That night, while the camp settled under the glow of spirit lamps, Tian Shen stared at the pill in his palm.
He could feel it—the stability it brought. Not just to the body, but the mind. The thought of entering the Ethereal Talisman Sect didn't seem quite so suicidal anymore.
Beside him, Feng Yin leaned her head on his shoulder.
"You're not just surviving anymore," she said.
"No," he whispered. "I'm preparing to win."
...
The Next Morning.
The morning sun filtered through the dense canopy above, casting golden rays onto the freshly swept campgrounds of the Beast Taming Sect's temporary outpost.
A soft breeze carried the scent of dew-drenched leaves and distant herbs, but even this calm morning bore an undercurrent of quiet dread.
Tian Shen stood near the outermost tent, arms folded, sword sheathed, and his brows creased in a mixture of impatience and contemplation.
