The chamber was a paradox.
No walls, yet it was enclosed. No ceiling, yet the weight of its presence pressed down on him, suffocating and infinite. The boy stood on a floor that wasn't stone, but something else—shimmering, whispering beneath his feet, like walking on memory itself.
Before him sat the childlike figure. Its body looked no older than ten, but the aura surrounding it bent space, twisting reality. A thousand voices seemed to echo when it spoke, though only one mouth moved.
"Before you ascend, you must be weighed."
The boy frowned, confusion tightening his chest. "I didn't come here to ascend."
The figure's smile was faint, almost pitying. "You came to understand. That is the first mistake of every candidate."
Behind the throne, chains began to stir—thin, radiant threads stretching from nothingness, slithering through the air, coiling and wrapping themselves into complex shapes.
A door appeared in the void. Six rings circled it, spinning slowly, each motion deliberate.
"You will walk through the Trial of Chains. If you break, you return empty-handed. If you survive, Heaven listens. If you conquer it…"
The figure leaned forward, its presence heavy with unspoken power.
"You earn the right to reshape fate."
Outside the temple, far beyond its gates, the cloaked shadow assigned by the demon king stood on a distant hill. No one saw him. Even the celestial guards failed to perceive the weight of his presence.
One guard passed too close—and vanished into mist, never knowing what had touched him.
The shadow didn't move.
His master's son was inside. That was enough.
Back inside the chamber, the boy took a slow step toward the door. His heart hammered in his chest, but his resolve was steady.
"I won't die in there, right?"
The figure's eyes glowed faintly. "You might."
"I'm going anyway."
As his feet moved closer, the chains reacted, wrapping around his wrists and ankles—not to bind him, but to test him. The pressure wasn't physical; it was emotional, spiritual, as if the chains were digging into his deepest fears, his forgotten guilt, his buried shame.
Then—
The rings spun.
And the door opened.
The first step was like falling into ice.
The world around him turned gray—no color, no sound, just an endless fog.
And ahead, standing motionless, was his sister. Chained to a wall. Her eyes wide with terror.
He ran to her, his heart pounding. "Sis! What—"
She looked up at him, and her gaze pierced through him.
"Why didn't you save me?"
The boy froze, words catching in his throat.
She cried now, the tears streaming down her face. "They took me. Tortured me. And you stayed. You chose to stay."
"No—I'm here now! I'm coming for you!"
"Too late."
The chains began to burn, red-hot, and her body screamed as the flames devoured her. He reached out, desperate, but an invisible force stopped him—a wall he couldn't see, but could feel.
"No—NO!" he screamed, reaching for her.
Suddenly, everything shattered.
He woke.
Or thought he did.
The chamber had changed.
Now, he stood in his old home, a blade in his hand, his mother lying on the ground before him, bleeding.
Her eyes were cold.
"Like father, like son," she murmured, her voice echoing with a distorted clarity.
He dropped the weapon. "No. This isn't real. I would never—"
"But you could," she said, her voice warped, impossible. "You're his blood. The Devourer lives in your veins."
The house began to quake, the walls splintering, the floor cracking.
He turned and ran, but no matter where he went, the house followed—its rooms twisting, its halls stretching into infinity.
He burst through a door—
And fell once more.
This time, into darkness.
Only breathing could be heard—slow, deep, and menacing.
Ahead of him, there was a throne of bone.
A figure sat upon it, cloaked, masked.
He knew that presence.
It was his father. The true form—the one that once devoured gods, drowned empires in blood, and laid waste to entire worlds.
"Why are you here?" the boy asked, his voice hoarse with defiance.
The figure leaned forward, its voice a whisper that chilled the soul.
"You think you're different," it said. "You think kindness will save you. But you were born from a curse. You are the end of things."
"No," the boy said, stepping forward, his resolve hardening. "I'm not."
"You can't escape what you are."
"I don't want to escape."
The throne cracked.
"I want to change what I am."
With those words, the boy raised his hand.
Fire surged from his palm—not the wild, uncontrolled flames of fury, but something tempered, pure, controlled. It blazed with a strength born not of rage, but of choice.
The entire illusion shattered like glass.
And he woke.
In the real world, the temple trembled.
Guards stumbled. Cultivators fell to their knees, clutching their hearts, gasping for breath. The childlike figure on the throne leaned forward, its eyes wide with disbelief.
"He rejected the binding?" it whispered, a flicker of something—fear?—crossing its features.
Chains floated in the air, snapping loose, shattering.
The Trial of Chains had never been broken so swiftly.
Never so completely.
The boy stood in the center of the now-ruined chamber, his eyes faintly glowing with gold and red. His breath was ragged, his body shaking with the strain of what he had just endured, but there was a smile on his face.
Outside, the shadow blinked once, behind his mask, the barest whisper escaping him: "He's growing."
The celestial envoy from earlier reappeared as the boy exited the chamber.
"Congratulations," the celestial said, bowing low in respect. "You have passed."
The boy's gaze was flat, unamused. "I didn't do it for you."
The envoy's lips curled into a smirk. "Then do it for your future. The Council is watching. And you've impressed them."
The boy shook his head, his voice firm. "I don't care about the Council."
"Perhaps not now," the envoy said. "But soon, you will. Because someone else has taken interest."
The boy paused, narrowing his eyes. "Who?"
The celestial leaned in, whispering:
"The Ninth Throne. The only being your father fears."
Later that night, as the boy returned to the hill where the shadow waited, the stars above flickered unnaturally, casting a strange light across the sky. In the highest layer of Heaven, a sealed palace cracked open.
And from within, a name long erased from the heavens was spoken once more.
"Bring me the Devourer's bloodline."
"Bring me the flame-born."