The spatial tear snapped shut with a hollow pop that ruffled the dry grass.
Hundreds of miles away from the Ye Heavenly City, Wei Zhingyi and Ye Fan appeared under a tree.
The night air here was cold and clean, carrying the scent of damp pine needles and wet moss.
A colossal, crooked cedar tree reached into the dark purple sky, its heavy roots curling over the damp earth like sleeping pythons, blocking out the light of the three moons.
Behind them, the rocky cliffs of a barren ridge rose high into the fog, far removed from the fires and screams of the besieged city.
Ye Fan stumbled as his boots hit the packed dirt, sliding two paces before regaining his balance.
He supported the silver-haired woman against his torso, letting out a loud, panting groan of exhaustion.
"We... we made it out, senior," he wheezed, his voice ragged, making sure to stagger as if the escape had drained the very last drop of blood from his veins.
