The mountain groaned.
It was not the kind of sound heard by ears, but felt in the marrow—deep and low, as if the earth itself stirred with the awakening of something long buried.
Adrian stood alone atop the shattered peak of the Mistshroud Shrine, his robes fluttering in the rising mountain winds. The Bound Star pulsed at his chest, no longer a quiet ember but a radiant core. Its light shimmered subtly through the cracks in the clouds above, illuminating the path forward—one steeped in both destiny and danger.
Behind him, the new disciples of the Mistshroud Sect began carving out a new life among the ruins. Children of fallen sects. Survivors of massacres. Outcasts. They were bound not by tradition, but by purpose. And in the center of them all stood Olivia, teaching the younger ones breathing techniques, while Jayson sparred with the older initiates under Elder Laen's watchful eye.
They were not strong yet. But they would be.
