The Thousand Lotus Sect, nestled high in the majestic Cloudspire Mountains, was tranquil as always, the calm serenity of the surrounding nature disturbed only by the occasional chirping of birds. A gentle breeze rustled the light-blue robes of the disciples who had gathered in the courtyard, their eyes fixed on the group of newcomers that had just arrived at the sect's great gates.
A line of guards clad in silver armor stood still and poised, forming a protective flank around a tall man dressed in robes of green and gold, their polished armor reflecting the afternoon sun. The disciples whispered among themselves, their voices hushed but brimming with curiosity.
"Is that an envoy?" one disciple murmured.
"It has to be," another replied, eyes wide. "Why else would the outer bells ring and the gates open like that?"
"But... it's been five years since an envoy has stepped foot in our sect. Does this mean peace is ending?" someone whispered nervously.
"Or trouble is coming. Or worse—someone wants to test the Thousand Lotus Sect again."
The murmurs came to an abrupt halt as six elders descended the curved jade staircase leading down from the main hall. Their robes trailed with grace, their auras commanding respect.
Elder Mo, the wise and ancient Grand Elder. Elder Yuan, the ever-hungry Financial Minister, absentmindedly chewing on a biscuit. Elder Huo, stern and sharp-eyed. Elder Ren, with a calm presence and long white beard. Elder Bo, round and cheerful. And lastly, Elder Ming, the youngest among them, but already bearing great authority.
Elder Mo raised a hand in greeting. "Envoy of the Southern Realm, welcome back to the Thousand Lotus Sect."
The envoy smiled, his voice smooth and diplomatic. "It has been too long, honored Elders. The Sect has grown even more radiant in my absence."
Elder Huo chuckled. "Just because our former leader is no longer here does not mean we slack off. Discipline is etched into our bones."
He turned to the disciples. "Return to your training. The matters of diplomacy are not for your ears."
The disciples bowed respectfully and dispersed, leaving only the envoy, his guards, and the elders standing before the great hall.
Elder Mo gestured kindly. "You must be weary from your travels. Let us continue this discussion inside. A warm drink and familiar company may refresh you."
The envoy clasped his hands together and smiled. "A drink sounds most agreeable. I do hope we can catch up on things—old friendships, new problems, and... the matters that brought me here."
The elders nodded, and with shared laughter and warm chatter, they led the envoy and his men into the grand hall.
Far from the ornate elegance of the sect's heart, deep in the cliffs beyond the mountainside, silence ruled.
Until—
"AAAAAAAAH!"
Aithur and the system—currently still taking the form of a disgruntled fox—plummeted from the air like sacks of flour.
"I TOLD you we should have stayed in the cave!" the system shouted mid-fall.
"It was damp! Cold! And smelled like rotten mushrooms!" Aithur shouted back, flailing. "You wanted to SLEEP there?!"
"YES! At least I wouldn't be PLUMMETING TO MY DOOM RIGHT NOW!"
They whirled and twisted in the air as they fell through a jagged crack hidden along the cliff wall. Aithur suddenly spotted something glinting—a faint shimmer embedded in the wall.
"Look! That!" Aithur shouted.
"Stop pointing and DO something!"
Stretching his arm desperately, Aithur reached for the shimmering object. His hand caught onto it—a sword buried hilt-deep into the cliff's stone. It hummed softly as his hand wrapped around it. With his other arm, he reached back and caught the fox by the tail.
"I got you! I got—urk—what is this thing?!"
The system blinked. "That sword has a SEAL on it. Don't touch it too hard!"
Aithur's hand slipped slightly, a tiny prick of blood falling from his palm.
The seal on the sword shimmered... then disappeared.
"That's bad," the system squeaked.
The sword trembled violently.
"THAT'S VERY BAD!"
With a sudden jerk, the sword dislodged completely from the stone—and Aithur, still holding both the sword and the fox, plunged downward again with a shriek.
They crashed through layers of branches before splashing into an ancient lake hidden beneath the cliffs.
"Glug-glug-blub!" Aithur surfaced, sputtering.
"Let go of the sword!" the system shouted, waterlogged and angry.
"It's glued to me, I swear!"
A whirlpool began to form beneath them.
"Oh no," the system muttered.
"Oh yes," Aithur groaned.
With a tremendous pull, the whirlpool sucked them downward, spinning them like leaves in a storm. The water spiraled violently, then—
SILENCE.
The lake surface stilled.
Disciples nearby stopped in their tracks, turning toward the lake.
"Was that...?"
"The Sect Leader's trial lake... did it just tremble?"
A deep rumble began to echo.
The water trembled again—then exploded.
A massive geyser erupted, shooting high into the air. From within it, three figures launched skyward: Aithur, the sword spinning majestically beside him, and the soaked, miserable system.
Moments earlier, inside the great hall:
The scent of lotus tea filled the room as the elders and envoy lounged around a long, polished table.
Elder Yuan had taken four different types of pastries and stacked them artfully beside him.
"I still remember when the former Sect Leader kicked a prince out of our gates with just three words," he chuckled, licking his fingers.
"Oh yes! And do you remember how she made the Great Elder of the Stormwind Sect wet his robes just by glaring at him?" Elder Bo added.
The envoy laughed. "I've met warriors who've faced ten thousand beasts and trembled less than when she entered a room."
Elder Ming nodded sagely. "She was like a force of nature."
"And her trial," Elder Ren mused. "Still unbeatable. Not one disciple in twenty years has made it through."
"Even we foamed at the mouth after trying it," Yuan muttered.
Just then—a great explosion echoed outside.
The walls shook.
The roof groaned.
"MY BUTT!" Aithur screamed as he landed hard onto a roof with a sickening thud. "Why is it always my butt?!"
He groaned and rolled over. "I think I died a second time."
A creak.
"No, no, no—"
CRASH.
The roof gave out beneath him.
Aithur plummeted straight through the ceiling, yelping the whole way, and landed hard into the Sect Leader's ceremonial seat.
THUNK.
The sword followed, embedding itself perfectly beside him like a revered staff.
PLOP.
The system landed squarely in his lap.
Aithur groaned again. "My butt... again... why does everything HATE my butt?"
He looked up—eyes wide.
Before him stood every elder of the Thousand Lotus Sect.
And the envoy.
All of them.
Staring.
Mouths agape.
Chairs halfway risen.
Teacups paused mid-sip.
Aithur blinked.
Then gave them a nervous, sheepish smile.
"Hi."