One week passed.
The sea no longer hummed with the echo of divine battle.
The shoreline breathed quietly, tides rolling in slow rhythm over smooth sand.
What was once a battlefield of shattered spirit and roaring fate
now rested as a cradle of peace.
Shaurya still slept — body long mended, spirit still gathering light.
Inside the grand tent, his breathing was calm, chest rising and falling like a resting lion. Beside him, Lin Shu sat in silence. She hadn't left him since the moment he fell — the entire sect knew it.
Seven days of sleepless devotion.
Her eyelids drooped. Her fingers stroked Shaurya's hand gently, as though afraid it might vanish if she loosened her hold.
Outside — it was evening.
Soft amber glow spread across the coast. Spirit-shells embedded in the rocks shone faintly, lighting the camp like tiny lanterns of nature. The sea breeze brushed against tents, carrying scents of brine, spirit-grass, and the crisp air of cultivation land.
Voices gathered.
