Dawn was breaking over the monastery on the shores of the Qilan River, where mist mingled with the damp aroma of the surrounding forests. There, far from the bustle of the capital and the watchful eye of the Empire, Zhenwu the Exiled contemplated a map spread across a dark wooden table. His fingers moved with precision over the boundaries of the Empire, pointing to mountains, rivers, and cities, memorizing each route, each step that might bring him closer to what had been taken from him: his birthright.
Before him, representatives of three neighboring nations listened attentively, while a lady of the White Tiger House and a young man from the Order of the Oathless Blades remained silent, evaluating every gesture and every word from Zhenwu. The tension in the room was palpable, as if each breath could break the fragile alliance being woven.
