The evening sky bled with colors not born of sunset. Golden streaks cracked through the heavens, each flash accompanied by a low, resonant hum, as though the air itself vibrated under divine will. Every soldier on the southern plain felt it—the prickle of hair on the back of the neck, the weight pressing down upon their shoulders.
The gods had moved.
From the ridge above the battlefield, Rui watched as the cloud banks twisted into vast spirals. Figures began to descend—towering silhouettes draped in robes of shimmering light, their faces veiled in radiance so blinding it seemed almost cruel. Their feet never touched the earth, yet their presence bent the ground as if it yearned to kneel.
"They're not here to watch," Li Yuan said quietly beside him, one hand on the hilt of his sword.
Rui glanced at him, the tension in his chest warring with the steady beat of his cultivation core. "No. This is intervention."
Below, the frontlines shuddered. Spears of light fell from the heavens, obliterating entire formations of imperial troops. Men screamed—not from wounds of flesh, but from the tearing of spirit. Those struck had their cultivation stripped from their bodies in an instant, left gasping and empty-eyed before collapsing.
Li Yuan's voice was sharp. "They want to unbalance us—shatter the empire's strength before we can rally."
But Rui's gaze lingered on the nearest god. The figure's hand was outstretched, threads of gold spiraling from its fingertips, reaching… toward him.
"Rui!" Li Yuan caught his arm and pulled him back behind the shattered stone of the ridge. The moment they were shielded, Rui felt the weight of that divine gaze vanish, though the cold it left in his bones remained.
Their eyes met in the dimness. Li Yuan's hand stayed on Rui's wrist longer than necessary, his grip firm as if to prove to himself that Rui was still there. "If they want you," he said, low and dangerous, "they'll have to walk over my corpse to take you."
Rui's breath hitched—whether from the heat in those words or the sudden awareness of how close they stood, he couldn't say. But there was no time to answer; the ground shook violently.
From the west, horns blared, the signal of retreat, though not from their side. Across the valley, banners of red and black appeared where they shouldn't. Zhang's forces, supposedly guarding the northern flank, now charged straight into the heart of the imperial army.
Li Yuan's jaw tightened. "Zhang… traitor."
Above them, the gods did not stop him. In fact, Rui realized with a sick twist of the gut—they shifted their formation subtly, opening the path for Zhang's forces to strike deeper.
This was not just war. It was orchestration.
Somewhere far away, drums of the imperial palace would be pounding. Ministers would be gathering, voices raised in panic or in quiet satisfaction. The political fault lines in the empire were cracking wide open under divine pressure, and betrayal was spreading like wildfire.
Li Yuan turned to him, eyes burning. "We need to move. If Zhang's betrayal cuts off our lines, we'll be trapped."
Rui nodded, but his gaze swept upward once more. The gods had not left. They hovered, like patient predators, watching the empire tear itself apart.
And somewhere deep in his chest, Rui felt the faintest pull, as if a thread bound him to that golden figure in the sky, tugging, drawing him closer to a fate he had not chosen.