The cold wind carried the scent of blood away into the night.
Sheng Long stood with his arms folded, gaze fixed on the distant mountains where the moon dipped lower. Yan Shuo barked orders behind him, the soldiers swiftly cleaning up the chaos.
Beside him, Xiao Lin sat stiffly on a bench, his shoulder bandaged but his face pale.
Still, there was a stubborn set to his jaw.
"We have to use the Festival," Yan Shuo said, stepping closer. "The assassins will expect Xiao Lin to be present. It's the perfect opportunity."
Sheng Long didn't answer immediately.
His mind was racing.
He hated it — hated using Xiao Lin as bait. The boy was quick and clever, yes, but he was still inexperienced. Still too soft.
Still too precious to risk.
"I'll do it," Xiao Lin said suddenly, voice clear.
Sheng Long turned sharply to him.
"No."
"You need them to show themselves," Xiao Lin said, standing. His cloak slipped from his shoulders, and the moonlight painted his silver hair and pale skin in a ghostly glow. "I can handle it. You said yourself... fear can be controlled."
Sheng Long's jaw tightened.
He could see the tremor Xiao Lin was trying to hide in his fingers, the way his wounded arm was held just a little too close to his body.
But he also saw the fire in those ruby-red eyes.
The same fire that had pushed Xiao Lin to protect him without hesitation.
Silence stretched between them.
Yan Shuo wisely stepped back, pretending to be busy examining a map.
Finally, Sheng Long exhaled through his nose, low and heavy.
"You won't be alone," he said gruffly. "You'll be surrounded by hidden guards. I'll be watching."
"And I'll have to trust you to let me act when the time comes," Xiao Lin said softly.
The words carried more weight than just the plan.
Trust.
Sheng Long looked down at the slender ger standing before him — head high despite the wound, fear tucked away behind trembling courage.
He reached out, almost without thinking, and ruffled Xiao Lin's hair.
It was a terribly awkward, stiff gesture.
Xiao Lin blinked up at him, wide-eyed, stunned.
"You did well," Sheng Long muttered, ears burning slightly. "You're stronger than you think, Xiao Lin."
Xiao Lin's cheeks flushed a soft pink, and he ducked his head, pretending to be adjusting his cloak.
The Marshal's hand lingered a second longer before pulling away, the warmth between them palpable.
Not love yet.
But something living had taken root.
A connection woven through fear, respect, and a strange, fragile tenderness neither fully understood yet.
Later that night, they gathered around the war table.
"The plan is simple," Yan Shuo said, tracing lines across the map. "During the Night of Lanterns, Xiao Lin will participate in the public ceremonies. We'll stagger guard rotations to make it look believable. The assassins will strike thinking he's vulnerable."
"And when they do," Sheng Long said, voice like iron, "we capture them alive."
Xiao Lin nodded, a serious glint in his eye.
It was dangerous.
It was reckless.
But it was the first step toward seizing back control — not just for himself, but for all the futures that the Zerg and traitors sought to steal.
And deep in Xiao Lin's heart, he whispered a promise to the silent night:
I won't let you down.