Three days after the celebration, Grim stood in the main courtyard of his sect, watching the morning light cross the pagoda towers.
The sound of approaching footsteps made him turn toward the main entrance. A lone figure walked through the gates.
The man appeared in his forties, dressed in flowing robes of pale blue and white. The outer robe was a soft pearl-white with subtle cloud patterns embroidered in silver thread.
His long black hair was pulled back in an elegant topknot secured with what appeared to be a simple jade ornament, though something about its craftsmanship suggested it was far more valuable than it appeared.
At his side hung a sword wrapped in blue and white silk, the scabbard decorated with intricate metalwork showing water frozen in place.
Despite his scholarly demeanor, there was something in his bearing that spoke of martial discipline—the way he moved with perfect balance, the grace of someone who feared nothing.
