed like a heart, and the world held its breath. This was the legendary rift-sun, a celestial ghost, a glimpse of a star from a parallel plane briefly shining through a thousand-year-thin veil in reality.
The students gasped. Some fell to their knees in awe.
Gen stood transfixed, his amber eyes reflecting the dual suns. "It's a tear," he whispered to Liang, his voice hushed. "A hole. That light's from somewhere else."
Liang shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "Don't start. It's a miracle we can see it at all. Only your father's power stabilizes the space enough for us to witness it without being vaporized."
"But why just look?" Gen's voice rose with familiar, boundless ambition. "If it's a door, even a crack, why not go through? If I ever get strong enough, I'm not just going to watch the other side. I'm going to walk into it."
A few nearby disciples overheard and snorted. "Walk into a star? Even the Immortal can't do that!" one laughed.
"Gen wants to vacation in a sunbeam!" another chuckled.
Gen ignored them, his gaze locked on the impossible, Vermillion eye in the sky. For him, it wasn't an end but a beginning.
Then, the feeling came.
It was a pressure, sudden and immense, that had nothing to do with the celestial spectacle. It was a wrongness. The very substance of the air seemed to thicken, to resist being breathed. The cheerful chatter died instantly. Every cultivator on the peak, from the lowest First Wheel student to Madame Su, felt it—a primordial chill that seized the spirit. Birds in the distant forests fell silent.
Gen's head whipped around, his cultivation senses screaming. He looked for his father.
Immortal Jiang stood apart, at the very apex of the peak, silhouetted against the two suns. He wasn't looking at the rift-sun anymore. He was looking straight up, into the empty, darkening zenith of the sky. And he was smiling. A small, serene, terrifying smile.
Their eyes met across the distance. In his father's gaze, Gen saw no surprise, no alarm. Only a deep, timeless calm, and a profound, farewell tenderness that sent a bolt of ice down Gen's spine. He knew, Gen realized. He always knew.
Before Gen could move, before he could even form a question, the world broke.
BANG.
It was not a sound heard with ears. It was the universe itself flinching. A light, pure and annihilating, exploded from a point high above, a second, terrible sun born in an instant of judgment. The sheer, catastrophic noise of it was a physical force. Younger disciples screamed, clapping hands over ears that bled. Liang crumpled, his eyes rolling back. Madame Su cried out, shielding her face.
Tiang Feng, the unshakeable Stag, grunted and slammed his eyes shut, turning his head away, unable to bear the divine fury of the sight.
Only one being on the peak did not look away.
Immortal Jiang stood unwavering, his plain robes whipping in a sudden, scorching wind. He stared directly into the heart of the cataclysmic light, his expression settling into one of perfect, focused serenity. He rolled his shoulders, a casual, ready motion.
He flexed his hands, and the knuckles cracked—a small, dry, human sound against the roar of the breaking sky.
"Ah," he murmured, the word lost to all but the wind and the descending doom. "I have been rusty for too long."