Snow greeted Lan's return, in the only way it knew how.
Cold, unwelcoming, wind howling like wolves as he rode through Ranevia's southern pass. His black robes fluttered behind him, the fur-lined mantle over his shoulders heavy with frost. His steed's hooves struck hardened ice, each clop echoing against the stone walls and the broken buildings.
And then… the scent.
Metallic. Wet. Familiar.
Blood.
The road ahead was stained in it—crimson streaks across the white snow. The corpses came into view next. Dozens at first. Then hundreds. Soldiers in black-and-gold Solaris armor standing tall and proud near the smoldering remnants of makeshift barricades.
The fallen were commoners, miners, rebels—men and women of Ranevia. Men and women who were loyal to Lan, who had believed in his vision. Among them, some bore the soul brand marked in their flesh.
The faint glow of Qi still clung to their cooling corpses.
Lan said nothing. His horse carried him forward in solemn silence.
