The sea breeze whispered softly across the encampment, carrying the faint scent of salt and sand. Gentle mist drifted over the beach, hugging the sand in thin, pearly layers. Spirit-grass swayed near the shore, shimmering faintly with spiritual dew.
Soft waves rolled in against the bank — not loud, not dramatic.
Just a quiet rhythm, steady enough to calm a stormed heart.
From the forest behind the camp, spirit birds began to stir.
Their wings were translucent, feathers like jade silk with glowing veins, leaving faint threads of luminescent dust in the air as they flew low above the water.
Their calls were gentle and melodic — like old temple chimes touched by wind.
They circled once above the tents, as if acknowledging the presence of powerful cultivation fate, before disappearing into drifting light.
Inside the main tent, the air was peaceful.
