Shadow Over the Heavenly Throne

"Don't get all worked up, Pharos," came a light laugh. "You might lose what little hair you have left."

Like an echo in human form, the Black Flame Grandmaster appeared beside them. And with his arrival, the space ruptured three more times. Out stepped the Mistress of the Mystic Moon Sect, robed in dark garments embroidered with crescent moons. Following closely were the Golden Dragon Grandmaster and the Master of the Burning Phoenix Clan.

Their gazes collided like drawn blades.

"Had I known you'd arrive first, Pharos," said the Mistress with a faint smile, "I might've hurried up. We could have warmed up with a bit of mental sparring before the usual halfwits tried to set the world ablaze again."

"Sad to say," snapped the Golden Dragon Grandmaster, his glare sharp, "but with your level of intellect, even Aldrich's idiot son could outwit you."

The Mistress didn't even flinch. She kept her soft smile trained on Pharos, which only made the Golden Dragon Grandmaster's scowl deepen.

Pharos cleared his throat, loud and dry.

"Enough of this nonsense. Let's get to it before my old bones melt in this cursed sun."

With that, he stepped onto a stone platform and gestured toward the four Grandmasters. They exchanged glances and approached, each placing a small sealed box on the altar. Their contents remained hidden, but the auras leaking from within stirred the very air—diverse, dense, and crackling with ancient power.

Pharos extended a hand toward one box and closed his eyes. Time seemed to stop. Air spiraled gently around him, light-sensitive particles of Qi shimmering as though yearning to unveil the stories each relic contained.

For several moments, silence reigned. Even the wind held its breath.

At last, Pharos opened his eyes. They shone brighter than before, as if echoing the essence he'd just glimpsed. He nodded slowly, like a judge confirming a sacred vow.

Without a word, he lifted his staff.

Everyone understood. That gesture alone affirmed the offerings were of equal value. Pharos lowered his hand, sealing the pact in silence. Then he turned and spoke:

"First bout: Black Flame Grandmaster versus the Master of the Burning Phoenix Clan. I'll serve as judge. Second bout: Golden Dragon Grandmaster versus the Mistress of the Mystic Moon Sect. Elvaria will oversee it."

The Grandmasters nodded in sync.

"No artifacts allowed," Pharos added. "Only pure techniques and raw body. The victor claims both items—their own and their opponent's."

With a smirk, the Black Flame Grandmaster stepped into the arena. His eyes blazed with anticipation.

"Let's hope your flame hasn't gone cold with age. Shadows have learned to dance in utter darkness."

The Master of the Burning Phoenix gave no reply. His silence was heavier than stone.

Meanwhile, the three remaining Grandmasters ascended into the sky, hovering several kilometers away above the desert. Nothing obstructed their view.

Elvaria raised a hand, and from thin air formed an icy throne, crystalline and elegant. She sat with poised grace, as if attending a grand performance.

The Golden Dragon Grandmaster and the Mistress of the Mystic Moon exchanged glances, shook their heads in quiet resignation, and returned their focus to the two below—whose auras now trembled like thunderclouds before a storm.

Pharos, sensing their readiness, spoke:

"Let the duel begin."

...

At the desert's edge, beneath the shadow of a ruined arch, two figures watched in silence.

A masked man stared at the battlefield. Beside him, a girl with nine fox tails idly stroked one, her gaze sharp and cold.

"Lilianne," he said. "Focus. Read their auras. We'll need it."

The fox-girl didn't answer. Her eyes flared with inner light.

The man saw the concentration settle on her features. He smiled—then tensed as Elvaria suddenly turned in their direction.

She frowned.

"Hooo..." the man murmured. "Not bad, girl. But spatial perception isn't your forte."

In that moment, the two figures vanished. They didn't fade or flee. They simply ceased to exist in that space. Only a faint ripple remained in the air.

From her icy throne, Elvaria narrowed her eyes. Her fingers trembled. She stared at the spot where something—someone—had been.

Nothing remained.

No Qi. No trace. No distortion.

Maybe... it was just her imagination?

Several kilometers away, shielded by spatial manipulation, the masked man smirked at Elvaria's confusion.

Lilianne, now reassured they were undetectable, focused entirely on the duel. Her tails flicked gently, eyes gleaming with analytical intensity.

"Don't use that technique again," she whispered. "Those few seconds cost me half my Qi."

The man nodded solemnly.

"You can focus completely now. No one will interrupt us again."

***

Meanwhile, thousands of kilometers away...The girls had arrived at the Valley of the Stilled Wind.

Before them stretched a vast, frozen plain. At its center stood a colossal tree, its branches locked in perfect stillness—like the crown of a world frozen in time. The trunk shimmered with the color of glacial silver, and from its bark gleamed faint reflections that resembled long-forgotten runes.

The silence around them was so profound, they could hear nothing but the beat of their own hearts. Even the snow beneath their boots made no sound, as though the world itself had held its breath. Every step felt like sacrilege. Even the ever-present wind of these lands… had vanished.

Imara was the first to try speaking. Her lips moved, but no sound came—not even the vibration in her throat. Her eyes widened in disbelief.Thalia nodded quickly and pointed at the snow. She knelt, dragging a finger across the smooth icy surface.

"No sound. We communicate like this."

The rest of the team nodded in silent agreement. Yareen knelt beside Thalia and wrote:

"This place... it's alive. I can feel it. The Qi has stopped flowing. It's like everything is suspended."

Imara gazed ahead. Her eyes locked onto the Tree of Silence, its limbs stretched toward the heavens like frozen arms reaching for the divine. She tried to feel something—anything—but the valley didn't just take their voices… it devoured sensation, vitality… will.

They took their first step forward.

And with every step, the silence grew heavier. It was no mere absence of sound—it was a presence. Watching. Weighing. Measuring. The valley felt aware, conscious. As though the tree itself knew they had come… and was judging their souls.

Thalia halted and wrote:

"Could we be inside a formation?"

Naleira, who had remained silent until now, gave her a subtle nod. In her eyes shimmered something difficult to name—respect, perhaps fear… or something more.

At the top of the tree, something gleamed—a fruit, round and radiant, crystalline in nature, as if woven from frozen light. It hovered just above the crown, motionless in the still air.

As they drew closer, something changed.

Their steps grew heavier. At first, it was almost unnoticeable—like an invisible hand gently pressing down on their shoulders. But with every meter toward the Tree of Silence, the pressure intensified. Their feet sank into snow that had barely existed moments ago, and their joints began to ache with resistance. The air thickened, as though gravity itself had warped, dragging them downward into the frozen earth.

Their bodies resisted, but their will pushed them onward.Each step became a trial.Each breath, a battle.

Yareen felt her spine tremble under the invisible burden, each vertebra pulsing with strain.She looked at the others—they too trudged forward, hunched over, fists clenched, eyes fixed on that glacial monument in the distance.The gravity thickened… but they moved forward still.

Each meter was a descent into their own limitations. Words had no place here—not just because of the silence, but because everything about this valley demanded focus. Even their thoughts felt heavier, slower, as though the Tree was trying to unmake them—piece by piece.

Caireen stumbled. Her knee struck the ice with a muted thud.Yareen instinctively reached out to help, but every movement now required willpower beyond measure.Caireen lifted her hand—don't.She rose on her own, trembling, but her eyes burned with fire.

Imara closed her eyes and centered her breath. Rather than resist the gravity, she sought to attune herself to it, to move in harmony with the valley's rhythm. Her steps became steadier—heavy, but fluid. As if her entire being whispered:"I accept."

The Tree of Silence, though unmoving, radiated a weight… a pulse… a presence.

And then something changed.

At its peak, something flickered. A subtle glow at first, it began to pulse, waves of light rippling along its icy limbs. Within seconds, it intensified—until the entire tree illuminated the valley like a frozen lighthouse, casting ethereal light across the land.

Naleira, closest to the source, lifted her gaze. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation.She froze for a moment… then stared upward, at the Fruit of the Snow Mirror, which had begun to spin in place—slow, deliberate.

It was the sign.The Fruit had completed its ripening.

Naleira turned back, her gaze sweeping across the girls still struggling beneath the crushing weight.She nodded to them in silence—a gesture of unspoken resolve.

Then, she moved forward.

Her steps remained heavy, her body burdened… but her will was sharper than gravity. With each footfall, faint glimmers trailed behind her—as though the valley itself acknowledged her right to try.

The others looked to one another. The moment had come.

They gritted their teeth and pressed onward, chasing after Naleira.Even as each step cost more than the last.