"This was my happiness. I truly thought I was content here... until I learned the difference between looking at a painting of the sky and actually flying in it."
Libinea murmured these words as she gazed at the empty mat. For centuries, that small woven square had been the only place that made enduring her struggles seem worthwhile.
She turned to Raiking.
"Do you remember the Void Mirror?"
Raiking's eyes lit up with recognition. It was the artifact he had crafted for her from a shard of black ice when they first met in the Void Realm a millennium ago. This artifact could display any event occurring across the continent, and she had used it to show him her tribe's Lunar Phoenix Festival.
How could he possibly forget? It marked the first occasion he witnessed her authentic smile amidst those three weeks of sorrow.
"I remember," Raiking responded softly.
"I showed you the lights," Libinea said, lifting her hand. "Now... let me show you the shadows."
She swept her hand through the air one final time.
HUMMMM.
This time, she did not simply create a localized illusion of time. She extended her influence over the entire mountain.
The village began to reverse.
Fallen leaves rose from the ground, rejoining the branches of trees. The earth trembled as the bones of ancient creatures emerged, reconstructing themselves into living beings.
The moon moved swiftly, cycling through days and nights in a blur, until the world found itself 1,300 years in the past.
---
[Flashback - 1,300 Years Ago]
Libinea sat on a low wooden stool in the center of the room. Behind her, a much younger Elder Wenya was meticulously adjusting the ceremonial robes draped over the Queen's shoulders.
She had participated in this ritual for nearly seven hundred years, ever since her coronation.
It was the Rite of Nirvana.
Tradition held that on the festival night, the Queen would listen to the prayers of her people. It was the most intimate moment of her reign. A moment she cherished deeply.
It was the one night a year when she could truly see into the hearts of the people she was fighting for.
"I am prepared," Libinea declared, her voice unwavering.
Wenya opened the door, allowing her passage. Libinea stepped out of her bedroom with deliberate and fluid movements, each step resonating with the years of her training.
She traversed the courtyard—the very place where she had shed blood to master the art of compressing her flames, transforming her delicate feathers into a blazing Flameonic Sword.
Her journey continued through the library—a tranquil haven where she had spent decades immersed in study, memorizing the intricate arrays necessary to cast grand formations using the unique Feather Magic of the Phoenix race.
Finally, she arrived at the Shrine's Entrance Hall.
She paused briefly, her eyes settling on the meditation mat. Then, with the elegance of a queen prepared to fulfill her duty, she took her seat.
"I will inform them they can begin," Wenya whispered as she withdrew from the Shrine.
Through the lattice window, Libinea watched as a streak of flames shot into the sky—Wenya's fireball.
BOOM.
The festival commenced.
What had been a quiet anticipation turned into a chorus of overlapping voices. Hours passed by. Through the window, Libinea observed her people celebrating the life she was committed to protecting.
She saw dancers twirling around roaring bonfires.
She saw the Phoenix Kin transforming into their true forms, streaking across the night sky like living meteorites.
She saw the high-level cultivators conjuring flames, weaving them throughout the village.
Even the savory aroma of roasting mountain beasts wafted through the cracks in the door.
Libinea smiled.
As her heart swelled with emotion, she reflected, "This is the reason I devoted myself to my studies. This is why I endured hardships and fought for improvement; for their happiness."
As the night deepened and the moon reached its zenith, the drums ceased. The laughter faded. It was time for the Closing Ceremony.
One by one, the members of the Phoenix Kin ascended the winding path leading to the Queen's Shrine. In the open space outside, thousands knelt in anticipation.
Then, in a harmony that resonated through the mountain's core, they chanted:
"Long Live The Queen!"
"Long Live The Queen!"
"Long Live The Queen!"
The reverberations shook the teacups on Libinea's table.
After the third exclamation, silence enveloped the crowd. The thousands transitioned into a meditative posture, channeling their Qi for cultivation.
Elder Mushai moved among them, his keen eyes evaluating their annual progress. He paused in front of a young boy.
He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, signaling him to rise and approach the window.
Once there, the boy verified the rumors for himself; he could not see Libinea—the enchanted glass reflected only his own image—yet she could observe him clearly.
"Queen Mother," the boy whispered, his voice cracking. "My mother is gravely ill. Please... pray to Nirvana that she survives through the winter."
He winced as he plucked a small feather from his own forearm—a sacrifice of his own self. He placed it reverently on the floor.
He left, and a woman took his place.
"Queen Mother," she softly wept. "My husband and I have been trying for a century to conceive a child. Please... pray to Nirvana for a soul to join us."
She, too, plucked a feather and placed it on the growing pile.
Another came. Then another. And another.
For hours, Libinea sat motionless, absorbing every plea, every tear, every desperate hope. She did not flinch. She did not tire. She diligently bore the weight of their souls.
When the last prayer was whispered, the pile of feathers was nearly a hundred, for only the gravest of pleas were considered.
Elder Wenya levitated the feathers and entered the Shrine.
"It is time," Wenya said softly.
Libinea rose and followed Wenya out to the courtyard.
She walked to the center of the training grounds. But tonight, she did not pick up a sword.
She began to dance.
It was the Sky Dance—a series of movements so fluid and ancient they mimicked the flow of mana itself. As she spun, she began to sing. A beautiful, wordless melody poured from her throat, echoing through the village.
The song didn't just reach the ears of the cultivating Phoenix Kin; it reached the heavens.
The clouds over the mountain began to move, altering the night sky. A stunning aurora appeared above the village.
"A Nirvana..." Wenya whispered.
Even though she had observed this ritual countless times before, the view still left her breathless.
Before she could get distracted, Wenya swiftly brushed her hand across the air, sending the levitating feathers upward.
They did not fall.
Caught in the uplifting currents of Libinea's melody and the magnetic pull of the aurora, the feathers ascended. They swirled upward like a flock of birds, glowing ever more intensely until they blended seamlessly into the sky lights, conveying the tribe's prayers straight to the ear of Nirvana.
Once the aurora had absorbed the feathers, it gradually faded into the night.
Libinea stood in the center of the courtyard, slightly out of breath, with beads of sweat glistening on her forehead. She looked up at the now vacant sky, her expression illuminated by a smile of genuine and unrestrained joy.
The Festival drew to a close.
Years rolled by. More rituals were conducted. Seasons transformed into decades. It could be said that Libinea's early reign was marked by pleasant serenity.
The Dragon Clan remained isolated. The Demon Clan refrained from plotting invasions. For a brief moment in history, the Skyward Region's borders experienced genuine calm.
Yet, as with every peace that has preceded, eventually, the drums of war started to sound. However, the weapon that was unsheathed did not come from the terrestrial foes that the Phoenix Kin were most concerned about.
It emerged from the most unexpected source.
It came from Above.
A century later, during that very same Festival, an event transpired that would not only instill fear in every Phoenix heart but also alter the destiny of Libinea permanently.