The dust was still swirling.
Thick clouds rolled across the fractured valley floor, rising and falling in uneven waves as residual shockwaves continued to pulse through the air. Pebbles rattled. Broken stone slid into newly formed cracks. The battlefield groaned softly, as if exhausted from enduring too much violence in too little time.
No one spoke.
Every eye was fixed on the center of the dust storm.
Within the protective formation, Sanatan Flame Sect disciples leaned forward unconsciously. Some held their breath. Others clenched their fists so tightly their knuckles turned pale.
Lin Shu stood frozen.
Her fingers trembled as she stared into the dust, heart pounding painfully in her chest.
"Shaurya…" she whispered, barely audible.
The dust began to thin.
Slowly.
Painfully.
First, silhouettes appeared.
Then forms.
