The dawn after the rain came quiet and slow. Mists clung to the slopes like silk shawls, and dew glimmered on the black wood of the altar. Every beam, every etched rune still held a faint shimmer from the night's blessing.
It was as though heaven itself had laid a hand across the work in reluctant approval, yet Li Wei felt none of the relief that rippled through the clan that morning. Standing upon the altar's lower terrace, he could hear it.
The faint hum beneath the surface, a vibration that did not belong to wood or stone. It was the sound of something listening closely. The mountain no longer slept soundly.
By the time the sun rose, the settlement had gathered for the opening ceremony. Jia Lin's warriors stood at full attention along the perimeter, their silver armor catching the light like fragments of stars.
