The twilight air in the Lower Celestial Realm shimmered with tension, thick with whispers from the void between stars. Amidst towering stone spires, silver vines of the Star-Woven Lotus gently swayed—blooming only once every thousand years. Their scent, subtle and elusive, stirred long-forgotten memories in Zhao Lianxu's mind. He stood still, his long dark robes fluttering in the wind like the wings of a silent phoenix, his eyes fixed on the horizon where stars seemed to bend around an unseen presence.
Behind him stood his most trusted allies: Ji Ruyin, bearing her new celestial sword forged from the shattered remnants of a Heavenly Dao Fragment; Ye Shenshui, cloaked in ghostly mist, his breath a mixture of spiritual energy and cold bloodlust; and Wuming, the silent guardian whose soul was now tethered to the Spirit Bell of Time. Their bond had been tested time and again, forged in trials of blood, betrayal, and cosmic sacrifice. Yet nothing could prepare them for what lay ahead.
They had arrived at the Valley of the Eternal Lotus—one of the most mysterious places in the lower celestial planes. Here, legends spoke of a gateway that led to the Folded Realms, a place where time could be manipulated, destiny rewritten, and sealed truths awakened. Not even the heavenly records dared to fully document its powers. To most, it was a myth. But to Lianxu, it was the last remaining link to a soul he could never forget.
But it wasn't the lotus that brought them.
It was the girl.
Xu Qianlan.
The name echoed in Lianxu's heart like a melody both cherished and cursed.
It had been six years since the day she drove a blade into his chest. The pain had long healed, but not the hollow silence of her absence. Her betrayal was necessary. He had known, somewhere beneath the crimson flood of blood and broken oaths, that she had acted not from hatred, but desperation. Still, knowing did not soothe the ache of being forsaken. His memories of her were a tapestry of starlight and steel, of whispered dreams beneath dying moons.
"She is alive," whispered Wuming, placing his hand over the moss-covered altar.
"You're sure?" Lianxu asked, eyes narrowing as runes began glowing faintly beneath their feet.
"Yes. And she opened the gateway."
A rush of energy swept through the valley. The petals of the Lotus twirled, revealing a pool of starlight in their center. From it, shadows began to rise—not hostile, but ancient. They danced around Lianxu, brushing his skin like cold silk. Memories were being tested. Emotions unearthed. Forgotten voices whispered his name, and for a moment, he could hear the lullaby his mother used to hum in the Demon Tongue.
"To step forward, you must be willing to bear the truth of your origin," a voice murmured from within the starlight.
Ji Ruyin gripped her blade tighter. "It's a trial."
"No," said Lianxu, his voice calm but firm. "It's a judgment."
He stepped forward alone.
The moment he entered the star-pool, visions assaulted him. His body froze in place, but within, he stood as a child again—watching his father, the Prime Minister of the Multiverse, execute an entire sect for defying the Order. He saw his mother, eyes void of warmth, devouring a demon general while reciting lullabies to her unborn child. He felt the cruelty of legacy, the burden of divine power, and the loneliness of being born as more than human.
Then he saw himself.
The third bloodline.
The one he never fully understood.
A voice, deep and ancient, rumbled from the chasm of his memory. "You are the heir of the Chrono-Sword Sage. The one who sealed the Tianmo World. Your third bloodline is not of this plane. You are the son of endings and beginnings. The bridge between fate and freedom."
The vision changed.
He stood on a floating island, surrounded by glowing runes and a thousand crying souls. In the center, Xu Qianlan knelt, holding the severed head of the Demon King. Her face was calm, her eyes broken.
"I loved you," she whispered. "But I had to become what you could not. A ruler without ties. A queen of ash."
Back in the real world, Ji Ruyin clutched her chest, feeling a sharp pain spike through her spirit connection with Lianxu. Ye Shenshui drew his scythe, preparing for an ambush that hadn't yet come. The air thickened, trembling with spiritual pressure as the veil between realms thinned.
Then the ground cracked.
From the Lotus pool, Zhao Lianxu emerged, now draped in a robe of constellations. His eyes shimmered with three colors: gold, violet, and abyss-black. He bore the aura of a Tri-Blood Ascendant—a state so rare, even the gods once feared it. Every step he took warped the space around him, bending time and energy in reverent silence.
"She's trying to seal the Upper Realms," he said flatly. "She wants to stop the cycle. No more reincarnations. No more heaven-mandated fate. She intends to unwrite destiny."
"Why?" Ji Ruyin whispered.
"Because she believes fate took me from her. And now she wants to destroy the very concept. To erase the chains of divine order."
Wuming stepped forward. "Then what will you do, my prince? Will you stop her? Or join her?"
Lianxu looked up to the sky. The stars seemed closer now, as if listening. Each shimmer was a question. Each silence, a challenge.
"I will find her. I will make her remember. Not just me—but herself. The world she once wished to protect."
His voice was neither soft nor cruel. It held the weight of galaxies and the ache of a thousand lifetimes.
As the group prepared to leave the valley, a sudden tremor echoed from the east. A crack split the sky, and from it descended a golden chariot drawn by three-headed phoenixes. At its helm stood a young man clad in armor made of sunfire, the insignia of the Grand Tribunal glowing on his chest.
"Prince Zhao Lianxu," he called, voice ringing like thunder. "By order of the Grand Tribunal, you are to be arrested for crimes against the divine sequence, temporal interference, and forbidden resurrection."
Ji Ruyin cursed. Ye Shenshui smirked, spinning his scythe in anticipation.
Lianxu didn't flinch. Instead, he stepped forward and raised his hand. A sword formed—not one of metal or fire, but of pure time. Its edges shimmered with echoes from a future yet to unfold. It hummed with unborn moments and unraveling tomorrows.
"I defy your Tribunal," he said, voice calm but lethal. "The divine sequence is broken. It must be rewritten."
The sky exploded.
And thus began the War of Threads—a conflict that would span realities, test love and loyalty, and challenge the will of gods themselves.