Disciples dashed back and forth, hauling lumber, setting up barrier wards, and rerouting spirit veins.
The air buzzed with activity, urgency, and the occasional controlled panic of cultivators struggling to manage actual civilians.
Courtyards were repurposed into makeshift shelters. Gardens were flattened for tents. Storerooms were emptied of blankets and food.
Kitchens ran nonstop, their smoke rising like banners of effort and exhaustion.
Amidst all of this, Elder Akha remained at the center, worn down, but still the one planning and giving orders to keep everything run smooth and well.
Nearby, her bald-headed sisters, Khani and Kathum, were hunched over pill furnaces, refining medicine with synchronized efficiency.
"Hah… why me…" Elder Akha muttered, wiping her brow.
As she surveyed the camp, a rising voice pulled her attention to the east courtyard.
A sect disciple stood bowed under a storm of complaints, while a red-faced man gestured wildly.
