Leng Yue moved through the training grounds with the precision of a commander and the serenity of a priestess. Her sharp eyes observed stances, her calm hands adjusted the postures of younger disciples. Every curt nod or soft reprimand carried the weight of ancestral authority. "The willow bends so it does not break," she reminded a trembling novice, her voice like winter frost. "So must your spirit."
Yet beneath her composed exterior, she felt it—a flicker, a ripple, a shiver passing through the bones of the subspace. Subtle enough that only someone attuned to the leyline, someone who had communed with the mountain's ancient soul, would sense the disturbance. Something was shifting beyond their sanctuary walls. Something powerful.
As she paused near the newly carved training dais, a tremor ran through her spine though it was not physical, but spiritual. She closed her eyes, darkness enveloping her vision.
And then a piercing roar rang out
