The morning of the trials arrived with a silence that felt heavier than the mountain itself. Lin Tian opened his eyes in the dark of his room, the Veil of Tranquil Mist around him. He sat up and rolled back the sleeve of his inner robe. The black veins crawled from his wrist halfway to his elbow now. He prodded the darkest line with a finger. It felt like touching frozen metal.
Seventy-two hours, Su Lan had said. He was down to less than a day.
He dressed quickly, pulling on the sturdy outer disciple robes. He checked his gear: a waterskin, a packet of high-energy rations, a coil of thin, strong rope, and the basic iron sword the Lin Clan had given him. It felt pitifully light in his hand.
It'll have to do.
