The boundary snapped shut with the dry, hollow click of an iron lock.
To Lin Tao, the shift was not with physical shifted weight or moving impact. There was no wind, no flash of heat, and no thunderous roar. The six panels of deep amethyst starlight simply came together upon the outer edge of his three-pace circle, meeting at forty-five-degree bevels that melded into seamless, semi-clear planes. In the span of a single split second, the physical universe outside was reduced to a muted, refracted projection.
Beyond the crystal-clear violet walls, the world was still in motion.
Lin Tao watched as Tie Shan, thrown backward by the outer edge’s shifted weight wave, dug his iron-shod heels into the solid mountain stone. The giant’s broad chest was heaving, his ox-hide tunic torn across his shoulders, the crimson tiger sash whipping wildly in the alpine gale. Tie Shan opened his mouth, his throat corded with strain. He shouted words that Lin Tao knew must be shaking the very dark rock crags of Mount Taiyi.
Yet inside the cube, there was no sound.
The air didn’t carry sound waves. Lin Tao tapped his boot against the stone floor. The impact produced a faint clockwork shaking that traveled up his shin bone into his knee. But zero sound echoed in the chamber. The air within the box was fully decoupled from external fluid dynamics.
