The dagger descended.
Then the sky screamed.
Not a sound. Not a voice. Not thunder. The sky itself, the atmosphere, the spiritual energy in the air, every molecule of qi in a fifty-mile radius, vibrated at a frequency that made bone resonate and teeth ache. The sound was not heard. It was felt. In the marrow. In the dantian. In the soul.
The clouds split.
Not parted. Split. Torn open like silk under a blade, the white cumulus shredding outward from a central point. Through the gap, a light descended. Not sunlight. Not moonlight. Not the golden glow of spiritual energy. Something else. Something that carried weight. Gravity. The air around the light compressed, the moisture condensing into a visible shockwave that expanded outward in a sphere.
The shockwave hit the forest.
