Chapter 2 The Shattered Path

Chapter 2:

In the Martial Continent, where spirit and strength define destiny, the morning of the Soul Awakening Ceremony arrived with reverent silence. The wind held its breath. Not a leaf rustled, not a crow dared caw above the towering peaks of Cloudveil. Even the mountain fog, which usually roamed the highlands like a restless spirit, lay subdued as if in deference.

The Lin Clan's ancestral courtyard, steeped in centuries of blood and glory, stood solemn and still. Golden banners bearing the Lin insignia hung unmoving, and sacred braziers exhaled slow tendrils of incense. Between carved stone pillars etched with the names of generations long passed, the clan's youths stood clothed in pristine white robes-an unbroken line of legacy now stepping forward to claim their fates.

High above them, on a terrace veiled in drifting mist, Elder Jian descended.

He did not walk-he seemed to glide.

His arrival broke the silence not with sound, but with pressure. An invisible wave pulsed across the courtyard. Disciples instinctively held their breath. The very air grew heavy.

No spiritual energy leaked from the old man. No glow or fury revealed itself.

Yet hearts trembled.

Even the bravest among the elders stiffened, and a ripple of awe passed through the gathered clan. Elder Jian, the silent sword of the Lin Clan, had not attended an Awakening Ceremony in over a decade. Rumors whispered that he once silenced an army with a single breath.

He raised his hand. The mist obeyed and curled aside.

"Children of Lin," his voice boomed-not loud, but deep enough to stir marrow. "Today, the heavens shall weigh your worth. Some will rise. Some will be cast aside. Such is the law of soul and steel."

He paused, letting his gaze sweep across the gathered disciples.

"Awaken with pride. Or be forgotten."

The crowd stirred, whispers like falling snow.

From the Heaven Division, the first name was called.

"Step forward, Lin Xuan."

Lin Xuan's steps were light, almost ethereal. His robe did not wrinkle, his hair did not sway. As he reached the Soul Stone-an ancient monolith with veins of light pulsing within-it seemed to glow in recognition.

He extended his palm.

A heartbeat.

Then a deafening roar split the sky.

From the stone burst forth a spectral White Tiger, lightning cascading from its fur, its eyes older than time.

The crowd gasped.

"White Tiger Martial Soul," Elder Jian declared. "Grade Seven. A royal-class awakening."

The courtyard was stunned.

Lin Xuan bowed, composed. Yet as he turned, his eyes met Lin Feng's-just for a moment. Pity, sharp and unbearable, flickered within them.

More names were called.

Lin Yu. Mist gathered, and a Silver Serpent emerged. Grade Five.

Lin Mei. A Violet Crane soared from the light. Graceful. Grade Three.

Then-

"Step forward, Lin Kun."

A hush deeper than silence fell. All eyes turned.

Lin Kun, son of General Lin Fenglong, walked forward.

Unlike the others, his presence was thunder wrapped in calm. His eyes flickered with fire, but his steps were cold and steady. Whispers followed him like shadows.

"Fenglong's son."

"He'll awaken something powerful, for sure."

He placed his hand upon the Soul Stone.

The stone flickered... then convulsed.

A howl, long and ancient, echoed through the heavens.

From within the light leapt a beast of twilight-its fur blazing gold and black, its mane rippling like molten steel. A Divine Shadow Lion.

"Grade Six!" Elder Jian announced, eyes narrowing. "Dominion-class. Sharp instincts. Devours fear. A soul of conquest."

Gasps filled the air.

Lin Kun smiled faintly. Not arrogant, but assured.

He turned, gave a nod to his father among the elders-and then glanced at Lin Feng, offering no expression.

Then came silence.

And it lingered too long.

Lin Feng stood still.

He had touched the Soul Stone before the ceremony. Nothing had happened.

The elders said nothing.

His name was not called.

Still, he waited.

The crowd began to murmur.

A disciple scoffed.

"Why is he even here?"

"Waste of bloodline."

"Didn't even get a flicker."

But Lin Feng did not move.

He simply turned, back straight, face unreadable.

He walked the path away from light.

The Eastern Wing lay abandoned in silence, the stone corridors colder than memory. Once, Lin Feng's laughter had echoed here with that of cousins and friends. Now, only silence walked beside him.

He sat before an old training post, staring at the grooves worn into the wood-remnants of a hundred youthful strikes. His fists clenched unconsciously.

Then came the knock. Sharp. Dismissive.

A servant stood at the door. "The Clan Chief summons you."

No bow. No deference.

Lin Feng stood. "Very well."

In the great chamber of the Clan Chief, the air hung thick with sandalwood and silence.

Lin Tianhai stood by the window, arms clasped behind his back, eyes fixed beyond the mountain's edge.

"You were shamed today," he said.

Lin Feng bowed. "Yes."

A long pause.

Then Tianhai sighed. Not with anger. With weariness.

The heavens aren't always fair, he thought. Will without talent is nothing.

But another voice deep inside him-fierce and reluctant-answered back: Yet talent without will is wasted light.

He turned.

"Then perhaps shame is a gift," Tianhai said. "Now you understand what it means to fall. Rise or rot-those are your only choices."

He stepped forward and offered a scroll bound in crimson silk.

"The Iron Body Forging Technique," he said. "No soul will come. But your body will become your sword."

Lin Feng accepted it with both hands.

His fingers brushed the aged silk. It felt warm-alive.

"I will begin tonight," he said.

Tianhai nodded. But when Lin Feng turned to leave, his father's voice came one final time:

"Break your own path, Feng. If the heavens ignore you-make them remember."

Far away, on a nameless peak, the winds stirred. In the silence, an ancient relic buried deep beneath Mount Rengui pulsed once-faint, but undeniable.

Something had heard Lin Feng's vow.