The cold mountain wind howled through the fractured, jagged mouth of the gorge, carrying with it the bitter tang of ozone, pulverized limestone, and the lingering stench of Yan Xiao's severed corpse.
The gray mist drifted lazily across the damp stones, yet neither of the two young women moved a single muscle to brush aside the clinging dampness.
The catastrophic weight of the tale that had just unfolded hung like an iron anvil over the ravine.
Xia Mengyao and Xu Xiansu were stunned silent, still trying to digest the information in the span of a few breaths.
To the sects and young disciples of the Prime Origin Realm, their entire world was defined by the bitter, bloody struggle to step into the Saint realms, to seize ancient inheritances, or to dream of touching the mythical boundary of a Supreme Emperor.
They believed the universe was an eternal limitations governed by the indifferent majesty of the heavens.
