Chapter 33

Chapter 33: The Tomb of the Skyborn

The descent felt endless.

Xiao Lian and Mei Lian walked in silence, their footsteps echoing off smooth stone. The light that had poured from the tomb's entrance now pulsed from runes along the walls, glowing in soft hues of azure and gold. The deeper they went, the more ancient the air became—thick with dust and memory, as if every breath carried a thousand years of silence.

At last, the passage opened into a vast underground chamber.

The Tomb of the Skyborn was nothing like Xiao Lian had imagined. It was not a grave, but a sanctuary—a cathedral of wind and memory. Crystal columns rose like frozen whirlwinds from floor to ceiling. In the center of the room stood an elevated dais, and atop it, resting within a cradle of silver branches, was a sword.

Whole. Untouched. The true Windblade.

Xiao Lian stepped forward slowly. The blade was unlike any weapon he had seen. Its form shimmered between solid and air, as if it were forged from mist, starlight, and a whisper. It hummed—not with power, but with recognition.

"The last Windborne," a voice said.

Xiao Lian turned sharply. A figure had appeared at the edge of the chamber. She was translucent—an echo of the past—but her presence was undeniable. Tall, armored in robes of flowing windsteel, and crowned with feathers of jade.

"I am Lin Yue, Skyborn General and last guardian of this place," she said.

Mei Lian stepped beside Xiao Lian, eyes wide. "She's… a spirit?"

"More than that," Xiao Lian whispered. "She's part of the sword."

Lin Yue smiled faintly. "Clever boy."

She approached them, her form wavering like a reflection on water. "You bear the blood of the Aetherbound. But blood alone is not enough. You must be tested."

Xiao Lian straightened. "I've faced assassins, traitors, and beasts that should not exist. I don't fear another test."

"You should," Lin Yue said softly. "Because this one is not of body, but of heart."

She raised her hand—and the world shifted.

In an instant, Xiao Lian stood alone in a mirror of the tomb, but the Windblade was gone, and so was Mei Lian. The air grew cold.

Before him appeared a figure cloaked in shadow. It moved like wind but struck like thunder. It was faceless, yet familiar.

And then it spoke—in his voice.

"I am who you become if you fail. If you let rage rule you. If you use the Windblade to destroy rather than guide."

The figure lunged.

Xiao Lian dodged, barely, but its movements mirrored his own. He was fighting his darker self—every flaw, every fear, every unchecked desire given form. The battle was fierce, but it was not fought only with swords.

It was fought with will.

With each clash, Xiao Lian whispered the words of his master:

> "A true warrior does not seek control, but balance. A sword is not for wrath, but for harmony."

The shadow faltered.

And in the final moment, Xiao Lian did not strike—it lowered his blade.

The shadow dissolved like mist.

The chamber returned.

Lin Yue stood before him once more, smiling.

"You have passed," she said. "The Windblade is yours—not to wield with pride, but with purpose."

Xiao Lian stepped forward and reached out.

As his fingers touched the hilt, wind burst outward in all directions—not violent, but liberating. It lifted his hair, wrapped around his arms, and filled his lungs. It was not just wind.

It was memory. It was spirit. It was truth.

The Windblade chose him.

And in that moment, Xiao Lian felt it—not just power, but clarity.

The war was coming. But he would not face it as a disciple.

He would face it as the Heir of the Aetherwind.

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