The sky burned.

  Mountains split like rotted bark, and rivers hissed into steam. The heavens themselves cracked, bleeding streaks of fire across a once-silent sky. On the broken earth below, cultivators screamed and died—some fighting, others praying. None were spared.

  Above them all, he stood.

  A lone figure cloaked in black, silver patterns shimmering across his sleeves like falling starlight. His hair flowed like mist in the chaos, eyes calm despite the slaughter below. Joshua—one of the last surviving peak cultivators of the realm—watched the end unfold not with fear, but with clarity.

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  Because he had already seen this.

  The Vision had come during his meditation beneath the Soul-Sealing Falls—an ancient and forbidden technique that risked body and spirit. For seven days and nights, he had stared into the current of fate. What he found was not enlightenment. It was obliteration.

  A great invasion. Not of men, but of something older—alien cultivators, forged in a dimension beyond comprehension. Their Dao was unnatural, feeding not on essence but on the disintegration of existence. They consumed worlds like parasites. Xianyuan was next.

  When he emerged from the trance, his path was clear.

  He could no longer fight alone. Not even at the peak of cultivation. He needed disciples. Not followers. Not tools. He needed seeds.

  In secret, Joshua abandoned his title, discarded his fame, and withdrew into the quiet hills of the Wind-Crystal Valleys. There, surrounded by untouched nature, he laid the first stone of what would one day become the Flowind Sect.

  There were many sects in Xianyuan. Some obsessed with dominance. Others with legacy. But Joshua’s vision demanded something more: preparation. He would build not just a school—but a dynasty of strength and wisdom.

  Five. He would start with five. Five disciples. Five fates.

  And through them, the world might yet survive.