Dawn came pale and hollow. The mountain lay buried under a suffocating silence.
The elders gathered atop the sacred platform, their faces pale as they stared at the sky. The heavens, once bright and endless, were shrouded in an ocean of golden clouds. Within that glow, colossal figures of light moved — not beasts this time, but celestial envoys, beings forged from divine will, draped in robes of radiance and armed with spears of law.
They were Heaven's Judges.
Each step they took made the world tremble. Mountains cracked, rivers froze mid-flow, and the stars dimmed as they descended.
The Grand Elder's hands shook as he whispered, "So the heavens themselves have come…"
"Why now?" cried another elder. "She's only a child!"
But the heavens did not reason — they decreed.
A voice thundered from above, cold and absolute:
> "The anomaly of Ice and Time, bearer of forbidden origin—
The Heavens pronounce Judgment."
The words echoed across realms. Every immortal within a thousand miles heard them, and even distant sects turned their eyes toward the snowy mountain where fate was unraveling.
Feixue stood upon the cliff, her silver hair dancing in the wind. She did not flinch as the celestial army assembled in the sky. Her eyes, calm and clear, watched the descending light as though it were something familiar—something inevitable.
The Grand Elder appeared beside her, his voice trembling. "Feixue, listen to me. We cannot resist them! You must flee! Hide your presence, conceal your Dao!"
Feixue blinked. "Hide?"
"Yes!" he urged. "If you stay, the clan—"
He stopped.
Feixue's gaze had turned toward the heavens. The air grew still.
"They wish to erase me," she said softly. "But they will erase you too, won't they?"
The Grand Elder opened his mouth to speak — but a beam of golden light struck the mountain.
BOOM.
The earth shattered. Ice and rock exploded into the air as a single spear of judgment descended, piercing through countless barriers in an instant. The clan's defensive formation crumbled, ancient seals breaking like glass.
Disciples screamed as the shockwave tore through the valley. The mountain that had stood for ten thousand years began to collapse.
Feixue's small frame stood firm amid the storm. Her robe fluttered, untouched by the golden light. The snow around her melted and refroze, forming rings of frost and stillness.
The Grand Elder raised his staff, summoning every ounce of his power. Ancient runes flared around him as he shouted, "You will not touch her while I yet live!"
The heavens answered.
Another beam fell.
The Grand Elder met it head-on, unleashing the clan's ancestral art—Frozen Heaven Barrier. For a moment, the light dimmed, and the sky itself quivered under the clash.
But the power of the heavens was infinite.
The barrier shattered. The Grand Elder coughed blood, his body thrown to the ground. Still, he smiled weakly. "Feixue… live. Even if the heavens turn against you, live."
Feixue's hand trembled. She looked at him, then back at the sky.
Something inside her snapped.
The world went silent again—completely silent. Even the sound of thunder died. Time froze.
The falling light halted midair. The snow hung motionless. The celestial envoys, mid-step, were caught between moments.
Feixue raised her sword. The wooden blade glimmered faintly with ice and flowing light—Time and Silence intertwined.
She whispered softly, her voice echoing in the void:
"Do not touch… what is mine."
Her sword moved.
A single arc of light cut through the frozen sky. When motion returned, the heavens screamed. Half the celestial envoys disintegrated in silence, erased from existence as though they had never been.
The remaining envoys recoiled in fear. Even the clouds above seemed to shudder.
From the distance, a voice—deep, divine, filled with fury—resounded through the firmament:
> "Child of origin… your defiance is your sin."
Feixue looked up, her expression unreadable.
> "Then the heavens have sinned first."
Lightning split the sky. The golden clouds began to recede, retreating slowly, unwilling to face her blade again.
The war was not over—but for now, the heavens had been forced to yield.
When the storm cleared, the mountain was half-destroyed, its halls in ruin. Many had fallen. The Grand Elder knelt before Feixue, his body trembling, his eyes wide with awe and sorrow.
He whispered, "You have brought judgment to heel…"
Feixue lowered her sword. "No," she said softly. "I have only silenced it… for now."
As she turned away, the wind carried faint voices from the heavens—fearful, uncertain, divine.
The name Feixue had been burned into the fabric of fate.
And the heavens would never forget it again.