Qian Yunxi and Qing Yan stared in shock as the world slowly began to change.
The suffocating stillness of the rotting boneyard had vanished, replaced by an ethereal sea of translucent phantoms drifting over the desolate plains.
The sky was no longer a sickly violet, but a turbulent storm of crimson clouds and golden lightning, rumbling with the weight of an epoch long forgotten.
Tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of spectral soldiers materialized from the blood-soaked soil.
They stood in rank and file, their spectral armor gleaming with spectral brilliance, holding aloft tattered standards that bore the sigils of extinct dynasties and ancient houses.
Then, a heavy, solemn vibration echoed through the firmament—a deep, booming voice that seemed to arise from the very foundation of existence, resonating within the marrow of their souls.
