The forest path twisted and dipped, slick with morning dew.
Ling Tian followed the woman in silence, Yue Xi trailing close behind.
The woman moved quickly, not glancing back to see if they could keep up. Her bow was slung over her shoulder, a quiver at her hip. In the pale light, her steps were steady, confident—as though she had walked this path a thousand times before.
Ling Tian's breathing grew ragged. His legs, once capable of crossing realms in a single stride, now felt heavy, his muscles aching with every step.
Mortal.
The word echoed in his mind like a curse.
He pressed a hand to his side, feeling the damp warmth of blood beneath his robes. The wound from the soldier's blade was shallow, but the pain was constant, gnawing. This body bled too easily, weakened too quickly.
Behind him, Yue Xi's face was pale. Her divine grace was gone, replaced with a fragile beauty. She clutched her arm, where a jagged cut ran from elbow to wrist.
Ling Tian slowed his pace until he was beside her.
"Can you still walk?"
Her lips curved into a faint, bitter smile.
"I can… but I hate this."
He understood. They had been worshipped as gods, untouched by hunger, thirst, or injury. Now, every breath scraped their throats raw, every step was a battle.
The woman ahead suddenly stopped
"We'll rest here."
They had come to a small clearing where a ruined shrine stood, half-swallowed by vines. The stone statue at its center was cracked, its face weathered away.
Ling Tian recognized the faded carving at its base.
It was meant to depict him—the God of Justice.
His jaw tightened. Once, mortals had knelt before this image, offering prayers. Now, moss and rot claimed it.
The woman knelt and rummaged through her leather satchel. She pulled out a cloth bundle and unwrapped it—inside were several pieces of flatbread and a small waterskin.
"Eat." She handed the bread to Yue Xi first, then to Ling Tian.
He stared at the coarse, uneven surface of the bread. The scent was faintly sour. It was a far cry from the celestial feasts he once knew.
But when he bit into it, the dry crumbs stuck to his throat—and suddenly he realized he was starving.
He ate slowly, his pride refusing to let him devour it like an animal, but each swallow felt like relief. The water, though lukewarm, eased the dryness in his mouth.
"Why did you help us?" Ling Tian finally asked.
The woman met his gaze without hesitation.
"Because you were about to die."
Her tone was simple, matter-of-fact, yet her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary—studying him, as though searching for something she half-remembered.
Before Ling Tian could ask her name, the sound of distant horns broke the stillness.
The woman's expression hardened.
"They're tracking us. If we stay here, we won't see another sunrise."
She rose, already reaching for her bow.
"If you want to live, follow me—and do exactly as I say."
Ling Tian exchanged a glance with Yue Xi.
The ache in his body was growing, his blood still seeping through his robes. But somewhere deep within, a spark of defiance burned.
They had cast him down from the heavens.
But he would not let the mortal world break him.