The wind howled down the ravine as if warning them. Dust kicked up in swirling ghosts, and somewhere in the valley below Nan Shu, bells rang where no one lived.
Ziyan looked back at the narrow dirt path they'd taken, her heart tightening.
Something was wrong.
They had set out to investigate a rusted watchtower—one of the last places Duan Rulan had passed through. But halfway there, Feiyan halted.
"Don't move," she whispered.
The trees were too still. The birds had stopped singing. And just beyond the bend, boots crushed dry leaves.
"They're surrounding us," Li Qiang muttered.
Ziyan turned sharply. "Run."
They didn't question her.
Feiyan slashed through a low fence, and they darted down a narrow alley between collapsed houses and dried paddy fields. But it was too late. Black-clad figures emerged from both sides—quiet, swift, precise. Assassins.
Blades flashed.
Li Qiang blocked one strike, his counter sending the attacker crashing into a well. Feiyan darted ahead, slashing a path for them to break through. Shuye covered their rear, daggers flashing.
Ziyan grabbed the little girl's hand and ran.
But more soldiers came. Dozens.
A commander on horseback raised a red-tasselled spear and shouted:
"By imperial decree! These are enemies of the court! Surrender!"
Ziyan's blood froze.
"They forged an order," she said, voice low. "The court would never sanction this openly."
"They don't need real orders," Feiyan spat, already moving. "They just need fear."
The group tore through a narrow passage that led to the old shrine. It loomed before them like a wound in the land—its cracked gate open, black veins running down its stone.
Inside, shadows whispered.
"Get inside," Ziyan ordered.
They made it to the shrine, slamming the wooden bar across the door.
Feiyan and Li Qiang turned immediately to defend it. Outside, blades clashed and boots stomped. The door shuddered under the weight of attack.
The girl stood in the center of the shrine. Still. Silent.
Ziyan reached her. "Are you alright?"
The girl turned slowly—and for the first time, her lips moved.
She whispered something in a tongue Ziyan had never heard.
The air thickened. The walls groaned. Blood dripped from the mural of the two-headed phoenix.
Outside, the soldiers screamed.
Li Qiang stared in horror. "What—what is that sound?"
It wasn't a voice. It was like the language of the earth itself, vibrating through marrow and mind. The assassins began to clutch their throats. Some dropped their weapons, retching. Others staggered back, faces flushed with strange, spiraling bruises.
One began to cough—then gurgled blood. Another screamed as his skin blackened.
"What's happening to them?" Shuye shouted.
Feiyan stepped away from the door. "She's… doing this."
Ziyan turned to the girl.
Her eyes had changed. No longer wide and innocent, but glowing faintly with a pale, inhuman light—like fire turned cold. Her mouth moved again, uttering words as old as stone and sky.
The assassins fell one by one.
And still she whispered.
Until silence returned.
Only the wind howled now.
Only the shrine still pulsed.
Li Qiang exhaled. "She's not just gifted."
"No," Ziyan said softly. "She's something else entirely."
The girl looked at her then, blinking slowly—as if awakening from a trance. The light faded. She stumbled.
Ziyan caught her. "I've got you. It's over."
But outside, beyond the dead and the broken, another rider stood atop the hill.
He wore black armor traced in gold, and on his finger glimmered a red-gemmed signet—the seal of the Grand Commandant.
He had not joined the fight. He hadn't needed to.
A raven landed beside him.
He whispered, "Now we know."
The monk at his side lowered his hood. "She is not just awakening, my lord. She is echoing. Something speaks through her."
The Grand Commandant, Zhao Qiren, smiled.
"So let the phoenix think she's won. Let her believe she is saving the child."
He crushed a clay tablet in his hand, etched with the same ancient sigils the girl had just uttered.
"I've known about the girl since before Rulan stole her."
The monk bowed. "Shall we begin the next phase?"
Zhao stared into the distance, watching the smoke from the shrine rise like a beacon.
"She won't just kill Ziyan," he said. "No. She'll destroy her… from within."
That Night – Nan Shu Shrine
The girl slept fitfully. Ziyan sat beside her, brushing ash from her cheek. The shrine walls had gone quiet, but something lingered—a presence just outside the world of breath.
"She's not a weapon," Ziyan whispered. "She's a child."
Feiyan said nothing. She sat by the shattered door, watching the moon rise.
Li Qiang cleaned his blade. "She didn't ask for this."
Shuye looked at Ziyan. "But whatever she is, they were afraid of it. Zhao is afraid of it."
Ziyan glanced at the cracked phoenix mural again.
"No," she said. "He's not afraid. He's guiding it. This whole trap wasn't to kill us. It was to wake her up."
Feiyan's eyes narrowed. "Then what do we do?"
Ziyan looked down at her palm, the phoenix emblem flickering dimly.
"We keep moving. We find Rulan. And we find out what Zhao buried along with her past."
The girl stirred. She didn't speak. But her hand reached for Ziyan's again.
Ziyan held it.
And somewhere deep inside her—like fire under ice—something old stirred in return.