Meanwhile, the Dragon Realm, which the gods of the Divine Realm had their eyes on, was now brimming with life.
Beneath the eternally dusky yellow sky, countless dragons resurrected by Xisu soared through the air.
Their figures wove among the Dragonbone Mountains, their immense wingspans sweeping across the gray-white sky and casting wave after wave of shifting shadows in the dim yellow light.
Xisu had already resurrected more than half the dragon souls in the Dragon Realm.
She hovered in the void above the Dragon God's Skull, the seven-colored halo around her pulsing as steadily as breathing.
Xisu's form was more solid than before, her aura deeper. The whole Dragon Realm was reflected in her amber dragon eyes; every dragon soul's movements and every dragon skeleton's condition lay clear within her perception.
Those dragons had died long ago.
After the great war in the Divine Realm ten thousand years ago, the Dragon Clan had been banished, hunted down, and slaughtered. The spirits of the dragons slain in battle had become remnant souls within the Dragon Realm, wandering among the dragon bones for ten thousand years. Their consciousness had long since dissipated, leaving only the innermost spark of their souls barely enduring under the Dragon God's protection.
Xisu had resurrected them with the power of hope.
That was her innate strength, a power that belonged to her alone rather than to the Dragon God's authority—something more fundamental, more warm.
The power of hope could turn every impossibility into reality, reconstitute existences that had already dissipated, and reconnect bonds that had been severed.
With the power of hope, Xisu had awakened those dragon souls from the silence of death, pieced together their scattered fragments of consciousness, and rejoined the severed pathways of their souls.
But after their resurrection, the dragons had lost