Chapter Two: Embers of Trust
(Chinese: 信任的余烬)
The morning mist clung to the mountains like a silver veil, hiding the valley in a quiet hush. Mei stood at the edge of the cliff, her sword in hand, watching Ying Long circle above. The dragon's emerald scales shimmered even in the soft light, and every beat of his wings sent ripples through the air.
"You move too cautiously," Ying Long's voice rumbled from above. "A warrior must trust her instincts, not just her training."
"I trust my training," Mei replied evenly, though her heart raced. "And I trust you."
For a moment, the dragon's golden eyes softened. Trust. It was a word he had long forgotten, yet the mortal before him wielded it with a certainty he couldn't ignore.
"You speak boldly for someone so young," he said, landing beside her. The ground shook beneath his weight, yet Mei did not flinch. She had faced storms far fiercer than the tremors of a dragon.
"I speak honestly," she said. "Because we're in this together now."
Ying Long's gaze lingered on her, and he felt the faintest stir of something dangerous and exhilarating: admiration. Perhaps more.
"Very well," he said. "Today, we hunt the shadow in the forest. Stay close, and remember—one wrong move, and the darkness will consume you before I can reach you."
Mei nodded. "Then let's begin."
They moved as one, the dragon's massive form gliding through the treetops, Mei following through the underbrush. The forest was alive with whispers, shadows flitting between ancient trees. Every rustle and snap set her senses alight, every heartbeat matching the rhythm of the dragon's wings above.
And then they saw it: a shape darker than night, twisting and writhing among the trees. The air grew cold, and Mei felt a shiver crawl up her spine.
"Shadow fiends," Ying Long growled. "Keep close, warrior."
Blades clashed and claws struck, sparks flying in the dim light. Mei moved with precision, parrying strikes and driving the creatures back, while Ying Long's fire seared the forest floor, leaving only scorched earth behind.
When the last shadow vanished, silence returned—broken only by Mei's heavy breathing and the soft crackle of the dragon's wings as he hovered near her.
"You fought well," Ying Long said, his voice almost gentle. "Better than any I have seen in centuries."
Mei's cheeks flushed, but she kept her stance steady. "I learned from the best," she said, meeting his gaze.
For a heartbeat, the world held still. No shadows, no storms, just the dragon and the warrior—two souls bound by fire, trust, and something neither dared to name.
And in that silence, a fragile ember of connection glowed brighter than any flame they had faced.