Ash was still falling when the pillar landed.
Gray flakes drifted through the golden light, melting as they touched the blazing column that stood between Qin Morian and the broken line of the Sanatan Flame Sect.
The terrace glowed beneath it, stone turning warm and bright where the radiance pressed down.
Smoke crawled low across the ground, but the pillar burned through it—steady, absolute—filling the battlefield with molten gold.
Not flickering.
Not fading.
Burning.
The disciples stared at it.
Faces streaked with blood and soot were washed clean in its glow.
Cracked swords lowered without thought. Someone's breath hitched.
Someone else fell to their knees and didn't realize.
Elder Liya's hand tightened around Lin Shu's shoulder as the light spilled over them, warm enough to sting.
Hope trembled through the broken ranks of the Sanatan Flame Sect like a fragile heartbeat.
Even the creatures went still.
Claws scraping stone… stopped.
Snarls died in warped throats.
