An Ancient Rise
A month passed by in a blur.
The end of the year was close by, and the months of the coldest winter fell all across Nesmeria. It was also the only time when the gates of the Dragonstone peak were open to all.
All those who had cultivated mana strongly enough were allowed to enter the valley of Nine Realms.
It was a place of mystic lores.
A gateway to other worlds.
And the place where the dragon lords have tamed and imprisoned countless demons and spirits.
They were kept there to form geass pacts. It was an arrangement that benefitted both and gave birth to an age-old tradition.
"Absurd is what I call it," the Alpha grumbled under his breath and shook his head. "But the Arkhon requested."
Each year thousands of cultivators will climb the Dragonstone.
Only a handful of them returned with spiritual weapons or blessings.
Those with bad stars ended up with curses.