Chronicles of Fates Path

Dawn broke over the plains in a wash of pale gold, chasing away the lingering shadows of night. Lan Zhuoran woke to find Gao Tianrong already on watch, perched atop a small mound overlooking their makeshift camp. Yin Feiyan, eyes shadowed by exhaustion, carefully rolled up her bedding. The morning air carried a faint chill, a respite before midday's inevitable heat.

"Anything unusual?" Lan Zhuoran asked Gao Tianrong as he joined him on the mound.

Gao Tianrong shook his head. "Nothing alarming, but I did spot a distant column of smoke just before sunrise—too far away to tell if it's a settlement or a battle site."

Lan Zhuoran suppressed a sigh. Smoke in these lands rarely heralded good news. "We'll keep watch as we approach."

They gathered their supplies, Feiyan carefully re-splinting her arm before shouldering a light pack. Each day, her mobility in the injured arm improved; though she still showed caution, her determination remained unshaken. The trio set off under a gently rising sun, forging east.

Before long, the grass thinned, revealing patches of cracked earth. The midday sun bore down with renewed force, but the travelers had grown accustomed to rationing water and pacing themselves. Occasional breezes rippled the plains, stirring dried stalks. A lonely hush blanketed the horizon, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of footsteps.

By midday, they crested a slight rise and spotted the source of the distant smoke: a cluster of half-collapsed buildings near a shallow ravine. No signs of movement stirred among the ruins, yet the haze of smoldering embers drifted upward, hinting at recent destruction.

Feiyan's heart clenched. "Another village attacked?"

Gao Tianrong scanned the scene, arrow nocked but not drawn. "Possibly. We should circle around if we can. No sense walking into whatever happened there."

Lan Zhuoran nodded, though curiosity tugged at him—if survivors remained, could they offer news of the road ahead? He led them on a cautious arc to the south, skirting the smoldering remains. Even from a distance, they caught glimpses of blackened rafters and broken walls.

A sudden gust carried the acrid stench of burnt wood—and something worse. Feiyan's expression grew taut. "Bodies," she whispered, nose wrinkling. "I smell…" She trailed off.

Lan Zhuoran tensed. This was no mere accident. Turning away, they pressed on, each step weighted by the knowledge that violence stalked these lands. The relentless quiet deepened the sense of unease.

They made camp that evening in the lee of a rocky outcrop, the sky overhead streaked with smoky orange from the setting sun. Gao Tianrong insisted on a small fire only after thorough scouting, unwilling to risk drawing attention from possible marauders or mercenary warbands. Feiyan settled onto a patch of grass, exhaling slowly.

"Every day, the devastation feels closer," she murmured. "And yet, if rumors hold true, the capital is in turmoil as well."

Lan Zhuoran crouched beside her. "I keep hoping the council there still has enough sway to protect the relic. We can't let the Syndicate or any warlord snatch it."

Gao Tianrong nodded, removing his bowstring to clean it. "Agreed. If larger forces are rallying, we might see entire armies on the move soon. We have to stay alert."

Night descended softly, the trio's silhouettes dancing in firelight upon the rocky outcrop. Feiyan dozed in fits, her mind clearly troubled by the burned village. Gao Tianrong took first watch, posture rigid against the gloom. Lan Zhuoran, sensing her distress, gently draped a spare cloak over Feiyan, reminding her they still had each other.

A restless wind rustled the plains, carrying faint echoes of distant thunder. Once or twice, Lan Zhuoran thought he heard the rumble of hooves in the far distance, but Gao Tianrong reported no sign of an approaching threat. When midnight arrived, Lan Zhuoran took over watch duties, scanning the star-flecked horizon with weary eyes. If war truly raged in the empire's heartland, they would soon face even greater trials.

By dawn, the wind had calmed, and the sky glimmered with delicate pink. Feiyan rose stiffly, arm trembling slightly, but she forced a reassuring nod when Lan Zhuoran offered to re-bandage her wound. Gao Tianrong quietly checked the mule's harness, ensuring they could depart swiftly if ambushed.

Their journey east resumed, each stride pulling them closer to the rumored turmoil—and, they prayed, the council that might safeguard Skyfire Protocol. In the hush of early morning, Lan Zhuoran found himself recalling Baihe Village once more—how far he had come from that stormy night. Back then, the greatest threat was a single wounded stranger. Now, entire armies threatened to engulf the empire. But he refused to falter, for Feiyan's sake and for all those who had already suffered too much.