Shadow Over the Heavenly Throne

Sylphia was kneeling. Her knees dug into the crystal floor, her body trembling under the crushing weight of an invisible force. Each breath was a dagger in her lungs. She gasped for air, trying to prop herself up on her hands—but even that strength was gone. And yet... she raised her head.

Her eyes, burning with fury, locked onto Kaen. He still lounged lazily on his throne, elegance draped in nonchalance. His head tilted slightly. A smirk played at the corners of his lips—barely there, but cold enough to chill the room.

"What happened to those pretty words, girl?"

His voice was calm, but it rang louder than it should have—as if the world itself had gone quiet just so he could be heard.

"'I kneel to no one but my mother'?"

"'One day... I will be the one they all kneel to?"

The hall fell still. No one moved. No one breathed.

Sylphia stared up at him—but there was no submission, no regret in her gaze.

Then... she answered. Softly. Firmly. With fire.

"I still stand by my words. I'm kneeling only because you forced me to. Because I'm weak. But never by choice."

Silence sparked in the air. So thick, even breathing felt like sacrilege.

Kaen looked at her for a moment, saying nothing. Then... his smirk widened, just a fraction. And the pressure vanished.

Not with a bang. Not with a ripple. It simply... ceased, as if it had never been.

Sylphia collapsed, arms shaking under her own weight. But she never looked away.

Kaen stretched with a dramatic sigh, as if finishing a rather dull performance.

"Alright. Playtime's over."

He stood.

And the world shifted.

The very dimension trembled, like reality itself spun around his presence. Pillars lit up, runes danced in the air, and space peeled open like a curtain.

Kaen stepped off the throne. Every step he took was softer than silence—yet somehow louder than thunder.

He stopped at the center of the hall, gaze sweeping across the gathered crowd.

"For decades, I stayed in the shadows. Not out of laziness... but to give you time."

His voice was steady. But there was no mercy in it.

"Time that you wasted."

Kaen didn't look at the Elders. Not at the Former King. He knew them. Respected them. They were his peers—forged in an age today's youth couldn't even imagine.

His eyes landed instead on the current King, Aldrich. On Veynessa. On their siblings: Renald, Maren, Thalos. On their children—the cultivators: Vaelin, Kaelis, Cassya, Ilyra, Lioren, Caius, Daren, Eirlys.

"You're comfortable. Complacent. Drowning in rituals, in titles, in pride for ancestors you don't even understand."

His gaze shifted to those at the Sixth Stage.

"You possess high-grade roots. Maybe not divine like your parents, but enough to become real cultivators. And yet... you're average. Nothing more."

Then his eyes moved to the Fifth Stage.

"And you... not even high-grade roots. Just Medium. But in theory, with the right training, you should be able to defeat someone at the Seventh Stage."

He paused. His gaze sharpened, cold.

"But when I look at you, I don't even see mediocrity. I see something worse. And honestly... I'm beginning to wonder if people like you should've been cut from this family long ago."

Someone among the Fifth Stage twitched. Caius raised his head. His lips moved, as if to speak—pride or fury pushing him to defend his worth.

But then Kaen looked at him.

Just a look. Cold. Heavy. Not filled with anger or rage—just absolute certainty that it wasn’t worth drawing a sword.

The young cultivator’s mouth shut at once. His shoulders trembled. His eyes fell to the floor.

Kaen let out a low laugh. Deep. Contemptuous.

"Really...?" he muttered, almost amused. "You couldn’t even get the words out, and you already gave up."

His gaze slid back to Sylphia, who had risen from her knees. She still swayed slightly, pain evident in every movement, but she stood. And she looked him in the eye.

"A kid without an ounce of Qi has more guts than you. At least she had the spine to look me in the eye."

He turned back to the boy.

"If you can't handle even my gaze... you're not worth my time."

He stepped forward.

He never looked at Caius again. The boy ceased to exist in his eyes, discarded, irrelevant.

And then Kaen lifted his gaze to the rest.

There was no laughter left. No mockery. Only the crushing weight of Kaen’s words, casting a shadow over the entire hall. Those who had remained silent before now fell into an even deeper silence. And the air itself... felt like it had forgotten how to move.

"The outside world isn’t waiting for you. It’s already awakening. Every Sect, every Kingdom... grows stronger with each generation. They evolve. Adapt. Surpass you."

"If not for me... you’d have been torn apart long ago. You’d have fallen without even knowing where the blow came from."

The runes above his head crackled like a storm.

"Every Super Sect possesses one Abyss King Core. We... are the only ones who hold two. One is hidden deep beneath the foundations of this land. The other... has always been with me."

He stepped forward, each word bending the very space around him.

"I studied it for years. Slowly. Carefully. And finally... after all these decades... I began to understand it."

He stopped. The runes swirled like a tempest, and the entire hall seemed to pulse with energy.

"I unraveled the Abyss King's Core. Something no one else even dared to touch. I created a formation... one that reaches beyond the limits of what you know as power."

The air trembled. For a heartbeat, Sylphia's heart stopped.

"We have six slots. Only six."

His gaze swept across the hall again.

"If I had known how utterly disappointing your generation would be, I wouldn’t have even bothered inviting you."

Silence.

"I chose those who possess not only power... but the will to pursue it."

"They will take the six positions. The Former King — Theron. Pharos — even if he isn’t here. Elder Fenthar, Elder Yllara, and Elder Maerion — three among the last who remember what true sacrifice means. And Calista — the only one among the younger generation who holds any worth."

At his words, five figures stepped forward.

Theron moved with a solemn dignity, as if every step carried the weight of history. Elder Fenthar glided like a shadow, barely touching the ground. Yllara walked with the quiet certainty of a woman who’d once seen the end of the world—and lived. Maerion, hunched and silent, but with eyes sharp as polished blades.

And Calista. Her steps were calm, almost light, but full of certainty. She met every gaze without flinching. She stopped half a step ahead of the others—as if even here, she had no intention of standing as their equal.

Kaen let the silence stretch, allowing their presence to sink into the hearts of the rest. Then, he raised his head — slowly, deliberately, with full awareness of the power he held.

The look he cast over the others wasn’t angry. It was cold. Calculating. Like a merchant inspecting goods at auction, searching for anything of even minor value.

"The rest of you were not chosen... unless you’re ready to take it by force."

Sylphia felt her chest tighten.

Kaen smiled. But there was no warmth in it.

"The rest of you have one chance."

He stopped, and his voice turned sharp.

"You may challenge one of them. Here. Now. If you win — the slot is yours."

A cold wind swept the room, as if even reality was holding its breath.

"If you lose... there won’t be a second chance."

His gaze fixed on King Aldrich. On Veynessa. On Renald, Maren, and Thalos. On everyone who had reached the Seventh Stage — those who should have led, inspired, and stood at the front. And yet they stood in silence.

A slow, predator's smile crept across Kaen’s face.