Morning arrived over the Celestial Academy the way it always did — golden light spilling across the floating islands, warming the terraced gardens, chasing the last traces of mist from the training grounds below. Disciples hurried along the stone bridges toward their lectures, robes fluttering, voices rising in the usual mixture of complaints and laughter. Spirit beasts chased one another through the courtyards, scattering flocks of crystal sparrows into the pale sky.
Everything appeared ordinary.
And yet, beneath that ordinary morning, something subtle had already begun to disappear. Not lives. Not power. Something far quieter, and far more dangerous.
Memories.
It began with small things — the kind of things no one thinks to question until it is already too late.
A disciple stopped mid-stride before a familiar corridor, his brow furrowing as though he'd walked into the wrong building entirely.
"...Wasn't this classroom on the east side?"
