The flames painted the wilderness red.
Mo Li's breath came in broken gasps as she stumbled through the undergrowth, branches tearing at her sleeves and the scent of burning timber still clinging to her hair. Each step echoed like a heartbeat against the silence of the forest. Behind her, the outpost blazed—a pillar of ruin against the starlit canopy. The sky itself seemed to weep with ash.
Her master's final words echoed in her mind: "Tell Li Wei… the Blood Path rises anew."
Her fingers tightened around the charm Bing Cao had thrust into her palm before the flames took him. It pulsed faintly with residual warmth, the last imprint of his qi—steady, patient, and unyielding even in death.
"Master…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "You said pain is a forge—but how do I temper what's already broken?"
The forest did not answer. Only the low hiss of wind moving through pine needles replied, like the whisper of ghosts.
Then—movement.
