The night broke beneath a thunder that was not of the sky.
A deep, resonant hum rolled through the mountains of the Feilun Sect, shaking the stone foundations and setting talismans fluttering like startled birds. Disciples jolted awake across the terraces. Spirit beasts howled from their pens, their eyes flashing as though the very marrow of the earth had stirred.
Tian Shen was already moving before the second tremor struck. His spear flared silver as he stepped onto the northern battlements, Core burning hot and steady. Around him, the Root Division emerged with the precision of a single body—armor clasped, weapons glowing faintly with embedded formations.
Below the ridge, the night was alive with a shifting mist. It pulsed in slow, deliberate waves, carrying a scent of iron and foreign qi that did not belong to the Central Region. Lights flickered within the haze—lanterns of pale blue fire, moving in perfect synchrony.
