The Quiet Before the March
The empire was gone. Its nobles scattered, its sects trembling, its foreign neighbors scrambling for alliances. Yet for the first time since the throne had fallen, the watchtower was not filled with messengers, assassins, or declarations of war.
It was quiet.
That quiet was dangerous.
Sparks in the Dark
Qingxue sat by the window, polishing her reforged blade with steady, meticulous strokes. Her pride was sharp as her steel, but every scrape against the whetstone echoed something unspoken. Her eyes slid to Hei Long more often than to her weapon.
Yexin lounged against a cracked pillar, fan flicking lazily, illusions weaving half-heartedly in the air. But her smirk was brittle, sharpened each time Qingxue leaned too close to Hei Long. "So serious," she said, her voice mocking. "A sword without warmth is only a tool. Are you content to be that, Qingxue?"
Qingxue's jaw tightened. "Better a blade than a shadow with no body."
