He carried no weapon, only the calm, unspoken promise of a power that could level mountains if he willed it. His presence alone made the very air feel heavier, as if the world itself held its breath in his presence.
Behind him were the other monks of varying ages, their movements equally deliberate but not without the grace of practiced mastery.
Some carried staffs, others had their hands folded in meditative gestures, but all radiated a silent, potent energy that resonated deeply with the Soul-Hunters.
The youngest of the monks, barely older than the group of travelers, stepped forward next.
His eyes, calm but with an underlying fire, studied each of them in turn, his expression unreadable.
Despite his youthful appearance, there was something in his stance, a quiet, dangerous confidence that made him no less imposing than the elders.
