The new moon hung in the ink-black sky like a fractured silver hook. Fine, powdery snow swirled in the wind, tapping against the carved window frames with a dull, rhythmic patter a sound like restless whispers in the dead of night.
Li An sat cross-legged on his cold bed, his long hair cascading like a dark waterfall. He had been attempting to guide the tyrannical, frigid intent of the "Moon Burial" sword into his meridians. But he had miscalculated one crucial detail: tonight was the new moon. At the peak of this Yin energy, the proud and untamable White Tiger bloodline within him reached its most unstable state.
A cold, irresistible shiver radiated from the depths of his marrow. There was no pain, only a strange sensation of his soul "shrinking" and his body reconfiguring itself with an airy lightness.
"Tsk, of all times..."
