The moon hung like a silent sentinel over the quiet sect grounds. A gentle breeze passed through the lantern-lit corridors, rustling the paper banners and carrying with it a sweet, faint fragrance of blooming night lotuses.
In the stillness of the midnight hour, a cloaked figure moved with the grace of flowing water. Shadows embraced him like an old friend. Phillip.
He had come not as the prodigy of sword arts nor as the talk of the sect — but simply as a man, following a strange flutter in his chest.
In his heart, he called it curiosity.
In truth, it was her.
He stopped at the edge of a bamboo garden, glancing at the quiet chamber that belonged to Manuka Lan, the most graceful and enigmatic disciple of the inner court. Her windows were shut. A pale blue talisman glowed faintly on the door, sealing it with a mild formation — one meant to prevent casual entry, not to deter someone like him.
