The moons had waxed and waned, seasons spun on the wheel of time, and two months had flown by since Situ Nan first set foot on the verdant Water Spirit Star.

Then, on a fateful day, the celestial gates of the Heavenly Cloud Sect upon Destiny Star shuddered open. Tian Yunzi, Grandmaster of the Sect, penned several missives with his own hand, flinging them forth with a flourish of his silken sleeve. These invitations, imbued with a faint ethereal light, sought out every ancient and powerful cultivator across Destiny Star’s myriad realms, those deemed worthy to tread the perilous paths of the Demon Spirit Land.

The parchment bore a single line, etched in flowing script: “Ten days hence, the Eastern Sea Tide-lands shall part. Enter the Immortal Abode!”

Though few words were written, the invitation ignited a raging storm in the hearts of those who received it.

The existence of an Immortal Abode within the Demon Spirit Land was no secret amongst these ancient cultivators. Whispers had spread through the star-strewn cosmos. Some even dared to whisper of an immortal being, trapped within, perhaps even the fabled Immortal Emperor Qing Shuang himself!

These were mere whispers, unsubstantiated by proof, yet they were enough to send tremors through hearts long dormant, to stir blood that had grown cold with age.

The lure of an Immortal Abode was potent. Within lay countless treasures, forgotten arts of immense power. But these were mere trinkets compared to the true prize.

The object of their desire was the Immortal himself!

If, by chance, this immortal proved to be Qing Shuang, the most powerful being in the Four Immortal Realms of old, then perhaps, just perhaps, the secrets to transcending the very boundaries of mortal cultivation, to step into the Third Realm, could be unearthed.

This was the driving force behind Grandmasters like Tian Yunzi.

Countless years of clandestine exploration had allowed these ancient cultivators to piece together fragments of truth regarding Qing Shuang’s existence within the Abode.

When the great calamity shattered the Immortal Realms, Qing Shuang had somehow survived, a testament to his immense power. Yet, he was grievously wounded, forced into seclusion to mend his ravaged spirit. The signs pointed to the depths of the Demon Spirit Land as the Emperor’s sanctuary.

The chance to enter the refuge of a being who had once stood at the pinnacle of existence, a being weakened and vulnerable, was a siren song that few could resist.

Moreover, repeated ventures into the Demon Spirit Land had revealed that the Immortal within was far from recovered.

As Tian Yunzi’s invitations spread like wildfire, Lord Ling Tian emerged from his hidden lair. He, too, harbored ambitions for the Demon Spirit Land. Secret pacts had been forged, and now, he sent forth jade messages, summoning his allies to his side.

A sudden influx of cultivators flooded the territories surrounding Destiny Star, drawn from distant realms. A handful were invited guests, the rest arrived unbidden, seeking fortune and glory.

Secrecy proved impossible. The ongoing war between the Luo Tian and the Alliance intensified, with skirmishes escalating into bloody battles. The scale of the conflict deterred many of the truly powerful cultivators, leaving the field to a select few. Furthermore, Tian Yunzi’s standing within the Alliance’s Elder Council served as a warning, keeping the most avaricious and reckless at bay.

The ten days passed swiftly. Before the maw of the Tide-lands, cultivators had begun to gather, their numbers swelling with each passing hour.

Even the inhabitants of Destiny Star flocked to the site, drawn by the allure of the Demon Spirit Land, hoping to seize any opportunity for gain within its mysterious depths.

On the tenth day, Tian Yunzi arrived. He walked alone, treading the void, his white robes billowing around him. His face, etched with the wisdom of ages, remained serene. His white hair, a waterfall of moonlight, danced with each deliberate step, lending him an ethereal air, as if he were an immortal descended from the heavens.

Beneath his feet, a trident of obsidian darkness served as his staff. Each footfall landed upon its prongs.

Those who knew Tian Yunzi were aware that he rarely relied on weapons or artifacts. His strength lay in his mastery of countless spells and his ability to command the very elements.

The sight of the trident beneath his feet sent shivers down their spines. Yet, not a word was spoken. The crowd parted, allowing Tian Yunzi to advance to the edge of the Tide-lands.

Below him, the vast swirling vortex pulsed, yet no power emanated from the depths, a strange calm. This, the gathered cultivators knew, was the gate to the Demon Spirit Land.

Tian Yunzi’s presence silenced the murmuring throng. His face remained unreadable, as he gazed down at the turbulent waters, lost in contemplation.

A subtle ripple disturbed the surrounding ether, growing into a wave. From the horizon, more figures of immense power arrived, drawn by the same call. The first of the elders to arrive was the gourd carrying old man, who Wang Lin had once saw upon his return.

Behind the old man, his nine disciples followed closely, their eyes eager and anticipating. The old man smiled and greeted Tian Yunzi,

Tian Yunzi nodded with a smile, and they said no more.

Moments later, a colorful cloud filled the sky. A cloud conjured of pure magicka, a feat that the star-bound onlookers accepted in stride.

Upon this cloud, rode an enchanting middle-aged woman, followed by four handmaidens. The very same village woman who offered Wang Lin a cup of tea. One of these maidens, clad in pink silk, scanned the crowd as if searching for someone.

She was, it was rumored, the elusive Holy Maiden of the Kun Xu.

Several other, aged, cultivators arrived. These, were powerful, and had all reached the peak of the Nirvana realm. They parted and gathered with those they knew, muttering hushed words.

Many were foreigners, not part of the local star systems. Some conversed in small groups. Others stood alone, with only the Tide-lands to occupy their sight.

A series of booms tore through the air. Golden light tore through the sky and gathered above the swirling vortex.
As the golden light shifted, the very tapestry of the star-strewn heavens seemed to be drawn within its radiant embrace. Finally, when all the gilded luminescence converged, it unleashed a blinding torrent of celestial fire.

From within this incandescent blaze, a figure emerged, silhouetted against the cosmic brilliance. Long hair, the color of midnight, flowed behind him, stirred by unseen winds. His frame was mighty, a warrior hewn from granite and starlight. He stood as a god of battle made flesh.

A man in his fourth decade, his face was a landscape of unwavering resolve. Within his eyes, lightning crackled, capable of shattering the will of any who dared to meet his gaze. Where he stood, authority itself took form.

Amongst the assembled cultivators, many were of profound power, yet even these, their spirits cowed by his presence, lowered their heads in deference.

He wore robes of imperial purple, upon his shoulder perched a creature of enigmatic power: a three-eyed Purple Marder. Its own gaze was electric, sweeping across the crowd with an air of glacial indifference.

The moment the purple-robed figure appeared, Sky Fate Elder lifted his gaze, a subtle furrow creasing his brow.

The ancient, wizened sage seated upon the gourd wore a mask of troubled concern.

“Sky Fate Elder, greetings after so many years,” the purple-robed man said, his voice a mellow chime. “Elder Sun has accepted your invitation, and it is a pleasure to share this moment with you.”

“Elder Sun is too kind,” Sky Fate Elder replied, his voice holding no warmth as he offered the barest of acknowledgements.

The three-eyed Marder upon his shoulder, possessed of unnerving sentience, cast its gaze about, twitching its whiskers and occasionally raising a paw to groom its face.

Hardly had Elder Sun arrived when the very fabric of the starfield began to hum with latent power. Distant points of light coalesced into blinding swords of pure energy, and a million blades seemed to dance in the void. From within this swirling maelstrom of steel, a crimson Qilin strode forth, each step shaking the firmament.

Upon the beast’s back sat an ascetic figure, lean and weathered. It was Sword Sovereign Ling Tianhou, his approach heralded by a booming laugh that echoed across the cosmos.

“Brother Sun, you are swift indeed! I wondered if my humble invitation would find you already here.”

Elder Sun smiled, a flash of pearly white teeth. “To ignore an invitation from the Sword Sovereign would be an insult of the highest order! And fear not, I bear glad tidings: the one you seek has also accepted your summons!”

Sword Sovereign Ling Tianhou’s eyes widened, the raw joy of his expectation burning like twin suns.

Meanwhile, far below this celestial gathering, within the churning depths of the Tides, on the forbidden grounds of the Daemon Lands, a storm was brewing.

The Daemon Lands were divided into nine provinces. Within the last few centuries, a tribe known as the Soul Forgers had risen to prominence in both the Sky Daemon and Fire Daemon provinces, a force of ever-growing might.

They were a relentlessly expansionist people, consuming and absorbing countless smaller tribes until they became a power that even the armies of the Daemon Lands regarded with wary apprehension. Their numbers had swelled past a million. Strangely, this explosive growth had drawn no intervention from the Ancient Daemons, a fact that many found deeply unsettling.

What truly struck fear into the hearts of the Daemon Lands’ warriors was the power wielded by every single Soul Forger. With but a wave of a great banner, legions of tormented souls would rise to do their bidding, coalescing into grotesque beasts capable of devouring anything that stood in their path.

Their leaders possessed even more terrifying abilities. One among them, known only as Thirteen, had driven himself to the brink of madness in his relentless pursuit of power, and now wielded a strength that could rival even the most seasoned Daemon Marshals.

Then there was Elder Ouyang Hua, the tribe’s Great Elder. He commanded ninety-nine banners, and if he were to unleash them all, the skies would darken beneath a tide of billions of souls, an unstoppable wave of ethereal horror.

While the native inhabitants of the Daemon Lands possessed a physiology utterly alien to cultivators, and their methods of cultivation bore no comparison, the Soul Forgers’ rise had been impossibly rapid. It suggested that, in these past centuries, a truly staggering number of souls had been harvested for their dark designs.

Indeed, the Soul Forgers had spread countless tendrils throughout all nine provinces of the Daemon Lands. Every ancient battlefield, every inter-provincial conflict, every other tribe had been meticulously cataloged and exploited for their insatiable hunger.

On this day, the Soul Forgers marched in full force, a million strong, each carrying a banner that rippled and billowed like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. Their destination: the Fire Daemon province.

The Fire Daemon province was lacking in Ancient Daemons, shattered and fragmented by centuries of internecine war. The Sky Daemon province had once held sway there, but grievous losses sustained in previous conflicts had forced them to withdraw, leaving a power vacuum that the Soul Forgers were now poised to exploit. After centuries of brutal skirmishes, led by Elder Ouyang Hua and Thirteen, the Soul Forgers launched their campaign to claim the province as their own!

Within the heart of their marching army was a black stone idol, borne aloft by a dozen devoted warriors. As each Soul Forger looked upon it, a fervent, almost fanatical reverence gleamed in their eyes. For centuries, none had forgotten, even the newest recruits had been steeped in the legends surrounding the idol, tales of undying greatness.

The idol depicted their Soul, their King, their Ancestor! As the centuries bled into one another, bathed in the unwavering devotion of millions, the stone seemed to take on a life of its own, its surface growing ever smoother, ever more perfect.

“The Ancestor has departed, but we believe! We know that one day, he will return! He has not forgotten us!”