Dan Heng stood at the edge of the cliff, the wind off the sea threading through his hair and tugging lightly at the long sleeves of his attire. The ocean below rolled in vast, asured swells, sunlight scattering across its surface in fractured lines of silver. Behind him stood generals, seers, and Naless; before him lay the Ambrosial Arbor and the scarred waters of Scalegorge. The world seed poised between breath and exhale.
It was in monts such as this that one was reminded that strength did not arise from a single path. The world was layered with Sorcery, each discipline born from a different origin, each carrying its own cost, talent, and legacy. What Dan Heng was about to attempt did not exist in isolation. It was the confluence of histories older than empires and powers that predated the Luofu itself.
The most widespread among the ancient civilizations of the Dream Realm had been Runic Sorcery. Its origin was attributed to a kingdom shaped by Hope herself, the Daemon of Desire, a being who had once carved ambition into the bones of reality.
Runic Sorcery was said to have been derived from the language of the Gods, though diluted into symbols that mortals could carve, inscribe, and morize. By arranging those runes into structured arrays, practitioners could invoke mystical effects into the world, provided they were willing to pay the cost in Soul Essence.
It was a craft both accessible and dangerous, for although it belonged to the masses, it consud the practitioner’s very core. Dan Heng had witnessed the remnants of that kingdom during the Second Nightmare, had seen the grandeur and the ruin left behind by a civilization that sought to etch divinity into stone.
The runes had glowed with fading brilliance, their creators long dead, their ambition fossilized into crumbling towers. Runic Sorcery had been power democratized, but it had never been gentle.
Yet Runic Sorcery had not been the first.
Before symbols were carved, before Soul Essence was asured and spent through structured arrays, there had been the Sorcery of Nas. It was older than the Dream Realm’s fallen kingdoms, older than the Luofu, older than most stars that now burned in the sky. Every existence in the world possessed a True Na, a designation not chosen but inherent, woven into the fabric of its being. To know a True Na was to understand the essence of a thing. To speak it correctly was to command that essence.
Those who could invoke True Nas were called Shapers, and the act itself was known as Shaping. Unlike Runic Sorcery, which translated divine language into accessible script, the Sorcery of Nas required one to speak the language of the Gods directly. For most, such True Nas were impossible to pronounce, their syllables slipping from the tongue or evaporating from mory the mont one attempted to grasp them. Even rembering a True Na demanded a mind capable of holding contradictions and infinities without collapse. It was not a craft one could learn through diligence alone. It required a rare, innate talent.
Dan Heng understood this more intimately than most. The Vidyadhara High Elders were not rely leaders; they were nad.
Drinker of the Moon was not a title bestowed ceremonially but a True Na recognized by forces far beyond the Luofu. Just as Awakened received their True Nas from the Nightmare Spell after accomplishing great deeds, every High Elder before him had borne that na in succession. It was less inheritance and more resonance. The na was what bound each reincarnation together.
The Sorcery of Nas had been the predecessor of Runic Sorcery, but it had never belonged to the masses. It was precise, intimate, and absolute. A single correctly spoken Na could reshape stone, quell storms, or unravel a living being. It was for that reason that so few were capable of wielding it without destroying themselves.
Then there was Alchemy, a discipline more pragmatic yet no less profound. At its core, Alchemy was the act of sacrifice and exchange, the conversion of one substance, state, or essence into another. It was the principle of equivalent transformation refined into art.
The Xianzhou Alliance institutionalized Alchemy through its Alchemy Commissions, where practitioners studied transmutation in pursuit of dicine, preservation, and enhancent. For the Vidyadhara, however, Alchemy took on a more fluid form known as Cloudhymn Magic.
Cloudhymn Magic allowed its user to manipulate the surrounding molecules, converting air and matter into water, mist, or other fluid states. It was less about destruction and more about redirection, less about force and more about harmony. Dan Heng had long been proficient in this art. His Aspect granted him the ability to transmute his own Soul Essence into different substances and elents, a power that complented his Alchemical training. To turn one’s own Essence into fla or force was useful; to turn the environnt itself into water was strategic.
His Aspect Legacy extended that principle further. Through a branch of Alchemy known as Soul Twisting, he could manipulate the Essence contained within Soul Shards, refining and reshaping it for specific effects.
It had been through that fusion of Aspect and Alchemy that he had accomplished feats of both destruction and defense while piloting Noctis’ ship during the Second Nightmare. The ship had responded not rely to commands, but to calculated transformations of Essence, each maneuver a precise equation solved in motion.
Beyond Alchemy lay moria. When Fuli, the Rembrance, appeared in the universe, moria manifested alongside that Aeon. It was a peculiar substance, intangible yet pervasive, drawn instinctively toward itself. moria rged and condensed, forming mory Bubbles, Dream Bubbles, and entire realms such as Dreamscapes. These accumulations of Rembrance could be manipulated by those blessed by the it, particularly the Garden of Recollection. Its mokeepers recorded mories using Fuli’s blessings, shaping and preserving events in crystalline spheres of recollection.
moria was less about changing matter and more about curating reality through mory. It was not Dan Heng’s domain, yet he had brushed against its edges often enough to understand its weight. He had a Dreamscape pod, after all.
Finally, excluding the Divine Miracles perford by the dead Gods themselves, which stood beyond mortal classification, there was Spellweave.
Spellweave had been created by Weaver, the Daemon of Fate. Where Runic Sorcery inscribed symbols and the Sorcery of Nas invoked essence directly, Spellweave manipulated the threads of Soul Essence themselves.
By weaving strands of that Essence into structured patterns, one could create enchantnts and bind them to objects. mories and Echoes were born of Spellweave. The grand Nightmare Spell that had plagued humanity for over seventeen thousand years had been ford through this very art, constructed by Weaver as an intricate tapestry of trials, rewards, and relentless evolution.
As the inheritor of Weaver’s forbidden lineage, and given that the Daemon of Fate was presud dead, Sunny stood alone in the world as the only being capable of creating mories and Echoes in the sa manner as the Nightmare Spell. In theory, he was a walking armory, capable of producing tools and artifacts limited only by ti, creativity, and Soul Essence. In practice, he was barely a novice. His accomplishnts thus far included the Shadow Chair, an ordinary wooden chair devoid of enchantnts, and minor enhancents to two items: the once Ordinary Rock, now capable of projecting his voice, and the Silver Bell, whose ringing volu he could regulate at will. His potential was staggering while his mastery was embryonic.
Dan Heng, of course, knew none of this. He wasn’t the Bastard Son of Fate, after all.
He stepped forward, closer to the edge, his erald horns catching the light. The Ambrosial Arbor lood nearer than before, its corrupted grandeur a blight upon sea and sky. The wind shifted, carrying with it the scent of salt and distant rot. Behind him, the others watched in silence, sensing that what followed would not be trivial.
He raised his right hand first, palm open toward the ocean. Rather than drawing upon his own Soul Essence to transmute it into water, he extended his awareness outward. Cloudhymn Magic was often used to create water where none existed, to condense mist from air or liquefy matter. What he attempted now was more audacious. He sought to command the ocean itself.
The Vidyadhara reincarnation cycle had been tampered with long ago by his people, a deliberate alteration that allowed faint impressions of previous incarnations to bleed through. mories not entirely his own hovered at the edge of perception, like reflections beneath the surface of a pond. In monts of strain, those impressions surfaced. Techniques refined over lifetis whispered their logic into his mind.
He inhaled slowly, feeling the rhythm of the tide. Water was not static; it was procession and return, compression and release. To force it would be futile. To guide it required alignnt.
His left hand rose to join the right. The air around him grew heavy, saturated with invisible tension. He did not speak a True Na, though one lingered unuttered at the back of his mind. He did not carve runes nor sacrifice Essence recklessly. Instead, he threaded Alchemy through his Aspect, letting Soul Essence circulate through his ridians before dispersing outward in asured currents.
The surface of the sea rippled unnaturally.
At first, it was subtle, a disturbance easily mistaken for wind. Then the swells faltered, their cadence disrupted. Lines of pressure ford across the water, converging toward a central axis that aligned with Dan Heng’s outstretched hands.
His eyes narrowed. The strain was imdiate and imnse. To convert surrounding matter into water was one thing; to redirect an entire body of ocean was another — even in his current state, with his soul being overlayed with Dan Feng’s, who never fully dissipated, he found the act difficult without an Aspect specifically designed to control water.
The sheer mass resisted, inertia pressing back against his will. Muscles along his arms tensed, veins standing out beneath pale skin. His horns seed to hum faintly, resonance building within.
Behind him, March’s usual levity had long since vanished. Welt observed with quiet intensity, recognizing the cost even if he did not interfere. Fu Xuan’s gaze sharpened, calculations flickering behind her composed exterior. Jing Yuan watched with thoughtful stillness, as though asuring not only the act but the man performing it.
Dan Heng drew upon deeper reserves. The faint bleed of prior incarnations strengthened, fragnts of long-forgotten practice aligning with present intent. Techniques once executed in other lifetis settled into place, not as mories but as instincts.
The ocean responded.
A low, resonant tremor passed through the waters. The central axis deepened into a trough as the sea began to part. Not explosively, not in chaotic upheaval, but with monuntal deliberation. Walls of water rose on either side, their surfaces curving upward in towering arcs. Sunlight refracted through their depths, illuminating suspended currents and drifting debris in crystalline clarity.
The sound was imnse. Not a roar, but a continuous, grinding surge, as though the world itself were shifting position.
Dan Heng exhaled sharply through clenched teeth, maintaining the separation. His arms lifted higher, guiding the ascent. The parted waters revealed what lay beneath: the subrged remnants of Scalegorge Waterscape, brought low by centuries of conflict and erosion. Broken architecture sprawled across the seabed, stone pathways fractured and overgrown with marine life. The ruins stood exposed, ancient scars unveiled beneath the sky.
The pressure upon him intensified as the parted sea strained to collapse inward. Sweat traced a line down his temple, though his expression remained composed. He adjusted his stance, anchoring himself through both physical grounding and internal equilibrium. Cloudhymn Magic flowed continuously, converting resistance into motion, redirecting gravitational insistence into controlled elevation.
The feat should have been impossible for soone of his chronological age. Even prodigies were bound by experience, by ti invested. Yet the tampered reincarnation cycle of the Vidyadhara granted him access to echoes of lifetis. He did not possess full mories, but he possessed familiarity. The ocean was not entirely foreign to him. Sowhere in the layered strata of his being, he had done sothing similar before.
The parted waters stabilized.
Two colossal walls of sea stood suspended on either side of a vast, revealed corridor leading toward the Ambrosial Arbor. The seabed glistened, wet stone reflecting daylight in uneven patches. Marine creatures writhed in confusion within the elevated water, montarily displaced but held safely within the boundaries of his control.
Dan Heng lowered his arms slightly, not relinquishing command but refining it. The corridor widened increntally, granting passage. The act was not re spectacle; it was preparation. To confront what lay ahead, they required access. The ocean had been an obstacle. It was no longer.
Behind him, the silence was profound. No one mistook this for effortless power. It was Sorcery layered upon legacy, discipline fused with inheritance. It was Alchemy guided by an Aspect and strengthened by reincarnated instinct.
The wind returned, threading through the suspended walls of water and carrying with it the distant creak of exposed ruins. Dan Heng’s gaze remained fixed forward, upon the Ambrosial Arbor and the trial that awaited.
The sea had been divided. The path had been revealed.
What remained was to walk it.
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