The Southern Sky
The southern sky was covered with dense clouds, gray as ashes that float after a fire. Every ray of light that filtered through seemed to tremble over the distant hills, as if the world held its breath before what was about to come.
The imperial troops were scattered, disorganized, and fatigued, and the leaders looked with doubt and suspicion at the carriage descending the dirt path.
When Suwei stepped down, his presence cut through the murmur like a sword parting silk.
His steps were firm, confident, as if every inch of the terrain recognized him.
The wind stirred the deep blue cape, embroidered with silver threads, and the imperial seal brooch glimmered under the dim light of dawn.
The White Crane symbol seemed to shine with a silent authority, reminding everyone who truly stood before them.
General Quian, veteran of a thousand campaigns, stepped forward, frowning.
