The air trembled.
The mist that hung over the graveyard began to deepen once more — thickening into a dense curtain that swallowed the clearing. What had once been a pale haze turned almost solid, like grey smoke woven with shadow.
The laughter and lightness that had followed victory vanished instantly. The disciples of both sects fell silent, glancing around with unease as the fog seemed to breathe — inhaling and exhaling like a living beast.
A faint voice drifted through the mist.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't clear. But it felt close — too close — like a whisper crawling straight into their bones.
Shaurya's smile faltered.
He turned slowly, scanning the area, but even his golden gaze couldn't pierce through the deepening fog. The visibility dropped to barely a few feet.
Then came the change — a sudden drop in temperature that made every breath visible. The warm, humid air of the forest turned to biting cold, the kind that crept under skin and gnawed at the spirit.
