The night was heavy with silence. Not the silence of peace, but of waiting—the hush before a storm rends the sky. From the western horizon came the faint shimmer of qi, alien and ordered, pulsing like the measured beat of a war drum.
Tian Shen stood at the northern cliff, his spear resting in his hand, silver flames crawling along the weapon's shaft. His Core thrummed inside his chest, alive with restrained power. The last battle had scarred his flesh and shaken his veins, but the fire within had only grown sharper. Around him, the Root Division held their posts, lines of disciplined disciples standing shoulder to shoulder, eyes forward, breaths synchronized.
"Commander," Ji Luan whispered from behind, her tone urgent but steady. "Scouts report movement near the western ridge. Not just soldiers. They've erected obelisks. Four this time, not one."
