Three days of travel brought the team of six from the Verdant Moon Sect across ridges laced with thunder-imbued stone, across plateaus where spiritual beasts once roamed, and through valleys still crackling with long-dead tribulation lightning. It was not a quiet journey, but a sacred one—their path etched into memory by the pulse of anticipation that surrounded the mission.
They arrived at Stormjade Basin just as the morning sun crested over jagged mountain spires. The basin was immense, stretching like a gaping scar in the land's crust, rimmed with black obsidian stone and lined with veins of luminous thunder ore that hummed with residual Qi. Lightning didn't just strike here—it slept beneath the ground, slumbering in coils of mineral and energy.
In the center of the basin was a wide circular platform half-buried in stone. Ancient glyphs carved into its surface glowed faintly with blue lightning, cycling through forgotten formations as if remembering an age long past. Runes drifted above the platform, phasing in and out of visibility.
Jian Mu stood near the ridge, the wind tugging at his robe. Shadow joined him silently, eyes scanning the distance. The tomb ahead pulsed with power, but remained sealed.
"We wait here," Jian Mu said, planting his spear beside him. "Entry isn't permitted until all invited sects arrive. Only then will the runes stabilize and grant access."
Behind them, their team moved with efficiency. Xian Shu worked swiftly, laying defensive talismans along the stone and stabilizing the perimeter with spiritual nails. Luo Fei summoned thick green vines to form shelter walls and tied bundles of fragrant talisman herbs above the doorway. Yanmei, silent and vigilant, stood with one hand on the hilt of her saber, her gaze fixed to the northern trail.
"This place is… loud," Shadow murmured. The hum of storm energy was almost deafening to someone like him, whose body had long since aligned with thunder.
"The tomb reacts to presence. More than that—to intent," Jian replied. "That's why only joint-entry is allowed. Too many sects have tried to conquer it alone in the past and been destroyed. The tomb remembers betrayal."
Shadow offered a faint smile. "And here I thought stone had no memory."
Jian smirked. "Stone forgets. But lightning writes its history in scars."
---
By midday, a low vibration echoed across the ridge.
A thin line of green and black robes appeared along the northern slope—the Green Spear Sect.
They moved like disciplined phantoms, light-footed and silent. Their captain, a tall woman with vine-like tattoos down her arms, led them forward. Her aura was sharp, not aggressive, but precise. Her eyes moved across the basin like she was already measuring kill zones.
"That's Zhen Yue," Jian said under his breath. "Ranked 45 in their inner court. Daughter of one of their Grand Elders. Cold steel in human skin."
Zhen Yue reached them and gave a sharp nod. Her voice was composed, dry.
"Verdant Moon. You arrived on time."
"As always," Jian said, returning the nod. "Terrain favors wood and earth users. We fortified the basin to limit external interference."
Zhen Yue studied him for a moment, then turned to direct her team. Among them was a boy with sharp cheekbones and a hawk-like stare. His spear was wrapped in green talismans.
"Wei Lin," Jian whispered. "Rank 48. Trained with beasts. Never says much. Doesn't need to."
Shadow returned the boy's calculating stare with a polite nod. Wei Lin merely turned away.
---
By late afternoon, the air shimmered. Wind whipped downward, parting clouds, and six figures descended on flying swords crafted of pure spirit steel.
The White Stone Sect had arrived.
Cloaked in elegant white-and-silver robes, they descended like scholars in prayer. At their front was a young man with pale violet eyes, a folding fan tucked into his sash. He wore the effortless confidence of someone used to speaking and being obeyed.
"Yu Bailing," Jian said. "Their diplomat. Dangerous with a sword, more dangerous with his tongue."
Yu Bailing landed lightly, his feet not disturbing the dust.
"Verdant Moon," he said, smiling. "Always diligent. I feared we'd arrive to find you mid-meditation."
"And here I thought we might meet you composing poems in the clouds," Jian replied.
Yu Bailing laughed. "Touché."
The tension was light, but real.
---
At dusk, the final sect arrived—and the mountain itself seemed to groan.
They came not by sword, but on foot. Crimson Fog Sect.
Their captain towered over them all, a man built like a mountain, his glaive crackling with demonic Qi. His robes, deep red and black, bore clawed patterns around the hems.
"Feng Ao," Jian said grimly. "Ranked 30 in their sect. Doesn't spar. Destroys."
Feng Ao said nothing. He stomped past their line and grunted, staring down at the central tomb.
"Weaklings. Let's hope you don't cry when the lightning starts."
Jian smiled calmly. "You know I only cry at musical recitals."
Feng Ao snorted.
No violence. Not yet.
---
By nightfall, four camps surrounded the Lightning Tomb.
The central platform glowed brighter. The sky crackled with dormant lightning, stars hidden behind veils of storm.
Shadow sat beside his team's fire, stirring the flames with a stick.
"Feels like this place is listening," he murmured.
Luo Fei nodded. "It listens. And it remembers."
Jian rolled out a map, marking the runes he'd noted shifting around the tomb.
"We have until the alignment completes," he said. "Once the last rune locks, the tomb will open for seven days. That's all."
"What happens after that?" Xian Shu asked.
"It seals for another ten years."
Yanmei muttered, "So we have seven days to survive, secure a legacy, and escape."
Jian nodded. "Exactly."
Shadow watched the clouds shift.
Somewhere beneath the stone, ancient power waited.
And when the tomb opened—it would not grant mercy.
Only judgment.
---