As dawn broke over Crimson Iron City, the pale morning light pierced through a blanket of lingering, acrid smoke.
On the grounds of the Golden Cauldron Merchant Union, the chaotic scramble of midnight rescue efforts gave way to a solemn, harrowing quiet.
Rows of bodies lay wrapped in white silk shrouds along the surviving marble plaza, lined meticulously from late-stage elders down to outer-court disciples.
At the head of the plaza stood Bai Ruolan, her face pale, dressed in pristine white mourning robes trimmed with the indigo lining of the union.
Beside her, elders stood with bowed heads, their fists clenched tightly beneath their sleeves.
With a silent gesture, Bai Ruolan stepped forward, igniting a torch tipped with pure, white spirit fire.
"May your souls find peace in the eternal Dao," her voice carried softly across the silent crowd, trembling with restrained grief.
"Your blood will not be forgotten, and your legacy shall be rebuilt upon these very grounds."
