High above the ridges of the Huanglong Dominion, the storm clouds hadn't broken in a week — the winds blew like a wailing dragon across the jagged cliffs of Stormveil Ascent.
The season for smoky mist coiled itself low around ancient stone pagodas. And within the grand Sky Hall, a circular chamber carved directly into the mountain's flesh, the twelve elders sat quietly.
A reigning silence pressed down, filling the hall with chilling gazes. Not of anger or disappointment.
Only concern.
The hum of qi emanated from each robed figure. Powerhouses tempered by centuries of both politics and battle laid beneath their calm expressions. At the centre of the gathering, stood a young man — still as a statue.
"Yuxin, you haven't departed," a voice echoed at the highest dais.
Elder Yunqian. The head of the council, his eyes faded like stormlight, not dulled but aged from time. His voice was neither harsh nor soft but disturbed.
Yuxin did not speak.
