The dawn rose blood-red over the Feilun peaks.
The wind howled across the ridges, carrying with it the scent of iron and ozone. Mist churned low in the valleys, swirling like restless spirits beneath the crimson light. The mountain itself seemed to groan as if in warning—its qi lines trembling, its formations awakening from slumber.
The Feilun Sect had been ready. Every disciple, every spirit beast, every talisman shimmered faintly under the wards that now blanketed the mountain like a second skin. The night had been sleepless, the silence unbroken save for the echo of drills and the distant hum of the Hidden Sky Vault.
And then it began.
From beyond the western border, a ripple in the world.
