There was an awkward silence for a time before someone finally broke it.
"Where are they? Where is Elder Harren and his people?" Elder Iris asked, though deep down, she already suspected the answer.
Her voice trembled despite her attempt to sound calm.
She had sensed it the moment she arrived—the air was heavy, thick with spiritual residue and the scent of burnt qi.
It wasn't the death of an elder that unsettled her, nor the annihilation of a million cultivators under his command.
No, what truly shook her was the manner in which they perished.
There were no broken weapons, no splattered blood, no corpses scattered across the field.
Only the faint echo of despair lingering in the space that they once stood.
"Gone with the wind," Riley replied softly.
As if to echo his words, a fierce gust swept through the barren plains.
The wind howled, picking up what looked like a sea of dust that swirled and shimmered under the pale sunlight.
