The boiling clouds of pulverized stone drifted through the cavernous rift of the ancient secret realm, rolling across the fractured basalt floor in sluggish, suffocating waves. Deep fissures groaned beneath the shifting scree, the subterranean bedrock trembling under the weight of violence too immense for the enclosed earth to bear.
No one dared to breathe.
Behind the translucent ward of the barrier array, the disciples of the Sanatan Flame Sect pressed forward against the humming boundary. Knuckles whitened against sheaths, teeth gritted, and breath caught in parched throats.
Lin Shu's fingers dug into the fabric of her sleeves, her hands trembling violently. She could feel the lingering tremor of the mountain marrow vibrating through the soles of her silk slippers, carrying the phantom sting of scorched blood and ruptured leylines. Her gaze pierced the thinning wall of gray soot, her pulse hammering against her ribs like a trapped sparrow.
