The sky stretched wide and voiceless, painted in a shade of violet so faint it looked almost unreal—an endless canvas that shimmered like silk beneath the unseen sun. Beneath that haunting sky lay a forest unlike any other. Giants of nature stood there—trees as tall as skyscrapers, their trunks lost among drifting mists. The leaves whispered in a deep, ancient rhythm, their sound almost like the breath of the world itself.
In an open clearing within that living maze, the Sanatan Flame Sect had made camp. The air here was calm and humid, filled with the scent of green earth and distant dew. Mattresses had been spread over the lush field, and disciples lay or sat upon them in pure exhaustion—an image of rare peace in the life of cultivators.
