The night air was bitter, and the mountain wind had teeth.
I pulled my cloak tighter as I crossed the southern ridge. The guards didn't stop me—none would. I had no formal patrol to inspect. No official reason to be out this far. But with Mingyu returned, Yaozu had finally left my side for a few hours to handle his own reports. And in his absence, the silence pressed closer than usual.
So I followed the firelight, promising to myself that I would be back before he got home.
It glimmered from the cliffs like a quiet promise—one of the forward Red Demon camps, half-hidden behind frost-glazed trees and the curve of rock. It wasn't far. But it was enough distance to be forgotten.
I stepped past the outer ring of guards, none of whom looked up. Not when they saw my boots. Not when they saw my eyes. My presence needed no explanation.
Deming was there.
