From below, the crowd stood in anxious anticipation. The peak of Mortal Mountain was hidden in mist, but they could all sense it. Something was happening up there, something monumental. However, their eyes were fixated on the remaining six young masters, who were all standing at the same level on the mountain path. One by one, the six figures had slowed their climb, their backs hunched forward, their breaths coming out in heavy rasps. They were struggling, each step now a monumental task, each breath a battle against the invisible pressure pushing down on them.
"Only six..." someone in the crowd muttered, eyes scanning the ridge.
"Where's Lyon?" another asked, panic edging into their voice.
Even though the mists veiled the summit, the absence of Lyon was glaring. His bold, carefree demeanor was nowhere in sight among the hunched figures of the young masters.
The matriarchs and patriarchs exchanged glances, their seasoned eyes narrowing with concern.
