The forest was alive in a way the palace never could be.
Beneath the canopy, every breath held the scent of moss and sun-warmed bark, and every step promised the kind of danger court politics could only pretend at. The imperial hunt had officially begun. Banners fluttered above hastily erected pavilions, fires crackled beside makeshift kitchens, and distant horns called out the opening rituals of a grand tradition that hadn't felt like tradition in decades.
I walked with my hands folded behind my back, my boots silent on the pine-needle-strewn earth. Shi Yaozu trailed half a pace behind, close enough to intervene, far enough not to shadow. Ahead, the path curved up toward the higher ridges—where the brush was thicker, the light thinner, and the traps… exquisite.
I didn't need a map.
I'd made this place bleed before. And it would bleed again, if I asked it to.
Just as I reached the edge of the next incline, the scream came.
