....
Ten years later...
The mountain range was covered in an oppressive darkness, the kind that seemed to swallow light and sound alike.
The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. High above, the moon hung like a pale, watchful eye, its silver light barely piercing the dense canopy of trees.
Somewhere in the distance, the mournful howls of a pack of white Cold Blood Wolves echoed through the night, their cries carrying a primal urgency that sent shivers down the spine of any who heard them.
HOWL!
SWISH!
HOWL!
THUD!
HOWL!
AWOOO!
The scene unfolding in the heart of the Bai Clan's spatial residence was nothing short of surreal. A shadowy figure moved with an almost otherworldly grace, its form blending seamlessly into the darkness.
In its hands was a sword, its blade glinting like a shard of ice as it cut through the air with deadly precision.
