The cultivation grounds were far from quiet.
Despite being a place meant for focus and growth, the entrance buzzed with movement—students entering, others leaving, a few lingering to exchange words or compare progress.
At the center of it all stood a large stone gate, its surface etched with faintly glowing inscriptions. The air around it was dense, heavy with Youm, even at the entrance.
Before it stood the warden at the counter.
He was an older man with a rigid posture and a permanent frown carved into his face, like the world itself had disappointed him one too many times.
