As the Liu clan mobilized their forces in preparation for the journey to come, discontent rippled through its ranks like a hidden current beneath calm waters.
Many of the members were not pleased by the abrupt order to build a formation that would spirit them to some unknown corner of the world. Their ancestors had laid roots beneath Crescent Moon's shining towers; to abandon it felt like carving flesh from bone.
Men whispered in corridors, women wept over family altars, and even the youngest disciples looked upon their masters with questioning eyes. Yet the clang of hammers and the glow of forge-fires did not falter or dim, their discipline held where faith wavered.
Liu Feng, standing upon the balcony of the ancestral wing, looked out across the compound where banners fluttered and laborers swarmed. He, too, felt the unease in his chest. Crescent Moon was his cradle, his father's grave, and his grandfather's glory.
