The mural was beautifully made.
The phoenix, wings outstretched in defiance, carried the broken carcass of the dragon.
Blood streamed from a wound in its own chest, yet it soared steadily toward a distant altar carved into the clouds.
There was no triumph in its gaze despite the victory, only sorrow and duty.
And then the mural ended, the story unfinished, leaving behind a silence that seemed to hum with ancient meaning.
Ace's eyes lingered on it for a moment longer before turning back to the room.
It was strange, no one was moving and they simply looked like as if they were waiting.
The cultivators stood scattered, eyes alert and cautious, some watching the floor, others observing the walls, everyone appeared to be tense, but none daring to take the first step forward into the floor.
Ace narrowed his eyes.
"Why isn't anyone moving ahead yet?" he muttered under his breath.
Without hesitation, he took his first step forward.
