The wind outside the cave coils like a living thing, threading through jagged stone and ancient bones. It carries with it the scent of iron and prophecy. Feng Lihan remains on one knee long after the truth is spoken, Lin Yue's arms tight around him as if anchoring him to the present. His wings shudder once, then slowly still—not in weakness, but restraint.
The old Chief rises with visible effort, her bones creaking like the cave itself. "You must leave before dawn," she says. "The seals here were woven to hide one bloodline. Now there are two. The Demon Clan will feel it."
Lin Yue lifts his head, fear flashing across his face. "So there's nowhere left to hide."
The Chief meets his gaze without pity. "There never was. Only time."
Feng Lihan finally stands. The air around him shifts as his wings spread fully, red feathers catching the faint light like embers stirred back to life. "Then we stop running," he says. His voice is hoarse, but steady. "My parents died buying silence. I won't waste it."
The old Chief studies him for a long moment, then nods. "The Hawk Clan must be warned. Not just the warriors—the elders, the healers, the watchers. War will not begin with drums. It will begin with whispers."
Outside, thunder rolls faintly, though the sky is clear.
They leave the cave together, the stone mouth yawning behind them like a wound finally exposed to air. Dawn creeps over the mountains, painting the world in ash and gold. Lin Yue pauses at the threshold, instinctively placing a hand over his abdomen. A strange warmth answers him—gentle, but undeniably present.
Feng Lihan notices. His expression softens, grief giving way to something fiercer. "I swear," he murmurs, pressing his forehead to Lin Yue's, "no one will ever force our child to carry a crown soaked in blood."
Lin Yue exhales shakily. "History doesn't end just because we want it to."
"No," Feng Lihan agrees. "But it can be rewritten."
They return to the Hawk Clan under the cover of rising wind. News spreads quickly—too quickly. By midday, the elders are gathered, faces pale as the old Chief recounts what was hidden for generations. Murmurs ripple through the hall when Feng Lihan's origin is revealed. Fear. Awe. Doubt.
And loyalty.
"The Demon Clan has been quiet for decades," one elder says. "Why now?"
"Because blood calls to blood," Feng Lihan answers. "And because they believe we've forgotten how to fight."
A scout bursts into the hall before anyone can respond, wings battered, breath ragged. "Chief," he gasps, dropping to one knee. "The western skies—dark shapes. Too many to count."
Silence crashes down.
Lin Yue feels it then—a sharp pulse, like a heartbeat not his own. He grips Feng Lihan's arm. "They're closer than we thought."
Feng Lihan closes his eyes briefly, centering himself. When he opens them, the fire in his gaze is unmistakable. "Sound the warning," he commands. "Evacuate the lower nests. Arm the borders."
As the clan erupts into motion, far beyond the mountains, a shadowed hall stirs. Crimson eyes gleam in the darkness as a figure rises from a throne of bone.
"So," the Demon Lord murmurs, lips curling. "The bloodline survives."
Outside, the wind howls—not in warning, but recognition.
The world remembers.
And this time, it prepares to fight back.