The night over the obsidian subspace was still. Too still.
Not a single ember from the forging pits flickered. Not a single whisper of the valley winds stirred the trees. The great altar sat in the distance largely half-complete, half-awake. As if it too sensed the unease coiling through the Liu clan settlement.
Leng Yue walked alone at the forefront of the newly erected ceremonial hall, her midnight robes trailing silently over the stone. The oil lamps along the corridor burned low, casting faint gold upon her pale features. Her eyes, clear as a winter stream, reflected a depth of thought rarely spoken aloud.
Li Wei had departed.
And upon her shoulders now rested the burden of a clan still learning to breathe like a single body.
Behind her, footsteps approached in three sets, measured, respectful.
Jia Lin, Mei Yu, and Ning Xue stopped a few paces away.
"Senior Sister Leng," Ning Xue said softly, bowing. "The camps are assembled. The people are awaiting your word."
