Back in the room, Xin leaned closer to the set of handheld weapons mounted along the inner wall.
They were arranged with careful spacing, each one locked inside a thin layer of stasis that shimmered faintly, like clear water held in place.
The weapons themselves were short cylinders, thick enough to fill the palm, with grip-like ridges shaped for hands that were not quite human but close enough.
Along their sides ran narrow panels etched with symbols that did not resemble any known script.
They didn't hum. They didn't radiate qi. They didn't feel alive.
And that alone made them unsettling.
"These are not blades," Xin said after a moment, his voice low. "Not bows. Not talismans either."
Han stepped closer, squinting at the rune panel through the stasis field. He raised a hand, careful not to touch it, and traced the shape of the markings in the air.
"That is not a script," he said slowly. "It is… pattern logic."
