Dawn crept back into the valley like a weary monarch reclaiming a half-forgotten throne. The mists uncurled from the slopes, reluctant to surrender their hold on the ridges. Pale gold light bled through the drifting veils, washing the cliffs in a glow both sacred and solemn. It was the hour before the world fully breathed out, when sound had not yet awakened, and all things, from spirit to stone, waited between stillness and motion.
The mountain exhaled.
A deep vibration rolled through the soil, faint but deliberate, as if the land itself sighed after long meditation. It was not the idle settling of rock but the slow pulse of something ancient and aware. To a passing traveler it might have sounded like wind moving through caverns, yet Li Wei knew better. Beneath that calm façade, the leyline stirred, its rhythm uneven, unwilling to rest.
