Chronicles of Fates Path

A cold drizzle fell from low-hanging clouds as Lan Zhuoran stepped away from the small makeshift camp, arms folded against the damp wind. In the dim pre-dawn light, he caught sight of Gao Tianrong kneeling by the mule, quietly checking its hooves for any signs of injury. The events of the previous day weighed heavily on them both—a dying stranger, ambushed by the Black Wolf Syndicate, had begged for a merciful end.

Yin Feiyan remained close to the fire, which sputtered in the drizzle. She held her injured arm close and stared into the weak flames, her eyes distant. The relic, Skyfire Protocol, rested wrapped and hidden beneath her travel cloak. Each droplet of rain that struck the earth seemed to echo the trio's unspoken grief.

Lan Zhuoran inhaled the cool, damp air, wishing for a momentary respite from their perpetual tension. But the path to the capital remained long, and each day the Syndicate grew bolder. They had no choice but to continue.

As Gao Tianrong finished with the mule, he stood and caught Lan Zhuoran's eye. "We should move soon. The clouds overhead suggest heavier rain might be on the way."

Lan Zhuoran glanced at the ash-laden sky. "Where do we head from here?"

Gao Tianrong pointed southeast. "We'll aim for a region of shallow valleys and farmland. Word has it a few scattered villages survive there. We might find a chance to rest—or at least gather supplies."

At the mention of villages, Lan Zhuoran felt a stab of homesickness for Baihe. He pictured Auntie Qiu tending her simple kitchen. With a shake of his head, he forced that memory aside. If they managed to protect Skyfire Protocol, perhaps others would be spared the horrors unfolding in these lawless regions.

When they finally set off, Yin Feiyan walked with slow, measured steps, her expression resolute but tinged with lingering sorrow. Lan Zhuoran took the lead, staff in hand. The drizzle intensified, forming rivulets that trickled down the muddy slopes. Each step felt heavier under the weight of soaked clothing and fresh memories of pain.

Their pace remained subdued, conversation minimal. The land undulated in gentle rises and dips, patches of leafless shrubs breaking the otherwise monotonous terrain. Occasionally, they paused to let the mule drink from muddy puddles. Gao Tianrong kept a keen watch for any signs of Syndicate scouts, but the gloomy weather seemed to cloak them from prying eyes.

By midday, the drizzle had turned into a steady rain, battering their cloaks. Water seeped through thin fabric, raising chills. Lan Zhuoran's shoulder wound throbbed, and he noticed Yin Feiyan's face pale with each passing hour. Worse yet, the farmland Gao Tianrong had mentioned remained out of sight, hidden beyond endless rolling hills.

Lan Zhuoran slowed his steps to match Yin Feiyan's. "How's your arm holding up?" he asked gently.

She winced, adjusting the sling. "Swollen again. But I'll manage." Her tone carried frustration, as if her own body were betraying her. "I just… can't afford to slow us down."

Gao Tianrong, overhearing, paused by a large, water-logged boulder. "You're not slowing us down. If you need to rest, say the word."

She pressed her lips into a thin line, glancing up at the gray sky. "If we can find even a hint of shelter for the night, I'll rest then."

They pushed on. The day slid into a colorless afternoon, rain relentlessly drumming overhead. After traversing another ridge, a faint shape materialized in the distance—a structure of some kind, perched on a gentle slope. Lan Zhuoran's spirits lifted slightly.

Drawing closer, they realized it was an old barn, roof partially collapsed. Weeds choked the surrounding field, suggesting it had been abandoned for quite some time. Yet even a derelict barn offered better protection from the downpour than an open hillside.

Cautiously, Gao Tianrong scouted the perimeter. When he found no signs of recent activity, they led the mule inside. The interior smelled of rotting hay and mold, but it was dry enough to take shelter. Broken beams littered the ground, and half the roof had caved in. Still, the far corner remained relatively intact.

Yin Feiyan let out a quiet sigh of relief, slumping against a stable post. Raindrops trickled through large gaps, pattering on decaying floorboards, but the corner stayed dry. Lan Zhuoran helped her remove her wet cloak, examining the bandage on her arm. Fresh blood had seeped through, mingling with rain-soaked fabric.

He set to work changing the dressing, using what herbs remained in their pack. She hissed softly at the sting. Gao Tianrong, meanwhile, arranged a tiny campfire in a spot where only minimal rain dripped from the rafters.

A small flame flickered to life, and the trio settled around it, chasing away the chill. The barn's gloom enveloped them, raindrops echoing like hollow beats on the battered roof. For a brief moment, they simply absorbed the quiet, each lost in thought. Lan Zhuoran's eyes flicked to Yin Feiyan, who stared into the dancing firelight, pain etched across her features.

"We'll stay here tonight," Gao Tianrong said at last, voice subdued. "If the storm passes by dawn, we'll continue southeast."

No one argued. The day's relentless slog had drained them, both physically and emotionally. Eventually, Yin Feiyan drifted into a fitful doze, her hand clutching the relic. Gao Tianrong volunteered for first watch, arrow within easy reach.

Lan Zhuoran closed his eyes, leaning against a broken beam. Rain and exhaustion lulled him, though worry still gnawed at his mind. Tomorrow, they would face more uncertain roads. The Syndicate lurked in the shadows, and the relic's secrets weighed ever heavier. Yet for now, beneath the pitter-patter of a rainy sky, all they could do was rest and pray for a safer daybreak.