The morning bell thundered from the upper terrace of the Main Hall, its deep, metallic resonance rolling across the peaks and shattering the dawn mist.
Before the final echo had even faded into the surrounding valleys, the white jade pathways of the Sanatan Mountain Range came alive. A vibrant sea of over six thousand four hundred disciples flooded from the residential courtyards—bold orange-and-white robes pouring from the Male Quarters alongside striking crimson-and-white robes from the Female Quarters—their heavy boots striking the polished stone floor in a continuous, rhythmic wave.
There was no chaotic shouting. No senior disciples stepping onto the stone to flex their cultivation or mock the new arrivals.
