The gate dissolved into stardust as Xiao Feng stepped forward, the floor humming beneath his feet like a heartbeat remembered after centuries of silence. Chen Hao and Ying Long followed closely, their expressions wary. Yet even the heavy air of magic and memory couldn't prepare them for what lay ahead.
The corridor behind them vanished.
There was no chamber now.
Only sky.
Vast. Black. Reflective.
Xiao Feng stood at the center of a boundless void, the stars above mirroring the stars below.
This wasn't a place.
It was his Sea of Consciousness—only deeper.
More intimate.
And terribly quiet.
"What… is this place?" Chen Hao's voice sounded hollow, as if wrapped in fog.
Ying Long narrowed his eyes. "He's crossed into the inner sanctum. This isn't for us."
With a flash of silver wind, Ying Long grabbed Chen Hao and whisked him away, their forms dissolving into motes of light. Leaving Xiao Feng… alone.
Completely.
Utterly.
Alone.
A breath passed.
Then another.
Then—
He appeared.
A figure stepped out from the dark sky, barefoot on the mirrored floor. His robes fluttered in phantom winds. His face was lean, sharp. His eyes, open—and glowing.
They were Xiao Feng's.
But this man wasn't blind.
He stood tall, regal, a remnant of the past or a ghost of what could have been.
Xiao Feng inhaled sharply. "You…"
The other smiled faintly. "The version of you that once was. The one who wielded dragons like blades.The one who always in the darkness."
"I've changed," Xiao Feng said quietly.
"You've regressed," the reflection countered. "You've become soft. Weak. You sealed your rage. Sealed your sight. And now, you're what? A wandering, blind beggar with borrowed dragons?"
The words cut—but Xiao Feng did not flinch.
"I'm someone who remembers the cost of power," he replied.
The mirrored version circled him. "That's why you've come here. Not to fight another dragon. But to face me. To face what you were… and what you could be again."
A gust of wind tore through the space. The past-self raised his hand—and summoned a spectral army.
Hundreds of dragon-echoes, warriors, phantoms of victory and blood.
"This is the trial," the reflection said coldly. "Either destroy me. Or let me destroy you."
Xiao Feng closed his eyes—what little good it did in this realm—and reached into himself.
He saw his failures.
He saw his darkness.
And he saw himself.
"I don't want to destroy you," he said. "I want to understand you."
The ghost of his past frowned.
But the army charged.
The battle erupted in silence. Xiao Feng did not raise his fists. Instead, he accepted the memories. Each strike he took carved into his essence—but instead of breaking, he grew brighter.
"Pain is not weakness," he whispered as he blocked a blade of shadow. "Regret is not surrender."
The ghost lunged, blade drawn—only for Xiao Feng to catch it with his bare hand.
The past shattered like glass.
The army vanished.
And the reflection knelt.
"You understand now," it said, voice fading. "You're not half of who you were. You're more. A man who chose to lose power... so he could learn truth."
A new mark burned across Xiao Feng's chest—a glowing sigil of balance. The sign of a summoner who had mastered not only his beasts... but himself.
The stars shifted.
And the world returned.
---
They stood once again at the mountain's edge, the Abyss behind them. The wind tasted lighter, clearer—like the silence after a storm. The beasts that had guided them, now slumbered within Xiao Feng's marks—waiting. Loyal.
Chen Hao exhaled. "So... that's it?"
Xiao Feng nodded slowly. "The Abyss is behind us."
Ying Long flapped his wings once. "And the world waits."
---
Lan Xian City shimmered beneath the summer sun as the three descended from the mountain path. Dirty, tired, robes torn, yet glowing with a strange, quiet power.
The city gates opened at the sight of them, guards stepping back in shock.
And then the whispers began.
"They returned… from the Abyss?"
"That's the blind summoner, isn't it?"
"Did he actually survive the Trials?"
People gathered in the streets, lining the stone roads of Lan Xian. Market stalls emptied, children pointed in awe, elders crossed their arms in cautious reverence.
Chen Hao chuckled under his breath. "Looks like we're famous."
But the awe didn't last long.
From the left, a ripple of disdain cut through the murmuring crowd.
A group of cultivators stood in the square, dressed in pristine robes of the Seven Radiant Clans—arrogance glowing brighter than their spirit auras. One stepped forward, tall, broad-shouldered, with a mocking smile.
"Well, well," he drawled. "The blind beast boy returns."
Xiao Feng stopped walking.
The cultivator continued, smirking. "Tell me—did the dragons carry you back? Or did your pet bird sing you lullabies through the darkness?"
Laughter echoed behind him.
Chen Hao stepped forward, bristling. "Watch your mouth."
Another cultivator spat to the side. "We're not mocking you, sword boy. Just him."
A third sneered. "What kind of summoner is blind? Is that a joke? Can he even see his own summons?"
Ying Long flared his wings—but Xiao Feng raised a hand.
Calm.
Composed.
"I see with more than eyes," he said quietly.
"Oh?" The first cultivator scoffed. "Then let's test that, shall we?"
He pointed at the city's central arena, the Circle of Genius—where only the bravest warriors of Lan Xian tested their mettle.
"Tomorrow morning," the man declared. "Dawn. You, me, and whoever you can summon. Let the city see what kind of summoner you really are."
People gasped.
Whispers turned sharp.
"Is he serious?"
"Challenging a blind man?"
"But he returned from the Abyss…"
The cultivator grinned wider. "If you are what people say… prove it. Otherwise? Go back to the shadows you crawled from."
Silence fell.
Then Xiao Feng stepped forward.
And simply nodded.
"I accept."
Ying Long narrowed his eyes. "You don't need to prove yourself to him."
"No," Xiao Feng replied. "But I do need to show them…"
He turned his head slightly—facing not the challengers, but the crowd.
"All of them… that I am no longer the summoner I was."
He paused.
"I am something more."
That night, Lan Xian buzzed with rumors.
The blind summoner. The Abyss-walker. The dragon-bonded.
Every inn and tea house was lit with talk of Xiao Feng's return and the duel that awaited him at sunrise. Some cheered. Others doubted. Many bet against him.
But in a quiet courtyard, under a starlit sky, Xiao Feng sat in silence.
Ying Long curled beside him.
And Chen Hao leaned on his sword, staring at the moon.
"Big day tomorrow," he said.
Xiao Feng didn't answer.
He was listening—to the wind, to the silence, to the dragons that now slumbered inside him.
And to the voice of the boy he once was, now quiet… at peace.