The Sanatan Flame Sect had covered the ten-mile stretch, crossing the vast wasteland that stretched endlessly beneath the violet sky. The air shimmered faintly with remnants of spiritual energy, whispering through the cracked stones and fractured hills. Ahead, the landscape darkened — the shadow of something ancient loomed.
Before them stood a city.
Ruined. Hollow. Dead.
The once-grand walls now lay broken, the colossal gates half-buried in sand and silence. Shattered towers leaned like skeletons of a forgotten age. Time had eroded every edge, yet a faint, eerie pressure hung around the ruins — as if the city itself refused to let go of the past.
Shaurya and his disciples stopped before the cracked gate. His golden eyes glimmered faintly, scanning every fragment of ruin. A cold breeze brushed across his face, carrying the scent of dust and decay.
Elder Feng Yu narrowed his eyes, his voice steady yet curious.
"A city? Who would create a city inside a secret realm?"
