The Saints who spoke of an Ominous return
The path leading to my master's residence felt strangely longer than it ever had before.
Stone steps carved by time wound their way upward, disappearing briefly beneath the roots of ancient trees before emerging again. Their trunks stood tall and silent, as though they had witnessed countless eras rise and fall. Leaves rustled faintly above me, whispering against one another in low murmurs, as if exchanging secrets meant only for themselves. Each sound sharpened my senses, yet none brought comfort.
With every step I took, the weight in my chest grew heavier.
The dream would not leave me.
No matter how much I tried to push it aside, it lingered—clear, vivid, and sharp, etched into my thoughts like a blade that refused to dull. Its images replayed endlessly in my mind, each repetition deepening the unease gnawing at my heart. By the time I reached the end of the path, my breath was unsteady, my thoughts tangled.
Saint Lu Qi stood before his residence, hands clasped behind his back.
He faced the distant sky, his posture straight and unmoving, as though he had been standing there for a long time. The wind tugged lightly at his robes, yet he did not stir. There was something about his stillness that made my heart tighten.
I stepped forward and dropped to one knee.
"Disciple Xiao Yan greets Master."
For a moment, he did not turn.
Then he spoke.
"Xiao Yan."
His voice was calm—steady as always—but beneath it lay an unseen weight, something heavy and unspoken. The sound of my name alone made my spine straighten.
I lifted my head.
"The Ansha has returned to the world."
The words struck me like a hammer to the chest.
For a heartbeat, I could not breathe.
"The… Ansha?" I asked carefully, my voice barely above a whisper. "Master, who is that?"
Before Saint Lu Qi could answer—
The sky darkened.
It happened too fast to be natural. Clouds rolled in from all directions, thick and heavy, piling atop one another until the blue sky vanished completely. Thunder growled from within the mass, deep and violent, like something alive and enraged.
A crushing pressure descended upon the land.
It pressed against my chest, forcing the air from my lungs. My knees buckled, and I staggered slightly before regaining my footing. All around me, the world seemed to tremble beneath that overwhelming presence.
Disciples poured out from their quarters, drawn by instinct or fear. Their faces were pale, eyes wide as they stared upward at the roiling heavens. Whispers spread, but none dared to speak loudly.
Saint Lu Qi's expression hardened.
"An anomaly," he said, his voice firm. "Stay calm."
Then—
BOOM.
A thunderbolt tore through the sky and crashed down from the heavens, striking the earth with terrifying force. The impact sent violent tremors through the ground, cracking stone and shaking the air itself. I nearly lost my balance as the shockwave rippled outward.
Before the echoes could fade, a figure shot into the sky.
"Nem!" someone shouted.
I looked up just in time to see my friend ascending rapidly, his aura flaring as he charged toward the heart of the disturbance. There was no hesitation in his movements—only urgency.
Instinctively, I stepped forward—
A hand seized my arm.
"Xiao Yan, don't!"
I turned.
Mi-An stood beside me, her grip firm, her expression pale yet unwavering. Though fear flickered in her eyes, her resolve did not waver.
"You have no powers," she said urgently. "You'll die."
Before I could respond, she pulled me close. In the next instant, she ascended, lifting me briefly from the ground before setting me back down with care. The wind whipped around us as her aura surged upward.
I looked up at her face, committing every detail to memory—the determination in her eyes, the tension in her jaw—as she rose higher and higher, until her form disappeared into the storm.
Others followed.
More disciples took to the skies. More cultivators answered the call of the anomaly.
Even Saint Lu Qi ascended, his presence vanishing into the darkened clouds without a backward glance.
And I was left behind.
Alone on trembling ground, staring at a sky that no longer felt familiar.