"Taranis, train yourself thoroughly. I will take you with to the frontlines the next ti I return," Voltrex said, standing at the teleportation array at Heaven’s Last Step.
His army stood behind him in perfect symtry, while his elder brother stood beside him. Voltrex had ordered Aurelion to stay for a few more months to spend ti with his wife and newborn daughter, Nyria.
"Dear, he is too young to face that ugly world," Aestra countered before Taranis could even reply. "Let him enjoy his childhood a bit more."
"Taranis is a god, Aestra. He must shoulder this burden," Voltrex replied, shaking his head.
Turning to Taranis, Voltrex patted his head and commanded, "You have one year to prepare yourself. I want you as strong as a Spirit-Warrior by then."
A two-year-old Spirit-Warrior cultivator. The thought seed so absurd that even if Vyoman’s strongest individual were to personally train the most talented prodigy, it would still be utterly impossible by all known laws of cultivation. For ordinary cultivators in Vyoman, their attributes awaken only after crossing the age of ten, and for those of the Banes, whose attributes are fixed from birth, they still cannot access them until they turn ten.
However, Taranis was anything but ordinary. Born with divinity, the child had shown world-shaking potential. It was not just his powers and body that were growing—his mind was becoming mature at an astounding rate as well.
"I will beco even stronger, Father!" Taranis announced, his golden eyes shimring with determination.
"Good," Voltrex nodded, stepping back into the array.
In the blink of an eye, Voltrex, along with his army, vanished in a blur, leaving for a place that awaited nothing but a never-ending cycle of war and death.
---
Eight months after Voltrex left for the frontlines
In a blurry streak across the grassy land of the thick forest of the Mountains of Ten Thousand Beasts, a figure with long golden hair ran at an incredible speed. Just behind him, a blond lion sprinted, its three heads and six eyes locked firmly ahead.
"Faster, Zarix! You can’t catch up to with that speed!" Taranis shouted with a grin on his face.
The three-headed lion called Zarix roared at Taranis’s provocation, putting every ounce of strength into its legs.
It had been a daily routine for the two to race each other for the past eight months. Until last month, Zarix had erged as the victor in every race, but Taranis slowly reduced the gap—and then, last month, Taranis finally surpassed Zarix in speed. Zarix had not won a single race since then.
Taranis passed through the last thin tree—the tree marking the finish line of the race—skidding to a stop just before the entrance to the thicker and wilder forest ahead.
Aestra, Taranis’ mother, had warned him multiple tis not to enter the third layer of the Mountain of Ten Thousand Beasts.
After a gap of a few seconds, Zarix also passed through the tree, completing the race.
"Hahaha, Zarix, you lost again!" Taranis laughed, jumping high in enjoynt at his victory.
Zarix, without entertaining its friend—or rival’s—victory, lay on the ground, catching its breath after the long race.
In just eight months, Taranis had grown taller and more handso, his features looking even more godlike. His golden hair, which never stopped emitting divine radiance, had reached all the way to his shoulders, while his golden eyes, glowing like two small suns, had grown sharper. Despite his actual age, his body appeared to be that of an eight-year-old.
While Zarix and Taranis were catching their breath, a sound of tal clashing echoed from the third layer of the mountain.
Sensing the clash, and curious as the young man he was, Taranis rose to his feet and told Zarix, "Stay here."
Taking vigilant steps, Taranis entered the third layer, following the sound of the loud tal clash.
After walking a few steps, several figures ca into view, circling around sothing—or soone—the source of the sound.
"Lady Nyria, please let us help you. That beast is too strong."
"Yes, Lady Nyria. You mustn’t be stubborn. If Lord Aurelion hears about this, we might get executed."
"Nyria... where have I heard that na again?" Taranis murmured, tapping his temple. "Oh right, she is the goddess who lives on Frostbane Peak."
The smallest of the Hundred Sky Mountains was vast enough to rival an entire mortal province, while the largest mountain, Heaven’s Last Step, was large enough to be declared a country on its own.
Due to this vast size and the hundreds of kilotres of distance between the mountains, Taranis hadn’t visited more than ten of them, so it wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t seen or t Nyria, who lived on the farthest mountain—Frostbane Peak.
Curious about soone who bore the sa title of divinity, Taranis climbed one of the trees whose branches spread all the way toward where the clashing was occurring.
As Taranis crawled forward along the branch, the sound of striking grew closer, and after passing the circling cultivators in white robes, his eyes fell upon the goddess who flipped his world upside down.
Clad in flowing silken white robes, she moved around the violent bear in elegant steps. It was less a clash and more a graceful dance—each step light and effortless, each turn suffused with quiet elegance.
Her skin was flawless, pale and luminous like perfectly polished jade, untouched by dust or danger. Snow-white hair flowed freely behind her, glowing with an otherworldly radiance, as if moonlight itself had taken form and learned to breathe.
Those sharp, creamy-white eyes drew the gaze despite their calm, carrying a beauty that was both serene and untouchable. They reflected no panic, no urgency—only a tranquil confidence that made even the ferocity of the four-eyed bear feel crude and insignificant. On her upper lip, a beauty mark adorned her, only increasing her charms for the poor boy peeking from the branch.
"Oh heavens! She is like an angel," Taranis murmured, his golden eyes widening, his heartbeat growing faster with each breath.
Taking a step back, Nyria’s body turned even fairer, and the ground beneath her began to freeze. In one elegant step, the small sword she carried stabbed into the bear’s leg, freezing the point of injury.
"Why is she hurting the poor bear?" Taranis murmured, pulling himself out of his daze.
The bear, sensing it was no match for her, retreated into the inner forest with a growl.
Once the bear left, a small white cat erged from behind a tree where it had been hiding during the battle between the beast and Nyria.
Nyria extended her arms toward the cat and whispered, her voice cold yet lodic, "Co, Alba. The bad bear is gone now."
As the cat rushed into Nyria’s arms, a gentle smile tugged at her serene face, forcing Taranis to skip a heartbeat.
His grip around the branch subconsciously loosened, and he fell to the ground with a loud thud.
The cultivators in white robes surrounding Nyria quickly bolted forward to protect her.
"Aghh, my butt..." Taranis muttered, rubbing his back.
As he raised his head, he found himself surrounded by cultivators, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords.
"Who are you?" Nyria’s soft voice ca as she stepped forward from the group.
Nyria’s creamy eyes t Taranis’ golden ones, and the mont they saw each other, a gentle breeze passed through them—as if the heavens themselves were dancing to this fated eting between a god and a goddess.
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