High Elder Jiao Lian gazed at a mark solemnly.
"That one is mine," she said quietly. "When I emerged, I was injured. Bloodied. But not broken. I left that mark so I would never forget the lesson the Path gave me."
She paused, brushing a finger along the scar. Even now, millennia later, it still pulsed faintly with sword intent.
"It showed me the weight of my arrogance. And the depth of what I had yet to learn."
The third elder, a reclusive figure named Elder Ji Shen, remained silent. But his eyes were closed, and his fists were clenched behind his back. If one were to look closely, they would see faint white scars lining his knuckles—scars that were not the product of battle, but of discipline, penance, and failure.
He had never spoken of his time inside.
Some wounds didn't heal with time—they simply settled deeper.
The Grand Elder exhaled slowly and finally spoke.
"He is different."
The others turned toward him.
