The darkness faded like smoke drawn into lungs.
Light seeped through unseen cracks above, pale and slow, until it revealed an endless stone hall. The air was dry, heavy with the scent of age — dust, iron, and faint traces of ancient incense. The floor beneath their feet gleamed like polished onyx, reflecting each figure in distorted shimmer.
Shaurya opened his eyes first.
Then Lin Shu.
Then Elder Wan, Elder Feng Yu, Elder Liya.
Disciples followed, blinking, disoriented, their breathing shallow against the oppressive stillness.
The Sanatan Flame Sect had arrived.
"Where… are we?" Yan Chen muttered, scanning the vast space.
No echo answered him. The air swallowed sound.
Xiao Rui raised his hand, snapping his fingers once. The sharp click vanished, devoured by silence before it could bounce off the walls.
Lee Bie's eyes darted around. "An empty hall… but feels alive."
Shaurya exhaled slowly, straightening his robe. His voice was calm, steady.
