Chronicles of Fates Path

Leaving the Valley of Echoes behind, the trio wound through craggy defiles and barren slopes, seeking a route that would steer them clear of bandits and the Black Wolf Syndicate alike. The sun slipped behind layers of charcoal clouds, cloaking the land in an early twilight. An uneasy stillness clung to the air, like the breathless moment before a storm.

Lan Zhuoran resisted the urge to check his injuries every few steps. His shoulder throbbed, but he grit his teeth and kept pace. Yin Feiyan's bandaged arm demanded equal perseverance; she showed no sign of quitting, though her face was pale. Gao Tianrong scouted ahead, scanning ridgelines for silhouettes that might signal a Syndicate ambush.

Soon, the terrain dipped into a narrow gorge. Towering walls loomed on each side, carved into jagged shapes by wind and water. The path disappeared into shadows where the gorge bent, leaving them uncertain of what might lie beyond. The stench of damp earth and rotting vegetation wafted up, the gorge's floor slick with algae-covered rocks.

Lan Zhuoran glanced at Gao Tianrong. "We going in there? Looks risky."

The archer's jaw tightened. "We don't have many choices. The alternative is backtracking or scaling those cliffs, both suicidal. Let's just move carefully."

Yin Feiyan, pulling her cloak tighter, added, "Keep your senses sharp. The Syndicate or even more bandits could lurk anywhere." She gripped the relic beneath her cloak, protective as ever.

They entered the gorge in single file, the mule's hooves clacking on wet stone. The walls soared overhead, so tall they blotted out the waning light. Water dripped from crevices, echoing through the confined space. Patches of moss and twisted roots clung to cracks in the rock, forming a labyrinth of slick surfaces.

Their footfalls reverberated in the gloom. Lan Zhuoran's mind raced with each step, recalling the bandits' ambush in the stone circle. We can't afford another fight in these cramped quarters, he thought. Not with our injuries. At times, he paused to test the ground with his staff (a broken spear he'd scavenged), ensuring stable footing for the mule and his companions.

Midway through, a faint draft rustled across their path, carrying a foul odor. Gao Tianrong's posture went rigid. "Smell that?" he whispered.

Lan Zhuoran nodded, nose wrinkling. "Something's… decaying."

Yin Feiyan's voice turned grim. "Dead animals? Or… people?" The tension in her words spoke volumes. Death on the trail was not uncommon in these lawless regions.

They pressed on, eventually turning a corner to find the remains of a small campsite. A collapsed tent, torn and muddy, lay strewn with broken supplies. Two pack mules lay lifeless nearby, rotting in the damp air. Flies buzzed in a nauseating cloud. Lan Zhuoran fought back a wave of revulsion.

Gao Tianrong crouched by a shattered crate. He sifted through the soggy debris, pulling up a half-burned scrap of cloth. "No emblem. Could have been merchants or travelers who got ambushed. Possibly bandits themselves. Hard to say."

Yin Feiyan swallowed, her expression sorrowful. "We can't help them now. Let's just move on."

Yet as they turned to leave, a pained groan echoed from behind a rock ledge. All three froze, exchanging startled looks. Lan Zhuoran carefully approached the sound, discovering a wounded man slumped against the gorge wall, partially hidden by debris. A crossbow bolt protruded from his side, and his clothes were soaked in blood and rainwater.

His eyes fluttered open at Lan Zhuoran's approach. "Who…?" he rasped, voice raw with agony.

Lan Zhuoran beckoned Yin Feiyan over, though she hesitated. "We might help him," he said quietly. "If it's safe."

Gao Tianrong remained watchful, arrow half-drawn. "It could be a trap," he warned.

Lan Zhuoran nodded but knelt anyway, meeting the man's gaze. "Easy," he said softly. "What happened?"

The stranger coughed weakly, spitting blood. "A group… attacked us. Mercenaries… black wolf on their cloaks. They took… everything…" His eyes flickered, chest heaving. "Left me for dead."

Yin Feiyan's fingers curled into fists at the mention of the Black Wolf Syndicate. Lan Zhuoran felt a surge of anger. Even if these men were simple travelers, the Syndicate shows no mercy. He removed a waterskin, offering it carefully. The wounded man sipped, grimacing in pain.

"How long ago?" Gao Tianrong asked, scanning the area. "Are they near?"

The man's breath rattled. "Half a day… maybe. Headed north, I think. They had a captive… not sure who. Please… end my suffering." His eyes brimmed with despair. The bolt in his side was badly infected, and he clearly had little chance of surviving in these conditions.

Tension crackled among the trio. They'd encountered tragedy before, but rarely were they asked to show mercy like this. Yin Feiyan swallowed, tears glinting in her eyes at the man's desperate request. Gao Tianrong looked away, jaw clenched.

Lan Zhuoran felt his throat tighten. He'd never had to deliver a killing blow to a helpless victim. But letting him linger is cruel. He placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

The man closed his eyes, tears sliding down his cheeks. "Thank you…"

A pained silence followed. Gao Tianrong stepped forward, arrow nocked, meeting Lan Zhuoran's gaze with an unspoken question. Lan Zhuoran exhaled shakily, nodding. He turned away, steadying Yin Feiyan who averted her face. The archer's bowstring twanged. A soft thud ended the wounded man's suffering.

For a moment, only the drip of water and the mule's shifting hooves filled the gorge. A hollow ache formed in Lan Zhuoran's chest, the cruelty of the Syndicate laid bare. They continued on, hearts heavier than before. Even the air seemed to press in on them, as though the gorge itself mourned.

They emerged from the shadowy passage near dusk, a narrow exit leading to rolling terrain. The memory of the dying man clung to them like a shroud, intensifying their resolve to prevent further slaughter. Whatever lay ahead—capital politics, more mercenaries, hidden relic secrets—they would face it, because turning back meant surrendering to despair.

In the deepening twilight, they found a small cluster of stunted trees. Gathering there, Gao Tianrong built a low fire, its flames dancing mournfully in the gloom. Yin Feiyan stroked the relic, gaze distant, while Lan Zhuoran sat apart, mind echoing with the stranger's final plea. He tightened his fist, recalling all the suffering wrought by the Syndicate's ruthless pursuit.

One day, he vowed silently, they would bring justice. But first, they had to survive the heart of darkness that stretched across these lawless lands. With a final look at his weary companions, Lan Zhuoran steeled himself for the trials yet to come, determined to see Yin Feiyan's mission through—and honor every life lost along the way.