Kyrian remained completely motionless beneath the tree, his slender silhouette blending with the dancing shadows cast by the leaves.
The wind gently swayed the branches above his head, creating a hypnotic pattern of light and darkness that moved across his clothes like invisible fingers.
Small golden patches pierced through the leaves and danced over his shoulders, his calm face, and his hands resting upon his knees.
For nearly half an hour, nothing changed outwardly. His breathing remained slow and steady, so regular that a careless observer might have mistaken him for a jade statue carved by a master.
Each inhalation was deep and silent, drawing air into his lungs with the gentleness of a rising tide.
Each exhalation carried away the last traces of tension accumulated during the battle against Luo Meilin, the strain in his muscles, the lingering adrenaline, and the extreme concentration his mind had been forced to maintain.
