Night spread its velvet shroud across the Feilun Sect, yet no one rested. The echoes of battle still clung to the mountains, carried on winds heavy with the smell of scorched stone and blood. Lanterns burned bright along the sect's inner walls, their golden glow flickering like watchful eyes.
In the great council hall, the highest peaks of the Central Region seemed to bow beneath the weight of the meeting. Elders filled the room, robes drawn tight, faces etched with fatigue and an uneasy anticipation. At the head of the jade table sat Sect Master Feilun, his presence as steady as the mountain roots that anchored the sect.
