The barrier chamber felt wrong the moment Lan Yue crossed the threshold.
It was not something she could point at immediately. There was no visible frost on the walls, no chilling mist curling along the floor. The temperature itself barely shifted from the outside courtyard.
And yet her skin prickled.
Her steps slowed without her meaning to. Each footfall seemed too loud, too deliberate, as if the room was listening. Not metaphorically. Not like a poetic exaggeration.
Actually listening.
The air did not move the way it should. It slid past her in thin, controlled streams, brushing against her sleeves, slipping along her neck with an almost deliberate touch. Every breath she took felt measured, weighed, allowed.
Lan Yue frowned, her gaze drifting upward.
Lines of formation script were carved into every surface. Walls, ceiling, even beneath her feet. They pulsed faintly, not bright enough to illuminate the chamber fully, but enough to remind her that nothing here was inactive.
