The word TEST hung in the air like a blade made of light.
It was not loud.It was not big.But it made every person inside the dome feel small.
Then the bell rang.
This ring was different.
It did not push down like weight.
It pulled forward—like a hand grabbing the next page of the world and trying to rip it out.
The air inside the Court barrier turned strange. It looked normal, but it felt wrong, like time was sliding under everyone's feet.
A thin stream of pale light appeared above the Court platform. It flowed in a curve, like a river made of glass.
The Silent Bell envoy's face tightened.
"That is the River-Test," he said, voice sharp. "Do not answer it."
A Court elder, still kneeling, swallowed hard. "Answer it how?"
The envoy's eyes snapped to him. "With words," he said. "With panic. With confession. With a name."
The blank white mask—still half-hidden under that false elder skin—tilted its head slowly, like it enjoyed watching fear grow.
"The test is simple," it said. "Time asks. The world replies."
Qi Shan Wei did not look at the elders.
He looked at the river of light.
His calm did not crack.
But his presence grew heavier, like an emperor standing up inside a storm.
"What does it want?" Qi Shan Wei asked, voice level.
The blank mask's voice was soft. "A future," it replied. "A clean one."
The river of light brightened, and a second line of bell-ink wrote itself above it:
SHOW THE DRAFT.TAKE THE PAYMENT.
Ling Xueyao's Frost Thread trembled again.
Not pulled yet.
Not torn yet.
But it shivered like it knew the bell was choosing what to bite next.
Qi Shan Wei's hand stayed steady on Heavenpiercer.
He did not swing.
He did not shout.
He simply waited—the way a hunter waits when the trap is still forming.
The river of light suddenly widened.
A picture opened inside it.
Not an illusion.Not a trick.Not a story.
It was a drafted future, pressed into the air like a stamp.
Everyone saw it.
They saw a huge hall made of prismatic stone, with seven colors flowing through the walls like veins.
A throne sat at the far end.
Not a normal throne.
A throne that looked like a piece of law carved into shape.
And on that throne sat Qi Shan Wei.
Older.
Calmer.
More terrifying.
He held one glowing thread in his fingers.
A thread that looked like frost.
A severed Frost Thread.
Below the throne, the floor was covered in silent masks.
Not Thousand Masks Pavilion masks.
Blank masks.
Scribe masks.
Piles of them, like a defeated army of faces.
Outside the hall's open gates, the sky was wrong.
It was not stormy.
It was not bright.
It was silent.
A dead sky.
No wind.
No birds.
No thunder.
Just empty space where weather should be.
The future held that silence like a curse.
Then the image shifted.
A bell hung above the throne hall.
A bell so old it looked like the world had grown around it.
It rang once.
And the older Qi Shan Wei did not flinch.
He simply lifted Heavenpiercer and pointed it at the bell, like he was about to cut the sky itself.
The drafted future froze.
Then the river of light snapped back into the present.
People gasped like they had been drowning.
Ling Xueyao's breathing turned uneven.
Zhen's core hummed, gears spinning faster.
Drakonix's thunderflame surged inside the cracked cocoon, angry and hungry, like it wanted to burn that future into ash.
The Silent Bell envoy's voice went tight. "That is not a prophecy," he said again, louder now. "That is a stolen page."
The blank mask's voice was pleased. "And the payment," it said, "is for the page being stolen in the first place."
The bell rang again.
The river of light twisted and reached toward Qi Shan Wei's chest.
Not his flesh.
Not his bones.
It reached toward something deeper.
It reached toward his path.
It tried to hook into the future that belonged to him and drag it out of the world.
Qi Shan Wei moved.
Not fast.
Not wild.
One calm step forward—placing his body between the river of light and the people behind him.
His voice stayed quiet. "You will not take it."
The blank mask tilted its head. "Then refuse properly," it whispered.
And the bell-ink wrote a new line:
SPEAK YOUR TRUE NAME.CONFIRM YOUR FUTURE.
The Silent Bell envoy's eyes flashed. "No!" he snapped. "That is the trap. If he speaks, he signs."
The kneeling Court elders looked horrified.
One of them whispered without thinking, "True name…"
The envoy whipped his gaze at them. "Silence!" he barked. "Every word is ink!"
The blank mask laughed without a mouth. "They learn slowly," it said.
Qi Shan Wei did not speak his true name.
He did not even speak his current name.
He lifted two fingers and drew a prismatic line in the air—clean and simple.
A glyph.
Not bell-ink.
Not Court script.
A formation-glyph made of pure intent.
The glyph formed three simple words, written in light like a ruler's seal:
NO SIGNATURE.
The river of light hesitated for a heartbeat.
The blank mask's head tilted again, more sharply now. "You write without ink," it murmured.
Qi Shan Wei's eyes stayed calm. "I build systems," he replied.
The bell rang.
Harder.
The river of light pushed forward again, angry now, like it hated being told "no."
It reached past NO SIGNATURE and tried to hook the Frost Thread again—because it was the easiest anchor to pull.
Ling Xueyao stiffened, pain flashing across her face.
Her Lunar Frost Domain surged behind her like a silent moon trying to rise.
Qi Shan Wei's palm pressed lightly against her wrist again.
His voice was low. "Stay with me."
Ling Xueyao swallowed hard. She nodded once. "I am here," she whispered.
Her moon-shadow steadied.
Not awakened.
But controlled.
Then she lifted her gaze to the river of light, eyes cold as moon-ice.
She raised two fingers the way he had.
A thin moon-line formed in the air.
Not a big attack.
A single quiet cut of frozen law—like a sword line under moonlight.
She touched the hook in the river of light.
For one heartbeat, the hook slowed.
For one heartbeat, Bell-Law moved like it was trapped in winter.
The blank mask's voice sharpened. "Lunar Frost Domain… not fully awakened," it said. "But it can still bite."
Ling Xueyao's voice came out strained but steady. "I do not need more," she said. "I only need one breath."
That one breath was enough.
Because Zhen moved.
His Imperial Shield Matrix shifted again, the Third Layer still active, ink caught in its pattern like fish stuck in a net.
Zhen's voice was blunt. "Ink is trapped."
The blank mask's head turned. "Release it," it said calmly, like a command.
Zhen did not obey.
Zhen did what he was built to do.
He calculated.
Then he spoke like a hammer falling.
"Ink-Eater Trap: Mirror Feed."
The trapped bell-ink threads inside the shield did not just burn.
They reversed.
They ran backward.
They tried to crawl back into the blank mask's writing line like poison returning to the mouth that spat it.
The blank mask's false elder skin twitched.
For the first time, it showed real reaction—pain, small but real.
Because bell-ink was law.
And Zhen was forcing law to taste itself.
The Silent Bell envoy's eyes widened. "You are feeding bell-ink back into its source," he breathed.
Zhen replied, perfectly calm. "Correct."
The blank mask's voice dropped, colder now. "That is not allowed."
Zhen answered with pure puppet logic. "Allowed is irrelevant."
Drakonix huffed from the cocoon, half-born and still proud. "Good… Zhen."
Zhen said flatly, "Acknowledged."
The tiny humor lasted one blink.
Then the bell rang again, furious.
The river of light surged forward like a flood.
The drafted future flashed back into view—stronger now, closer.
It tried to slam over everyone like a cage.
Like time forcing them to stand inside a page they did not choose.
The Silent Bell envoy stepped forward fast.
His chest bell shook so hard it looked like it wanted to crack.
He lifted one hand and shouted, voice echoing through the dome like thunder.
"Elder Tian Lei's law—NOW!"
At that name, lightning sparked once in the air.
Not from the sky.
From nothing.
A thin thunder-echo formed above the dome, like a message carved into lightning itself.
Words appeared in jagged, bright strokes.
Not bell-ink.
Thunder-writing.
It said:
DO NOT ANSWER THE BELL WITH WORDS.DO NOT SIGN TIME WITH A NAME.IF YOU MUST FIGHT… FIGHT BETWEEN RINGS.
Everyone inside the dome felt those words hit their bones.
The blank mask froze for a heartbeat.
Because someone outside this place had touched the moment.
Someone older.
Someone closer to lightning than to time.
The Silent Bell envoy breathed out, eyes sharp. "He warned us," he said softly.
Qi Shan Wei stared at the thunder-writing.
He did not smile.
He did not show surprise.
He simply accepted the truth like a ruler accepts a map.
"Between rings," he repeated quietly.
Then he moved.
He did not swing at the river of light.
He did not swing at the bell-ink letters.
He waited.
The bell rang again—
And in the tiny gap between the sound and the world "catching up," Qi Shan Wei struck.
He used the gap like a door.
Heavenpiercer flashed, not fast like panic, but precise like fate being corrected.
The blade did not cut a person.
It cut the connection line between the drafted future and the river of light.
The air screamed silently.
The drafted future shook like glass under pressure.
The blank mask's voice turned sharp. "You are cutting a page."
Qi Shan Wei's answer was calm. "No," he said. "I am cutting theft."
The bell-ink letters in the air flickered wildly.
The river of light twisted, unstable.
Zhen's Ink-Eater Trap tightened, catching more bell-ink threads as the blank mask tried to write faster.
Drakonix's thunderflame surged again, wings shaking harder, and now the flame looked different.
It was not only burning masks anymore.
It burned the draft lines.
It burned the fake "future glue" holding the stolen page in place.
Drakonix roared, voice cracking but fierce. "No… stealing… our sky!"
The flame bit into the drafted future.
The dead-silent sky in the image rippled like it was being torn away.
For one heartbeat, everyone saw something behind that silent sky.
A shadow.
A huge shape like a bell hanging upside down over a world.
It was not a normal bell.
It looked like a thing that remembered.
Then the image snapped.
The drafted future shattered into bright shards, falling like glass dust into the river of light.
The bell rang—angry and loud—
And the river of light tried to snap back, trying to hook onto something else.
If it could not take a future…
It would take a proof.
It would take a name-lock.
The bell-ink wrote fast:
PAYMENT FAILURE.SWITCH PATH: NAME-LOCK.TAKE ONE TITLE.
The Silent Bell envoy's face went white.
"A title is worse than a name," he hissed. "A title holds authority. If it takes that, it can rewrite how the world obeys him."
The blank mask's voice became soft again, pleased. "Yes," it whispered. "A clean payment."
The river of light surged toward Qi Shan Wei's prismatic name-lock glyph.
It tried to clamp onto the hidden parts of his name—the buried crown inside the cloth.
Qi Shan Wei did not step back.
He stepped forward again.
Calm.
Controlled.
Emperor-like.
He drew one more formation-glyph in the air.
Not fancy.
Not long.
A simple ruler's lock.
He wrote:
IMPERIAL AUTHORITY: PRIVATE.
The glyph flared and wrapped around his heart like a quiet wall.
The river of light struck it and slid off, like it could not find a door.
The blank mask's head tilted. "You lock your own title," it said.
Qi Shan Wei's gaze was cold. "It is mine," he replied.
The bell rang again.
The dome shook.
Outside the dome, the crowd screamed as pressure rolled out like a wave.
Some people fell to their knees again.
Some looked up and cried, because the sky felt older.
Inside the dome, Yin Yuerin moved like a shadow that refused to be seen.
Her shadow mark on the courier's ankle tightened.
The courier tried to run.
He did not get far.
A shadow wall rose behind him.
No one outside the dome noticed the wall.
They only saw the courier stumble like he tripped on nothing.
Yin Yuerin appeared behind him for one blink—maskless, eyes cold, voice softer than fear.
She did not ask his name.
She did not threaten loudly.
She simply placed two fingers on the black wax at his throat.
Her Shadow Authority slid into the wax like a knife into butter.
The courier's eyes widened.
A small wax seal peeled itself off his skin and floated into Yin Yuerin's palm.
A message bead.
A wax-route proof.
Inside the wax, a seal-symbol glowed faintly.
Not readable to the crowd.
But readable to her.
Yin Yuerin's eyes narrowed.
She understood the shape.
Someone had paid.
Someone had routed bell-wax through the Heavenly Auction Conclave's hidden lanes.
Not openly.
Not directly.
But enough to leave a stink.
Her lips did not move.
But her shadow did.
The courier's mouth opened in silent panic.
Yin Yuerin's eyes stayed calm. She pressed the wax bead into her sleeve and vanished again, like the night swallowing its own secret.
Back inside the dome, Zhen's shield pulled bell-ink threads harder.
The blank mask's false elder skin cracked.
A thin line appeared across its cheek—like writing tearing paper.
The blank mask hissed, a sound that did not belong to a human throat.
Then it spoke, low and angry.
"Enough."
The bell rang once.
And the word TEST in the air changed.
It turned into a new sentence.
Not a request.
A decision.
TEST RESULT: REFUSAL CONFIRMED.PAYMENT WILL BE TAKEN ELSEWHERE.
The Silent Bell envoy's eyes widened in horror. "No…" he whispered. "It will move the debt."
The blank mask's voice was soft again, like a knife wrapped in silk. "Correct," it said. "If he refuses to pay here, time collects where it can."
The river of light rose upward, stretching toward the sky above the realm.
The dome shuddered.
The air smelled like storm metal.
Like lightning about to fall.
Qi Shan Wei's eyes narrowed.
He finally understood the true danger of this "test."
It was not only trying to steal a future.
It was trying to redirect the future into a trap.
The Silent Bell envoy looked at the thunder-writing from Elder Tian Lei again.
"If you must fight… fight between rings," he whispered.
Qi Shan Wei's voice was calm. "Then we will."
He lifted Heavenpiercer and pointed it upward, at the river of light trying to escape.
Then he spoke one quiet line—simple, but heavy enough to shake the dome.
"Bell," he said. "You do not get to choose where my debt lands."
The blank mask's voice turned amused. "And you will stop time from collecting?"
Qi Shan Wei's gaze was steady. "I will stop theft," he said.
The bell rang again—
And the river of light tore open a thin crack above the dome.
For one heartbeat, everyone saw what was on the other side.
Not a heaven.
Not a realm.
A storm corridor made of pure lightning.
A path where thunder hunted instead of falling.
A place where time stuttered inside the sound.
A convergence.
A coming world event.
The Silent Bell envoy went still, face pale.
"The Heaven-Rending Thunder Descent…" he whispered.
The crack widened.
Lightning tried to reach down like a hand.
Drakonix roared, thunderflame bursting, wings shaking with half-born rage.
Zhen stepped forward, shield layers locking tight.
Ling Xueyao raised her moon-line again, freezing the crack's edge for a breath.
Qi Shan Wei did not flinch.
He moved one step forward, blade raised.
Calm.
Controlled.
And the crack above the dome pulsed like the sky had learned his name.
To be Continued
© Kishtika., 2025
All rights reserved.