The dark purple energy was not like mana, nor was it demonic qi. It was something older, something primordial and deeply unsettling. It coiled around Luo Yu like a shroud of cosmic grief, its tendrils lashing out, not with destructive intent, but with an aura of absolute, soul-crushing sorrow.

The reinforced sarcophagus, a magical artifact designed to withstand immense pressures, spiderwebbed with cracks. The very air in the chamber grew heavy, thick with a pressure that made breathing a conscious effort.

"This... this power!" The Soul-Casting Grandmaster stumbled back, his face a mask of disbelief and terror. "This is impossible! The resurrection was a success, but this energy... it's not of this world! It feels... ancient."

Luo Qingyi, still reeling from the twin impacts of her mother's return and her father's death, felt a chill that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. She saw the raw, untamed power radiating from her mother, but more than that, she saw the abyss of pain in her eyes. The question, "Where is Zunjie?" still hung in the air, a death sentence that had shattered the miracle of her return.