The Great War had finally ended.

To commemorate their victory, the Heavenly Kingdom, under the rule of Emperor Li Jing, hosted a grand banquet. It was the first time in history that all three realms gathered in peacetime. The banquet was a sight unlike any other. It was a celebration that transcended time and history, a moment when the three great realms stood together not as separate sovereignties, but as true allies.

The Grand Hall of the Heavenly Kingdom gleamed with Celestial radiance. Towering white jade pillars, inlaid with veins of gold, stretched toward a vaulted ceiling where thousands of floating lanterns hovered like suspended stars, their soft glow illuminating the banquet in a warm, ethereal light. The walls shimmered with divine silks, woven with threads of actual stardust, depicting ancient victories and celestial legends in intricate embroidery. 

The scent of ambrosial wine and exotic delicacies filled the air, carried by an endless symphony of divine music played by Celestial musicians on guqins, flutes, and pipa. The tables, arranged in a grand circular formation, overflowed with an extravagant feast—succulent roasts, glazed dragonfish, lotus buns infused with golden nectar, and plates of shimmering celestial peaches. The wine, brewed from the essence of the stars, glowed faintly in jeweled goblets, its aroma intoxicating yet light as air.

Warriors, nobles, and deities from the Heavens, the Underworld, and the Seas mingled, their voices rising in a harmonious blend of laughter and conversation. Celestial generals, dressed in their resplendent golden armor, toasted alongside Underworld enforcers clad in their obsidian robes, their differences momentarily forgotten. Lords of the Sea, their garments adorned with pearls and coral, exchanged words with Celestial scholars, their discussions ranging from battle strategies to philosophy, from poetry to the future of the realms.

At the head of the hall, seated on an elevated dais beneath a massive golden sun emblem, Emperor Li Jing presided over the celebration. His crimson and gold robes flowed like the dawn itself, his crown a radiant circle of celestial fire. At his right sat his eldest son, Crown Prince Li Jinzha, a paragon of discipline and nobility. Tall and broad-shouldered, his expression remained composed, though his keen eyes observed everything—the shifting alliances, the quiet tensions, the lingering shadows in the eyes of those who had fought in the war. This was a victory, but it had come at a cost.

To Li Jing’s left, draped in the deep blues and silvers of the Eastern Seas, Emperor Ao Guang sat with the regality of a being who had ruled for eons. The Dragon King of the Eastern Seas was an imposing figure, his robes woven from threads of shimmering water, each stitch reflecting the colors of the ever-changing tides. His long white beard rested against his chest, his sharp eyes—piercing as the depths of the abyss—sweeping over the hall with silent authority. Seated beside him was his heir, Crown Prince Ao Jia. Ao Jia’s dark blue robes, embroidered with silver-scaled dragons, bore the weight of his station, his expression calm but guarded, ever the vigilant son of the seas. 

On the opposite end of the dais, where the shadows stretched longest, Emperor Yan, ruler of the Underworld, sat with an unreadable expression. He was a figure of solemn grace, his ashen-white skin smooth as carved stone, his long, inky hair tied back in a simple yet elegant knot. The air around him was heavier, the warmth of the hall dimming slightly in his presence. His golden eyes, like lanterns in the dark, flickered with the quiet weight of one who had seen every soul pass through his gates. At his side stood Hei Wu, his First Commander, a shadow among shadows, his black armor blending into the dimness that clung to him like an extension of his being. Silent, watchful, and ever loyal, Hei Wu was a force unto himself, known for his ruthless efficiency in war and his unwavering loyalty to the Emperor of the Dead.

The celebration carried on, the air thick with laughter and the clinking of cups. Wine flowed freely, filling golden goblets and staining lips as the hum of the crowd swelled into a roar. Lanterns flickered overhead, their soft glow casting rippling shadows across the opulent hall.

Across the sea of guests, Ao Bing made his entrance.

The youngest Crown Prince of the Eastern Seas walked with measured grace, his presence commanding without effort. He was adorned in the regal attire of his kingdom—deep blue robes embroidered with silver dragons, their sinuous forms coiling like living things against the silk. His long white-silver hair was tied in a loose half-knot, jade ornaments resting at his collar..

The reckless spark of youth had faded from his gaze, replaced by the quiet weight of experience. He no longer carried himself like a boy struggling against duty but as a prince who had been forged in the fires of war. His steps were steady, his presence sure—no longer searching, no longer uncertain. The sixteen-year-old who once laughed freely, who once clung to whispered promises beneath the moon, was gone. In his place stood a man shaped by the battlefield, his edges honed by war.

Despite the warmth of celebration, he could not shake the feeling of being an outsider. Ao Bing observed the spectacle, his golden eyes sweeping over the grand hall, taking in the glimmering silk banners, the polished gold and jade surfaces, the countless celestial beings raising their cups in celebration. He felt utterly detached from it all. The stiff pomp of these Celestial gatherings had never appealed to him—the rehearsed laughter, the perfectly measured words, the way power played beneath the surface of every interaction like unseen currents in the deep. This was not his world, nor had it ever been.