Dawn unfurled like silk across the horizon. The mountains behind Lin Dong and Li Yan shimmered in gold mist, their peaks crowned with the memory of storm and dragonlight. Below stretched the Whispering Plains — a vast sea of grass, rippling under the wind like green fire.
Every gust seemed to murmur faint voices, faint and ghostly — hence the name. Travelers said the plains remembered everything that had ever died upon them.
Lin Dong stood at the ridge, his cloak fluttering in the early light. The air was cool, but his skin hummed faintly with the same power that had awakened in the cavern. Each heartbeat carried a trace of something deeper — a quiet pulse, steady as the dragon's breath.
Beside him, Li Yan adjusted the strap of his pack, eyes bright with curiosity.
"So this is it. The Whispering Plains."
"It's too quiet," Lin Dong murmured.
Li Yan glanced at him. "Quiet is good."
"Not always," Lin Dong replied. His gaze swept across the plains. The grass shifted with the wind — but beneath the surface, the earth seemed to breathe.
They began their descent. The sound of the waterfall faded behind them, replaced by the soft, endless sigh of grass. A hawk wheeled high above, its cry slicing the morning silence.
For hours they walked. Occasionally, they passed the bones of spirit beasts — bleached white and half-buried in the soil. Once, they found the remains of a caravan: shattered wagons, torn banners, and the lingering scent of burned incense.
"This wasn't beasts," Li Yan muttered. "Too clean. Too fast."
Lin Dong crouched by a wheel marked with blackened sigils. His fingers traced the edges. "A talisman burn."
"Which means—"
"Cultivators," Lin Dong finished. He rose, scanning the horizon. "And they weren't here long ago."
The air shifted again — faint but deliberate. The whispering in the grass grew louder, like countless voices murmuring secrets just beyond comprehension.
Then, faintly, a vibration ran through the soles of their boots.
Hoofbeats.
Lin Dong's eyes sharpened. "Get down."
They slid into the grass as a line of riders appeared over the ridge — six, maybe seven in total, clad in black and silver armor. Each carried a long spear etched with runes that glowed faintly blue.
Their leader, a tall man with a crimson cloak, raised his hand. The group halted.
"The energy trail ends here," he said, his voice deep and cold. "He was here. The Seal's residue lingers."
One of the riders dismounted, kneeling to press a talisman against the soil. The rune lit up instantly — pulsing once before fading.
"Direction confirmed," the man said. "Heading east, toward Yan City."
The leader's eyes narrowed. "Then we move. Lord Lei Tian will have his prize before the month's end."
They spurred their mounts forward, vanishing into the haze.
Lin Dong waited until the last echo of hoofbeats faded, then exhaled slowly. His hand had never left the hilt of his blade.
"They're hunting the Seal," Li Yan whispered.
"No," Lin Dong said quietly. "They're hunting me."
He stood, scanning the plains again. For the first time, the vast openness didn't feel free — it felt exposed. Every shadow in the grass seemed to move.
They continued east, faster now. The sun climbed higher, and heat shimmered on the horizon. But the whispers in the grass didn't fade; they followed, soft and eerie, like the breath of ghosts.
By midday, they reached the remnants of an old stone road. Cracked slabs poked through the grass, leading toward a cluster of ruined watchtowers in the distance.
"We can rest there," Li Yan said.
Lin Dong nodded, though his gaze lingered on the road. The air around it shimmered faintly — not with heat, but with energy.
They crossed the broken path carefully, stepping between weeds and rubble. As they approached the towers, the wind shifted again — colder now, heavy with static.
A faint, metallic hum filled the air.
"Li Yan," Lin Dong said softly.
"Yeah?"
"We're not alone."
The grass exploded beside them as something massive surged upward — a spirit beast, its body a blur of bronze scales and shifting smoke. It struck like lightning, claws raking the earth where they had just stood.
They leapt apart, blades drawn. The beast reared back, revealing a body halfway between a serpent and a lion, eyes glowing like molten gold.
"A Plains Wyrm!" Li Yan shouted. "I thought they were extinct!"
"Apparently not!" Lin Dong yelled back, rolling beneath a swipe that tore a trench into the ground.
The creature's roar sent shockwaves through the ruins, scattering debris like hail. Lin Dong's heart hammered, his pulse syncing with the energy still burning beneath his skin. The Seal reacted instinctively, flaring light beneath his collarbone.
He moved before thinking — thrusting his palm forward. A golden ripple burst outward, catching the wyrm across the chest and staggering it.
Li Yan stared. "That… that wasn't just talisman energy!"
"No," Lin Dong said through gritted teeth. "That was something else."
The wyrm lunged again. Lin Dong spun, blade flashing, and drove the strike upward — carving a brilliant arc of light that split through the creature's scales. The beast roared in fury, collapsing with a thundering crash that sent dust rolling through the air.
When the silence returned, both men were breathing hard. The wyrm's body shimmered faintly — then dissolved into smoke, leaving only a cracked spirit core glowing on the ground.
Lin Dong knelt, picking it up. The core pulsed once, then dimmed, its energy flowing into his palm. For a moment, the mark on his chest flared in response — not violently this time, but in recognition.
Li Yan looked around warily. "If a wyrm can still roam here, what else might be waking up?"
Lin Dong closed his hand around the core. "Something's stirring these lands. The Seal… or the ones looking for it."
He looked east again, toward the distant shimmer of Yan City, half-hidden by mist and sunlight.
"Whatever waits there — it's where our answers are."
The camera pulled back slowly — showing the vast plains stretching endlessly beneath the sky, dotted with ruins, shadows, and movement. The whispers in the grass rose once more — faint, mournful, yet alive.
A storm was coming.