Chronicles of Fates Path

Dawn arrived with a gentle glow, painting the sky in shades of lavender and peach. Lan Zhuoran rose, testing the bandage around his torso. Though sore, the cut seemed to be healing. Gao Tianrong stretched his limbs, scanning for any trace of night intruders. Yin Feiyan stirred last, carefully flexing her arm. Each day brought marginal progress in her recovery.

After a brief meal of dried fruit and stale bread, they continued east, ascending the low hills. The air carried a faint edge of crispness, suggesting autumn's approach—another reminder that time pressed on, whether they succeeded or not. Feiyan's breath sometimes caught with pain, but she forced herself forward, refusing to be coddled.

By midday, they spotted a wider path winding southward. Rusted signposts hinted at old trade routes that once linked distant cities. Gao Tianrong paused, frowning at the faint wheel ruts. "Traffic has passed here, but not recently. Maybe caravans or warbands. Hard to say."

Lan Zhuoran glanced at Feiyan. "What do you think?"

She shielded her eyes against the sun. "If we head south, we might skirt the rumored battles near the capital's direct approach. But it could also mean a longer route."

Gao Tianrong shrugged. "A detour might save us from running straight into an army. Or it might lead us into unknown territory. Either way, it's a gamble."

Lan Zhuoran exhaled, recalling every skirmish they'd narrowly survived. They had to balance speed against danger. "Let's try the southward path for a bit. If it seems too risky, we can double back."

Agreeing, they followed the old trade route, noticing occasional shattered milestones and toppled signposts. The road sloped between rolling hills, the landscape gradually shifting to sparse woodlands. Their pace slowed as they navigated muddy patches from the recent storm, but the gentler terrain eased Feiyan's burden.

Afternoon light waned when a faint rumble drifted from the east—distant thunder or, perhaps, marching hooves. Feiyan tensed. "Could that be an army on the move?"

Gao Tianrong's face darkened. "We should find cover."

They hastened along the path until they reached a dense copse of trees. There, they slipped among the trunks, guiding the mule into the undergrowth. Lan Zhuoran and Feiyan crouched behind a fallen log, while Gao Tianrong crept forward to scout from a vantage point.

Moments later, the thunder of hooves grew louder. A procession of mounted fighters appeared on the old trade route, bearing mismatched armor and banners. No black-wolf emblem, but their numbers suggested a formidable warband—perhaps a hundred strong. The ground trembled as horses pounded forward, ranks of infantry trailing behind.

Feiyan's pulse hammered. Had they decided to remain on the path, they would have been swept up in the horde's advance. She exchanged a tense glance with Lan Zhuoran, grateful for Gao Tianrong's caution.

The warband thundered past, dust and bits of debris swirling. From their hidden vantage, Lan Zhuoran glimpsed weary faces, battered gear—this was a ragtag army, possibly mercenaries united by a temporary alliance. The riders' grim expressions spoke of conflict to come. Soon, the rumble faded into the distance, leaving a lingering haze of dust.

Gao Tianrong returned, voice hushed. "They're heading northeast, probably toward the capital's outskirts. We dodged them, for now."

Lan Zhuoran exhaled a shaky breath. "War is everywhere."

Feiyan closed her eyes, hugging the relic closer. The empire fractured before their eyes, torn by mercenary factions and desperate warlords. Reaching the capital with their precious burden felt more daunting each day, yet the stakes only intensified.

Resuming their journey along the old trade route, they traveled in silence, each lost in sober thought. Dusk found them near a half-collapsed watchtower on a lonely rise. Gao Tianrong scouted carefully, confirming it was abandoned. They decided to camp nearby, hoping the tower's stone remnants offered partial shelter from the wind.

They built a small fire in the tower's rubble-strewn courtyard, the flames casting dancing shadows on shattered walls. Feiyan leaned on a fallen stone block, breath ragged from fatigue. Lan Zhuoran inspected her bandage, relieved to find no fresh bleeding. Gao Tianrong retrieved a modest handful of wild berries he had spotted, supplementing their sparse meal.

In the flicker of dying light, they huddled close. Feiyan's eyes gleamed with both determination and sorrow. "So many armies on the move… The council must know how dire things are. I pray they'll welcome us—and the relic—without suspicion."

Lan Zhuoran squeezed her good hand. "We'll make them understand. I won't let the Syndicate profit from this chaos."

Gao Tianrong nodded, gaze distant. "If larger armies block the capital, we might need a hidden approach or help from inside. Let's see what fate offers us."

Night deepened, stars kindling overhead in a silent vigil. The broken watchtower loomed like a monument to past conflicts. Tomorrow would bring fresh steps into a world on the brink. But for now, they guarded a fragile hope—three travelers against a fractured empire's tide, clinging to each other in the ruins of old defenses.

Lan Zhuoran took first watch, staff in hand. The wind whispered through cracks in the tower's walls, carrying faint echoes of distant battles. Despite the turmoil surrounding them, the trio held fast to their mission: protect Skyfire Protocol, reach the capital, and perhaps spark a chance for peace amid the mounting storm.