The second city had gone still. No drums. No humming. Only the wind and the faint creak of wood. The people could feel it — something in the north bleeding heat, spreading smoke that did not smell of the masters' ash, but of their own kind burning one another.
Yuran knelt beside Hei Long's resting form. The Origin's glow in his chest had faded to a faint shimmer, barely visible beneath his cloak.
"They've turned on each other," she whispered. "The highlands are burning. Shuang's towers are falling."
Hei Long's eyes opened slowly. The glow reflected in them like the memory of fire.
"I know," he said softly. "I can feel every spark that dies."
Qingxue stood nearby, her sword drawn though there was no enemy in sight. "We can march north. If we move now, we can stop it."
Yexin's foxfire flickered anxiously at her fingertips. "But if we leave the city—"
Hei Long lifted a trembling hand. "You won't."
They stared at him.
"I'll go."
The Decision
