The mountain winds carried a strange stillness. Even the spirit beasts in their pens had gone silent, their instinctive senses aware of something far more ominous than ordinary predators. From the western ridges, where the light of the stars began to dim unnaturally, the foreign army finally revealed itself.
Tian Shen stood at the forefront of the northern cliff, the spear balanced lightly in his hands. His silver-lit eyes reflected the glow of torches and the glimmer of runes that crawled like insects across the enemy's armor.
The sight was as alien as it was terrifying: warriors clad in iron that pulsed with qi not their own, warlocks carrying blackened obelisks, and beasts bound with chains that hummed like living formations.
The Root Division tightened their ranks behind him. Each disciple breathed in unison, formation qi flowing like one body. Feng Yin moved silently to Tian Shen's side, her sword drawn, her eyes calm despite the pressure building across the battlefield.
