"I did not know a fellow Daoist resided on this desolate continent," the old man in dark robes said, his voice echoing eerily across the sky.
He floated a few dozen feet above the clouds, arms clasped behind his back, long sleeves billowing in the wind like ghosts.
His eyes, cold and sunken, carried the sharpness of someone who had seen centuries pass.
"I am Daoist Ghosty Zealot of the Black Gate Sect. It seems I was unaware that this criminal had taken shelter under your name. Please, fellow Daoist, do not be deceived—she is not as she presents herself. She is neither innocent nor worthy of your trust."
Below, Riley stood silently on the stone steps of his mountain peak, a calm but unyielding presence. The wind stirred his robes gently as he looked up, his expression unreadable.
The woman beside him clutched his sleeve lightly, her eyes filled with fear but trust in the man standing between her and the storm in the sky.
