The City of Red Spring stood eerily silent.
The wide stone streets that once echoed with the sounds of merchants, carts, and laughter were now empty.
The four main gates stood wide open, yet no one dared to step inside.
Outside the city walls, thousands of people had gathered over the past few days. The once-green fields had turned into a sprawling camp of tents, wooden shacks, and makeshift huts made from whatever material people could find — old sheets, broken carts, even doors torn from their own homes.
Smoke rose from small fires as families cooked whatever food they had left. Children played near the muddy ditches, their laughter sounding hollow against the uneasy murmurs of the adults.
From certain spots along the outer walls, people could see into the city. They could see the captured martial artists of the Grand Martial Hall hanging from the vines that had taken over the city square.
