Necro moved steadily down the mountain path, the morning light climbing the peaks and turning frost into glistening dew along the terraces. Each step was deliberate, each breath measured. The seventh petal of the Orange Lotus pulsed within, stabilizing the Dao insights he had gained, while the faint filaments of blue essence shimmered through his meridians, sharpening his senses.
Disciples stepped aside as he passed, bowing quickly, whispering among themselves once he was gone. They felt it—a difference that was difficult to name but impossible to ignore. The aura around Necro was calm, yet it carried an edge, like the stillness before a storm, hinting at something vast, coiled beneath the surface.
