And so, the wheel of fate began its quiet revolution.

Days cascaded like grains of glowing sand—each moment on Harmony Heaven Peak carrying the subtle weight of destiny. The mountain itself seemed to hum with anticipation, its ley lines pulsing in sync with a rhythm older than memory.

Tian Lei continued to cultivate in silence, though silence was a relative term here. The hum of formations surrounded him at all hours—runic flows whispering from the stones, threads of resonance weaving through the wind. To any ordinary disciple, it would have been maddening. But to him, it was music.

Each night, the jade pendant at his chest flickered faintly, reacting to something beneath the surface. The more he refined his arrays, the more frequently it responded, as though urging him deeper—beckoning him toward the heart of the mountain.

On the seventeenth night of the second month, as moonlight pooled across his chamber floor, Tian Lei's concentration broke. The pendant blazed suddenly, its glow cutting through the dim air like a blade. The runes on his walls shimmered and aligned of their own accord, forming a single vast sigil—an ancient configuration he hadn't drawn.

The formation thrummed once… then opened.

A thin beam of light shot toward the ground, revealing a narrow passage spiraling downward. The air that drifted from below was cold—ancient, untouched.

Tian Lei stared at it for a long moment before muttering under his breath, "So it begins."

He stepped inside.

The tunnel was lined with runes older than the sect itself, their meanings long lost to modern scholars. The deeper he went, the heavier the air became—not oppressive, but intentional, as though testing him. His heartbeat synchronized with the pulse of the runes, each step echoing in time with a rhythm that didn't belong to this world.

After what felt like hours, the passage widened into a vast underground hall.

At its center stood a broken altar—three circular seals embedded into its surface. The first glowed faintly, the same gold hue as before. The second was cracked, dormant. The third was little more than an outline, waiting to be redrawn by fate.

Hovering above the altar was a single orb of light—pale, flickering, almost ghostlike. When Tian Lei approached, it spoke.

"You came sooner than expected."

"I was called," Tian Lei replied, his tone even.

The light pulsed gently. "All inheritors are called. Few answer. Fewer still survive the first descent."

A faint smile touched his lips. "Then let's see which kind I am."

The orb circled him once, studying, before settling above the glowing seal. "To awaken the next, you must balance discord and resonance. Formations that live, breathe, and contradict themselves—yet hold harmony within chaos. Can you shape order from dissonance?"

Tian Lei raised his right hand. Qi surged around him, spiraling into radiant threads that wove together midair. Runes burst forth, colliding, repelling, and aligning again until the air itself trembled.

The altar responded—its surface fracturing, expanding, the broken runes beginning to mend. For every symbol he completed, the hall shook harder, as though resisting rebirth.

"Balance," the orb whispered. "Not dominance."

He exhaled slowly and let his will soften. Instead of controlling the runes, he listened. Letting them move in rhythm, not command.

And then—everything stilled.

A soft, crystalline tone filled the chamber as the second seal blazed to life.

The orb's voice carried both pride and sorrow. "You've done it. The Second Seal listens once more."

"What happens now?" Tian Lei asked, lowering his hand.

"The Thirteenth Hall remembers," the orb said. "And so too will those who sought to erase it."

As if answering its words, tremors ran through the mountain above—brief but undeniable. The peak itself sang for a heartbeat, a deep harmonic sound that echoed across every disciple's chamber.

Elder Huyan, meditating atop the Third Hall, snapped his eyes open. His expression darkened as golden light flickered behind his irises. "So… it's begun again."

Far below, Tian Lei turned toward the faint glow of the passage. The altar's hum subsided, but the pendant on his chest burned with new intensity, its light now divided—two fragments illuminated, one still dark.

He smiled faintly. "Two down. One to go."

Outside, dawn began to break. The first rays of sunlight pierced the mists of Harmony Heaven Peak, glinting off the ancient formations that slumbered beneath.

The mountain exhaled, and somewhere deep within its core, a new melody began to rise—low, resonant, inevitable.

As the tremors faded, Tian Lei stood in silence, staring at the now-restored seal. The golden light slowly dimmed until only faint traces remained. The underground hall grew quiet again—no whispers, no movement, just the steady beat of his heart.

He looked down at the jade pendant on his chest. Two sections were glowing softly, the last one still dark. "One more seal," he muttered. "And the Thirteenth Hall will awaken."

Turning away from the altar, he started back up the narrow passage. The air was calmer now, the runes along the walls fading into stillness as he passed. When he emerged into his chamber again, the light of dawn was already spilling through the window. Everything looked normal, as if nothing had happened.

Tian Lei sat on the meditation platform, steadying his breathing. He could still feel the lingering energy from the seal pulsing faintly in his veins. It was powerful—too powerful to ignore.

"I need to be careful," he said quietly. "Whatever's sealed beneath this mountain… it's not just a legend."

Later that morning, Elder Huyan called the disciples to the Grand Plaza. The air was heavy with tension; even the mountain seemed unusually quiet. The elder's expression was calm, but his gaze lingered on the distant peaks for a moment longer than usual.

"Yesterday," he began, "the mountain trembled. Some of you may have felt it."

Whispers spread through the crowd.

"That was not an earthquake," Elder Huyan continued. "Something deep within the foundation of the sect has stirred. For now, it is stable. But remember—our art of formations is not just control. It is understanding. The mountain is alive. Learn to listen to it."

He looked over the crowd, and for a brief second, his eyes met Tian Lei's. There was no accusation—only recognition, as if he already knew who had caused the disturbance.

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