Just as Minta and the others were preparing to step forward and greet him, the Celestial king—wings fully unfurled—spoke first.

His gaze swept coldly over the gathered crowd, taking in the Celestials lounging calmly and peacefully at the god’s side.
“You knew and didn’t report it. You abandoned your posts. Is this how you carry out your duties?”

His tone was cool and distant. Those pale blue eyes—like a cold, still sea—reflected no emotion whatsoever.

And yet, Minta and the others could already feel the heavy pressure lurking beneath that calm facade. It was as if a thunderstorm had rolled in without warning, dark clouds pressing down on them so hard they could barely breathe. The air crackled with a terrible, barely restrained energy, like a tempest hovering on the edge of eruption.

No one noticed that, for a fleeting moment, the king’s gaze froze as it passed over that figure of gold.

Minta and the others dropped to their knees in unison. Not a single one offered an excuse—they wore their guilt plainly.
This was their failure.
Especially when it involved a god, there was no defending it.

But deep down, they all knew… even if they could do it over again, would they have done better?

Probably not. Before a god, reason faltered. None of them could say for certain they would’ve had the strength to act differently.

If this continued, it might just turn into a public execution of the Celestials—by their own kind.
Xia Zie hesitated, eyes shifting between Hexin and the unreadable king. He couldn’t make sense of the situation at all.

—It looked like he was delivering judgment, but the king’s complete indifference to everything else felt strange.
Did he really not see the sun god? Was he really this cold?

“What are you running from?”
Hexin’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

Everyone immediately realized who the question was for.

A strange turbulence rippled at the king’s side, as if something powerful and invisible had nearly slipped free—only to be forcibly suppressed at the last second.

At last, the king turned. For the first time, he looked toward Hexin.

His face—cold, elegant, perfect—came fully into view, a sight so arresting it could stop breath. Then, without a word, he averted his gaze and lowered his eyes.

Among Celestials, the number of wings reflected power. In the earliest generations—the purebloods—six-winged Celestials weren’t uncommon. But ten thousand years later, most had degenerated to just two. This king was the only six-winged Celestial left.

His power wasn’t what surprised Hexin most.
What struck him was how much the king resembled the first generation of Celestials.

Hexin sighed, feeling unexpectedly nostalgic. He lifted a hand and beckoned.
“What’s your name?”

Though the king hadn’t once looked his way, after that pause, he finally took a single step closer to the god.

It was only a step—but when he descended from his hover, his feet finally touching the fractured ground, there was something in the air that twisted with him. Whether it was the lingering storm winds or simply the intensity of his presence, it felt like watching someone walk alone through a warzone, each stride sheer defiance.

…Maybe it wasn’t just a feeling.

The king replied, quietly, “Xingxuan.”

Xia Zie noticed Minta and the other Celestials next to him looked visibly shaken—like they’d heard the name of their own king for the first time.

And, well… they had.

For one, saying “the king” was always enough. Every Celestial knew who that meant. No one ever needed to ask.

More realistically?
No one dared to ask. Even if they did, what would be the point? Who had the right to address him by name?

But now someone did.

“Xingxuan, huh? That’s a good name.”
Hexin’s eyes scanned him calmly. “You didn’t come here by normal means, did you? Looks like you tore space open yourself. I didn’t think any Celestials today could still inherit that ability.”

Much like Hexin’s own Sun City, the first Celestials had been blessed with spatial traversal by the sun god. But like six wings, it was a rare and nearly lost gift.

“But it seems,” Hexin continued, “that you haven’t mastered it fully. Is that why you were afraid to get close?”

There was a swirling current surrounding Xingxuan—an invisible, tightly compressed force. Others might not have noticed, but Hexin had sensed it immediately: wild, unstable spatial power barely held in check.

This young king had somehow kept that volatile force caged within his own body. He’d let it rip at him from the inside out, yet on the surface, never once betrayed a single sign of pain.

Even Hexin was impressed.

Minta and the others stood frozen.

They’d assumed their king had taken a starship.
But… starships required a crew of at least a hundred. And the king had arrived alone.

That said it all.

Compared to a ship, this kind of inherited talent was faster and more powerful—but it came with risk. Especially for someone like Xingxuan, newly ascended to the throne and not yet in full control of it. One misstep and he could’ve been swallowed by a dimensional rift, lost forever.

Was it really worth it?

They tried to find an answer on the king’s face—but there was nothing there.
Or rather… to him, this wasn’t even a question. He simply did what he felt needed to be done.

Hexin slowly extended a hand toward Xingxuan.
And only then, for the first time, the emotionless king visibly reacted. He flinched back.

But Hexin was faster.

His hand brushed the king’s wings.

In that instant, he felt it: the sharpness, the tension, the rigidity beneath his fingertips.

All six wings had snapped taut.
The moment Hexin crossed that forbidden threshold, Xingxuan’s pupils contracted, and his breath faltered.

His whole body trembled with suppressed chaos.

Beside him, Minta and the others instantly tensed, expressions tightening as their hearts leapt into their throats.

The standoff dragged on. Sweat beaded on every brow as the atmosphere thickened with pressure—until finally, those wild, raging energies were forcibly pressed down into silence. A voice followed, hoarse and restrained:

“…It’s dangerous. Don’t do that.”

It was less a warning than it was indulgence—like an overloaded power box, fully aware it was leaking current, posting a tiny sign: Danger. Keep away. A helpless plea, really. And yet, Minta had seen something like this before—back when the king had lost control of his powers in nearly the same way.

Only, it hadn’t been Hexin who approached him then. It was someone else.
What had the king said at that time?

…Ah.
“Courting death.”

And now? The king was enduring everything in complete silence.

Wasn’t the difference… a little too big?

Minta looked at the two figures still in contact. The silent king remained just that—silent—but too silent. Any other time he lost control, chaos erupted immediately. And his wings—his wings were sacred. Letting someone touch them, especially during a power surge, was like pouring gasoline onto a wildfire.

Yet now, not even a spark flickered. No surge. No retaliation.

The god had crossed into what should have been an inviolable boundary—and emerged entirely unscathed.

Hexin didn’t know whether to be comforted or exasperated.
“There’s no need to force yourself. You know what I meant.”

What he meant was: release it. Let it all go. He’d handle the aftermath.
Injury? Please. The sun god wasn’t afraid of that.

The king looked over at him, gaze cool as ice.
“You’ll get hurt.”

Hexin blinked. “I mean, I don’t want to brag, but I am a god.”

The king replied flatly, “gods can get hurt too.”

Now that was a first.

In this world, everyone’s attitude toward gods seemed the same—fear, reverence, yearning, distance. Always looking up.

But this Celestial king… his reaction was completely different.

It wasn’t reverence. It wasn’t contempt. It was something far more passive.

Someone with the power to come close, but more restraint than anyone else.

Hexin found it fascinating.

And while he was still pondering this rare enigma, the king seemed to have completely stabilized the storm inside him.

Suddenly, he dropped to one knee.

Six wings spread behind him, his towering frame silhouetted in solemn reverence. There was an ancient, frostbitten stillness to his expression—like snow resting quietly atop a distant mountain peak. Untouchable. Aloof.

And that was what made this act—kneeling—so utterly shocking.

The other Celestials, stunned, followed suit without even realizing it. One by one, they knelt beside their king.

And in that moment, the king’s difference became even more pronounced.

While all others bowed their heads, he alone kept his raised.

From where Hexin stood, their eyes met. Within those cool blue irises, a storm of emotion surged too deep to name. In that silent exchange, etiquette no longer mattered.

The king stared straight at the sun above him, voice low and steady:

“You are my god.”

Like a man seeing the light he had searched for all his life—

“I have come to meet you.”

——

There had been a golden flower once.

On a warm afternoon, under the clarity of the sun, he’d seen it bloom—bright and vivid amidst a sea of duller blossoms.

He couldn’t say why it stood out. Only that, in that moment, its golden petals dancing in the wind, it felt more radiant than anything he’d ever seen.

He had reached out.

But the instant he got too close, his own leaking power stirred the air—and the flower, fragile as it was, bent violently. As if it might snap at any second.

Radiance and fragility were never contradictory.

You could fall in love with its brilliance, yet still abandon it in a storm—believing beauty should mean invincibility.

Now, on the cliffs of Baihe Star, he gazed at the one being unlike any other in heaven or on earth.

The others—those with two wings—had already knelt.
But he, Xingxuan, who had inherited the strength and instinct of the first Celestials, what could his heart feel, if not…

A thousandfold, a millionfold resonance.

The instant he laid eyes on that figure, words failed him. All he could do was contain the searing force within him, just enough to maintain a veneer of composure.

But his heart was ablaze.

—The world may see you as the sun they must follow.

—But I will see you as a flower that must be protected.

If everyone stands behind you, then I shall walk in front—clearing the path.

Hexin stared into that calm, unfathomable gaze. Somewhere deep within it, something fierce burned like molten fire.

Then, the system’s voice rang through his mind:

[Faith value has exceeded the second threshold.]

[New random character card unlocked.]