Morning.
The sun hung high in a flawless blue sky, casting warm light over the sprawling mountain.
A gentle breeze rustled the silken banners, each one bearing the crest of the sect in gold and crimson thread.
Hundreds of disciples stood assembled below the stone platform, their gazes fixed on the figure who stood at its center.
The Sect Leader stood tall, her robes billowing slightly in the wind, her expression calm but unreadable.
On either side of her were the seated elders—stern and silent as statues—and before her, in orderly formation, the sect's top disciples.
And beside her, as if he belonged there, was the man who had turned every head in the sect over the past day:
Hei Long.
He offered the gathered crowd a relaxed smile and a casual wave, as if greeting old friends.
His dark robes contrasted with the brilliant light, and his posture was easy, confident—too confident, many thought.
A murmur swept through the crowd.
Whispers. Frowns. Suspicious glares.
