The stone steps of the upper pavilion held the sharp chill of early dawn, the morning mist drifting lazily across the carved balustrades.
Lee Bie stood near the edge, his boots planted unevenly against the grey slate. His hands hovered near his waist, his fingers constantly adjusting the heavy cloth of his orange disciple robe, smoothing down folds that were already straight before tugging at the high collar again.
Shaurya stood two paces to his right, his hands buried deep inside the pockets of his black-and-gold coat, his eyes tracking the slow movement of the clouds below the peak. Without taking his hands from his coat, he stepped closer, his shoulder lightly brushing Lee Bie's arm to force the younger cultivator to stop fidgeting.
"Leave the collar alone," Shaurya said, his tone flat, unhurried. "You're going to tear the seam before you even reach the main gate."
