The skies above the Red Demon camp were still heavy with smoke when I stepped out of the command tent, my boots pressing fresh prints into blood-streaked dirt. The scent of steel, sweat, and something scorched lingered in the air—not unpleasant, not anymore. It smelled like survival.
Mingyu walked ahead of me, slower than usual, but there was nothing hesitant in his stride. His robes had been changed, deep red and black, the color of warning banners and fresh kills. He no longer bothered with the neutral shades of a peacekeeping prince.
'Let them see,' his silence said. 'Let them see what I've become.'
The guards lining our path didn't bow. They dropped to their knees, their heads bowed as they pressed their fists to their chests in reverence. Every single one of them.
He didn't look at them, and neither did I.
"Do you think they understand yet?" I asked, my voice low as we continued walking forward.
