The high terrace overlooking the southern deep pit was silent under the cold light of a crescent moon.
It was the fifth hour of the night. The hour of the Rat, when even the prowling night patrols of the outer gate rested their spears and warmed their hands over charcoal fire bowls. Below the terrace, the sprawling valleys of the outer sect lay shrouded in white mountain mist. It was broken only by the faint, yellow pinpricks of lantern light from the distant sentry watchtowers.
Lin Tao stood at the edge of the stone railing, his boots planted firmly against the frost-rimmed granite.
Beside him, Tie Shan leaned against the low roof wall, his massive arms crossed over his chest, his iron pry-bar resting upright between his boots. The giant’s breath rose in rhythmic, white plumes of steam against the freezing mountain air.
“Quiet,” Tie Shan murmured.
“Too quiet,” Lin Tao replied. His test left eye tracked the sky tracking data hovering in the darkness.
The surrounding frame rate was degrading.
For the past three days, Lin Tao had observed micro-stutters in the physical environment. A falling maple leaf pausing for a split second in mid-air before resuming its descent. The sound of the fourth watch gong arriving two heartbeats after the striker made contact with the bronze. A shadow beneath the terrace wall failing to update its position as the moon drifted behind a cloud.
