Sage Rongtai.
The Immovable.
The Mountain of Stillness.
The hulking monk stepped forward through the dust and flame, his gait calm and unhurried, like the passage of seasons. Scorch marks clung to his robes, smoke curled from his shoulders, and chips of stone had cracked away from his wrists… but he moved like none of it mattered. His face, carved from stoicism itself, showed no fear. Not even tension. Only purpose.
Across from him, the elemental god turned his gaze. All four arms spread lazily as if stretching, each one now wreathed in a separate elemental spiral: fire, water, wind, and earth.
He grinned. "So you are the one they call the Immovable Sage. The oldest. Strongest. No wonder you survived my earlier strike with barely a scratch."
He gave an approving, playful whistle.
"That's impressive. Really. You're like a relic, an artifact the world somehow forgot to bury. I almost feel honored."
Rongtai said nothing.
