The town square of Zhaokun was a wide, sun-scorched expanse of dark red stone, lined by flag-bearing pavilions and gilded banners snapping in the wind. Incense curled from brazier stands placed between wooden stages, where sect elders sat on thrones cushioned in silks and adorned with their sect emblems: flames, swords, serpents, and rising suns.
Crowds had gathered like moths to light. Young hopefuls stood nervously with their hands behind their backs or clasped in front, dressed in their best robes, eyes flicking between the watching elders with a mix of desperation and excitement. Behind the thrones upon which the elders were seated, rows of junior disciples stood rigid in ceremonial formation, each representing their sect's honor and strength.
