The Feilun Sect had always prided itself on its tranquility. Its mountains pierced the sky like jagged blades, wrapped in veils of mist and the fragrance of pine. To many disciples, this land was sacred—untouched by worldly chaos, preserved by generations of cultivation and discipline.
But tonight, that illusion was broken.
The mountain's peak still smoked, its once-pristine courtyard shattered into blackened stone. The Sect's protective wards lay cracked and tattered, glowing faintly as they struggled to reknit themselves. Disciples moved with hushed voices, sweeping rubble, repairing damage, whispering about what they had witnessed.
The tribulation was over.
But the echo of it lingered like thunder in their hearts.
