The Gathering Before the Storm
Mi-An woke before dawn.
The sky outside was pale and lifeless, as though the heavens themselves were holding their breath. She sat up slowly, the weight in her chest heavy and unmoving. Xiao Yan's absence still lingered like a wound that refused to close. For a brief moment, she stared at the empty space beside her, then forced herself to stand.
There was no time for grief.
She gathered the disciples. Soon, the Saints arrived one after another—faces hardened by centuries of cultivation, yet filled with unease. They formed a loose circle around her, the air thick with expectation.
"There will be a war soon," Mi-An said.
Her voice was calm, but it cut through the silence like a blade.
A low murmur spread through the crowd.
"But the Ansha is dead already," one disciple said hesitantly. "The demons are no match for us now."
Saint LuQi stepped forward, his expression grave.
"Do not underestimate them. Demons grow stronger in chaos."
Mi-An lifted her gaze.
"The evil god is with them."
The murmur exploded into panic.
Faces paled. Some disciples clenched their fists; others instinctively stepped back.
"If only Xiao Yan were here…" the Saint of XiWu Sect murmured.
Mi-An's chest tightened. For a moment, her vision blurred—but she steadied herself.
She turned away, memories flooding her mind, then raised her hand.
"Follow me."