Somewhere in Europe—
The basement was quiet.
The only sound was breathing. Shallow and controlled. Just as always.
Twelve figures sat in lotus position across the stone floor. Each one had a black anchor stone resting at the center of their palms. Glowing softly, these stones flickered with spiritual energy, pulsing in rhythm with their cores. The walls around them were lined with shelves, all made of blackened jade and reinforced glass.
It wasn't a vault.
It was a display center.
And every piece of jade held a name.
Some were carved elegantly, others burned in by spiritual pressure. Each jade represented a Nexian who once trained under the old man sitting in the center.
He had white hair tied in a low knot. Wrinkled skin. Deep scars. But the energy that wrapped around him… was terrifying. The floor beneath his body cracked from the sheer pressure of his presence, yet none of the others dared to shift.
They were stabilizing.
