The south was burning.
At first, they were just rumors carried by merchants with anxious eyes and restless tongues: lootings in isolated villages, desecrated temples, disappeared caravans. Then, the news became certainties: columns of smoke rising above border posts, fires painting the sky with red and orange hues as if the earth itself were rebelling. Finally, the most brutal blow: from the province of Lingyan, where the Dragon Temples had stood for centuries as guardians of faith and memory, rose thick black smoke, so heavy it seemed to want to suffocate the sun itself.
When the urgently sealed message arrived, the hurried steps of the messengers echoed through the marble hallways like war drums. Jin Long received it in silence and opened it before the council. His gaze hardened, and the air in the room seemed to freeze.
"They have taken Qianlu Fortress," he announced in a grave voice, brow furrowed.
