The morning mist rolled in gently over the Feilun Sect's outer training fields, thin veils of white curling like breath against the ground.
The orchard beyond the fields swayed softly with the early breeze, its golden leaves humming faintly with energy that only those attuned could hear.
Tian Shen rose before the sun as always, his robe still creased from sleep, his hair loosely tied. He moved without urgency but with purpose.
The shrine beneath the spirit trees stood silent in greeting, lanterns swaying lazily. He paused to light one—a small ritual now, habitual and grounding.
The scroll of names was left untouched today. There were no new ones to add. And that was, in itself, a small victory.
By the time the first rays of sunlight sliced across the sky, the Scout Division had begun to stir. The orchard clearing, once little more than neglected terrain, now bore signs of life and rhythm.
