The void trembled beneath Ji Bai's feet.
Above, ink-black dragons coiled in the storm like living brushstrokes torn from the page. Their bodies shimmered with violet arcs of lightning, and their eyes blazed with ancient judgment. The very air buzzed with pressure — every breath Ji Bai drew was thick with static, like inhaling power barely held in check.
His grip tightened around the glowing brush in his hand. The warmth pulsing through its shaft was not just energy — it was will, memory, intention. It felt alive. And so did the storm.
Then the first dragon moved.
It surged forward with a roar that split the sky, mouth crackling with lightning, claws slashing toward him. Ji Bai spun aside, narrowly dodging, and in the same motion lifted his brush. A glowing sigil formed midair — a violet seal of restraint drawn in a single breathless arc.
The dragon crashed against it, snarling, trapped — but only for a moment.
Ji Bai landed, knees bent, heart hammering.
He had no time to rest.
One after another, the creatures emerged — manifestations of his own imagination, once drawn in solitude, now given terrifying, thunder-bound form. A phoenix rose from ink and fire, wings wide and eyes full of sorrowful flame. Its shriek was not rage, but something deeper — a question.
What do you truly seek?
Ji Bai answered without words. He painted a circle of blue beneath his feet — not cold, but calm. Tranquil. The phoenix faltered, its flames softening, and in that moment, he glimpsed its essence — not destruction, but lost grace.
This was no mere battle.
It was a trial of soul and brush.
Each clash pulled more than sweat from him — it pulled conviction. His creations demanded that he face what he had painted: fear, ambition, failure, hope. He was not fighting monsters.
He was fighting the truth of his own art.
Storm winds lashed against him. Rain mixed with sweat as his robes clung to his body, heavy and soaked. Yet he stood tall, breath ragged but unwavering. His strokes grew bolder — lines of light and ink wrapped the air, not just fending off the storm, but reshaping it.
And then —
The sky cracked open.
A blade of white lightning cleaved through the clouds, and from it stepped Raiden Shogun, cloaked in violet light. Her expression was unreadable, her presence immense. She walked calmly through the storm, untouched by wind or rain, her gaze locked on him.
"You have faced your own creations," she said, her voice carrying across the realm like the sound of a temple bell. "But the trial is not yet complete."
She raised her hand.
Instantly, the dragons stilled.
The phoenix folded its wings.
Even the storm paused to listen.
"Only by mastering both brush and heart," she continued, "can you carry the name you've awakened."
Ji Bai met her gaze. He did not kneel. He did not bow.
He simply breathed — and nodded.
"I am ready."
The void held its breath.
The painter took a step forward.
No longer just a man with a brush.
But the one who would write his fate.