The sun rose over Qingyang Town, spilling gold across the rooftops and mist-laced fields. At the edge of the Lin compound, a small crowd gathered family, servants, and a few curious villagers. Lin Dong stood among them, travel pack slung over his shoulder, the iron token hanging from his neck like a promise. He glanced back once more. The courtyard where lightning had fallen was still scarred, blackened stone webbed with cracks. Every mark whispered remember. “Dong’er,” Lin Xiao said, clasping his shoulder. “The road to Yan City is long three days by cart, if the weather holds. But you’ll go alone. You need to learn the world’s weight on your own back.” Lin Dong nodded, voice quiet but steady. “I will.” From the doorway, Qingtan ;his younger sister ran forward, holding out a small jade charm tied with a red thread. “For protection,” she said shyly. “Grandmother said it’ll keep bad spirits away.” He smiled, taking it gently. “Then I’ll keep it close.” As he turned to go, she

The world split open in thunder. The winged beast dropped from the cliffs like a living storm, claws raking through the dirt road and scattering men like sparks. Its wings spanned nearly thirty feet, feathers black as obsidian, each movement stirring cyclones of dust and flame. The air burned just from its breath. The Red Leaf Caravan erupted into chaos. Horses screamed, carts overturned, arrows whistled uselessly into the night. Guards shouted commands that were swallowed by the creature’s roar. Lin Dong stood frozen for a heartbeat, the sound vibrating in his bones. The beast’s eyes; red, ancient, intelligent, locked on him through the firelight. He could feel its hunger, not for flesh, but for the energy pulsing under his skin. “Lin Dong, move!” Li Yan’s voice cut through the din. She loosed arrow after arrow, each bursting into flame midair, striking the beast’s hide. It staggered, but the wounds closed instantly, smoke searing the air. The masked rider laughed, cloak snappin

The world beyond Yan Province grew stranger with every mile. Dawn rose thin and cold over the winding Ashen Pass, painting the rocky slopes in washed-out gold. The air here carried a hum the faint vibration of spirit energy, alive in the soil and sky. Strange birds circled above, their wings trailing glimmers of azure light that vanished like sparks. Lin Dong and Li Yan moved cautiously along the narrow mountain trail, the remains of the forest long behind them. Every sound echoed ,the crunch of boots, the jingle of her bowstring, the faint rustle of his sword against his side. Neither had spoken for hours. Finally, Li Yan broke the silence. “You always walk like you’re being followed.” Lin Dong didn’t look back. “Maybe we are.” She snorted softly. “You’re too serious for your age.” “I watched twenty people die two days ago,” he said, eyes still on the path ahead. “That kind of thing tends to stay.” Her expression softened, if only for a moment. “Fair.” They rounded a bend in

By the time the sun reached its zenith, the Gale Mountains had swallowed the world. Peaks like jagged teeth cut into the clouds, and the air grew thin enough that every breath tasted of frost and dust. Lin Dong and Li Yan climbed in silence. The trail was gone now — only shards of stone and sheer cliffs remained. Below them, mist swirled like a sea. “We’ve been walking for hours,” Li Yan muttered, pulling her cloak tighter. “Are you sure this cavern even exists?” Lin Dong didn’t answer immediately. He pulled the jade shard from his belt — the one given to him by the old stranger — and held it up to the light. The crack across its surface glowed faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat. “It’s guiding us,” he said softly. The shard’s light shimmered toward a distant cliff face, half-hidden by a waterfall that cascaded into nothingness. The sound of it filled the air — deep, endless, ancient. As they drew closer, Li Yan’s eyes widened. “There’s… something behind the falls.” Through the

Dawn unfurled like silk across the horizon. The mountains behind Lin Dong and Li Yan shimmered in gold mist, their peaks crowned with the memory of storm and dragonlight. Below stretched the Whispering Plains — a vast sea of grass, rippling under the wind like green fire. Every gust seemed to murmur faint voices, faint and ghostly — hence the name. Travelers said the plains remembered everything that had ever died upon them. Lin Dong stood at the ridge, his cloak fluttering in the early light. The air was cool, but his skin hummed faintly with the same power that had awakened in the cavern. Each heartbeat carried a trace of something deeper — a quiet pulse, steady as the dragon’s breath. Beside him, Li Yan adjusted the strap of his pack, eyes bright with curiosity. “So this is it. The Whispering Plains.” “It’s too quiet,” Lin Dong murmured. Li Yan glanced at him. “Quiet is good.” “Not always,” Lin Dong replied. His gaze swept across the plains. The grass shifted with the wind —