Morning sunlight slowly spread across the Sanatan Flame Sect as soft mountain winds drifted through the orange banners hanging above the massive sect grounds. The cold atmosphere from the previous night had eased slightly beneath the golden dawn while disciples gradually resumed their daily routines across the mountain pathways.
Some disciples trained across the open courtyards while the sound of wooden practice weapons and clashing spiritual energy echoed faintly through the mountain air.
Others carried crates of medicinal herbs, weapons, and supplies between the sect halls.
Stone dust drifted softly near the cracked training grounds while elders occasionally shouted instructions at disciples pretending to work seriously.
The sect no longer felt chaotic.
It felt prepared.
Awake.
Alive.
At the very top of the mountain, the enormous doors of the Main Hall slowly opened.
Then—
Shaurya walked out.
Yawning.
