They began their journey as a trio.
Shuye, once just the quiet apprentice in the town of Huang Jin, now travelled at their side, carrying packs and helping gather wood as they made their slow, winding way toward the Eastern Capital. The road was uneven, and coin was still sparse, but the three shared quiet laughter and warmth around their evening fires.
One night, they camped beside a small riverbank. The forest around them swayed gently under a sky scattered with stars. The smell of pine and smoke lingered in the air as a small flame danced in the center of their camp.
Ziyan looked up from the fish roasting on the fire and turned to Shuye.
"Shuye," she said quietly, "you've followed us without hesitation. But we've never asked—what's your story? How did you end up with Master Zhao?"
Shuye looked away, a bit sheepish, poking a stick into the fire. "It's not that interesting," he muttered. "Just some old family mess."
Feiyan snorted and flopped onto her side, arms crossed. "Hey. Between the two of us, I promise we've seen worse. So come on, spit it out."
Shuye hesitated. But something in their eyes—steady, kind—gave him the courage to speak.
"…I was born in the capital," he began slowly, "in a house that doesn't exist anymore. My father was a respected Minister of Personnel. My mother came from a family of scholars. Their marriage was arranged for politics, not love—but they didn't treat me poorly."
He paused, his voice lower now.
"I wasn't good with books like they wanted. I didn't care about court etiquette or reciting poetry. I just… I just liked swords. Not to use them, but to understand them. To craft them. My dream was never to be a general or an official. I wanted to make a blade so fine, so perfect, that even legends would remember it."
Ziyan leaned forward slightly. "A sword for a hero?"
Shuye nodded.
"A sword for someone who could change this rotten world."
The fire crackled. Neither girl spoke.
After a moment, he went on.
"My father's brothers—leeches, really—begged him for coin. They even asked him to cover up a scandal involving their sons and a noble girl. He refused. So they framed him. Planted forged documents and false witnesses. He was executed as a traitor to the court. My mother, disgraced by association, was cast out by her family. She died within the year."
He inhaled sharply.
"But before she passed, she told me to chase my dreams. She sold the last of her jewellery to get me out of the capital and told me to find a place where I could learn my craft. That's how I ended up at Master Zhao's forge."
Feiyan looked stunned. Ziyan's gaze didn't waver.
"…And now?" she asked softly.
Shuye turned to her, eyes honest and shining under the starlight.
"Now, I want to finish that sword. Not for some myth or prophecy. But for someone real. Someone who can change things."
His voice softened.
"I think that person might be you, Ziyan."
Ziyan blinked. Her throat tightened. She didn't know what to say. So she simply nodded, letting the warmth of the fire hide the heat rising in her cheeks.
Eventually, they curled into their cloaks and drifted to sleep beneath the watchful moon.
But just before dawn, something was wrong.
A rustle of leaves. A sharp snap of a twig. Then a breathless cry—muffled, quickly silenced.
Shuye sat up in a panic—Ziyan's bedroll was empty.
"Ziyan?" he whispered, then louder. "Ziyan?!"
Feiyan was up in an instant, sword in hand, eyes sharp. "Stay here," she said quickly, scanning the camp and its edges. She moved fast—checking the ground, the brush, the footprints scattered in the soft dirt.
Several distinct boot prints. Drag marks. No blood, but something had been dropped: a small piece of torn fabric from Ziyan's sleeve.
Feiyan narrowed her eyes. "This wasn't an animal," she muttered. "And it wasn't a lone thief."
She stood up slowly. "Organized, quiet, and fast. They didn't kill her because they want to keep her alive. This looks like a trafficking group… slavers."
Shuye's blood went cold.
Feiyan sheathed her blade, lips pressed in a thin, furious line.
"They've taken her."
There was no more hesitation.
Shuye threw dirt over the fire while Feiyan secured their gear in seconds. She grabbed a burning stick and handed it to him.
"She's out there," Feiyan said, voice sharp like steel, "and we're not leaving this forest without her."
Without another word, they plunged into the trees—after their friend, after Ziyan, after the faintest chance of saving her before it was too late.