The next day.
Woo, woo, woo—
The low, mournful notes of a bone ocarina echoed across the Gotar Desert.
The ocarina had been carved from the leg bone of a giant demonic beast. Ancient Witch Clan runes covered its surface, and its deep, resonant notes carried a desolate, primordial air for dozens of miles.
At the sound, every member of the Tuoba Tribe set aside what they were doing. They emerged from their stone houses and headed toward the central square.
Today was the annual Tribal Assembly.
For these descendants of the Witch Clan, the Tribal Assembly was the grandest, most important day of the year. Every young warrior in the tribe would gather to compete. Those who distinguished themselves would receive generous rewards and might even earn the chance to cultivate in the Witch Ancestor Tower.
It was an honor every Witch Clan warrior dreamed of.
An ancient square stood at the heart of the tribe.
It was vast and circular, surrounded by tiers of stone seating that sloped toward the center like a giant funnel.
The stands were built from gray-brown boulders, each half as tall as a person. Weathering and ancient carvings marked their surfaces, giving them the worn look of ages past.
The place looked somewhat like an arena from antiquity: rough-hewn, ancient, and filled with a sense of primal power.
Now, crowds surged around the ancient square.
Nearly every member of the Tuoba Tribe had come, dressed in splendid animal hides they normally saved for special occasions. Most of the men were bare-chested, showing sturdy bronze or wheat-toned skin painted with colorful Witch Clan designs—an eagle spreading its wings across one chest, a giant serpent coiling around a pair of arms, a fierce beast's face across someone's cheeks. Each design was painted in special