At the edge of the capital city, where the Ghost Sect existed,
The great hall of the Ghost Sect was unusually bright for the early hour.
Morning mist clung to the edges of the windows, pale light streaming through paper-thin screens, casting shifting shadows across the dark stone floor.
The hall, known for its eerie calm, was instead filled with murmuring voices and shuffling feet.
All the elders had been summoned without explanation, and none of them were pleased.
Elder Mura folded his arms across his chest, his expression lined with impatience. "I already told you last time that I will follow what the sect leader wants. If this is some way to harass us again, I will walk straight out."
"You're not the only one," Elder Yoken muttered, his brows twitching. "We're cultivators, not errand boys. Summoned like this with no word, no reason?"
"Exactly," a deeper voice rumbled from the back. "Dragged from cultivation before sunrise? This is beneath our rank."
