The borderlands of the empire looked nothing like the home I once remembered. The cities that stood proud under the imperial banner now burned low, their rooftops glowing with smoke. Fields lay blackened, villages half-empty. The scent of iron and dust clung to the wind.
We arrived at dusk, our horses stumbling over ground scarred by battle. Soldiers loyal to me waited along the ridge, their armour mismatched, faces drawn from both loyalty and exhaustion. Above their tents, the banner they carried flickered white and red—the Flame of Frost.
I dismounted, my boots sinking into the soft, ruined earth. A man stepped out from the largest tent, broad-shouldered with streaks of grey in his beard. His left arm was bound in cloth, but the fire in his eyes outshone any wound.
"Prince Mukul Zhao," he greeted with a low bow. "I am General Fan Liang, commander of the southern resistance. We fight in your name, though I never thought I'd see the exile return."
I studied him carefully. "You call it resistance. I didn't order rebellion."
"No," he said softly, "but the empire gave us no other choice. Zhao Tian bleeds the people dry. The Emperor's health fails, and the nobles bend to the new power that whispers through the palace halls."
Lian Xueyin joined me, her calm voice slicing through the uneasy echo of war. "You mean the corruption of the Dark System."
Fan Liang nodded grimly. "Yes. The priests say the air itself listens to him now. Men vanish, their shadows left behind."
His words felt like the wind pressing against my chest. The mark beneath my robes pulsed faintly, as if hearing its brother's name.
"I came not to wear a crown," I said, "but to stop this corruption. The darkness festers through bloodlines—I can feel it drawing near."
Fan Liang bowed again. "Then the rebellion fights for your cause, not your throne. We are yours to command."
I looked out across the barren horizon where the empire's banners fluttered weakly in the evening wind. Battle drums echoed far off, distant but approaching. The war had already begun.
That night, in the quiet of the command tent, I sat alone with maps scattered before me—the empire divided like broken glass between factions, loyalists, and shadows. Arina's voice came softly through my thoughts.
"Host, your power has grown since binding the Abyss Source. But so has its hunger. Each time you use it, I feel the divine and human sides of you drift apart."
I frowned, resting a hand against my chest. The mark was faintly warm, comfort and menace both. "You mean I'm losing control?"
"Not yet," she said, "but the line thins. Emotion fuels divinity, but too much emotion will dissolve the structure that separates you from the gods who fell before."
Her words lingered in the still air. "You're saying I could become like them."
"Yes," Arina whispered. "You could. And the world would call it salvation while it burned."
I sighed quietly. "Then tell me—how do I keep this balance when every battle asks for more?"
"Remember your heart," she said simply. "Do not let victory replace compassion, or sorrow become power's disguise."
Her voice faded into the silence.
A soft sound followed—the tent flap shifting. Lian Xueyin entered quietly, her steps as soft as drifting snow. She carried no armour now, only a white robe dusted with sand.
"You're not resting," she said, setting down a water flask. "Again."
"I can't," I replied. "Every time I close my eyes, I see flames and ice consuming each other. Maybe that's all I am now."
She sat beside me without speaking for a moment. Then she said, "You're forgetting something important."
I turned to her. "What's that?"
"You're still human."
I wanted to believe it, but the power inside me pulsed—too—thealm, too vast to be mortal. I shook my head. "Maybe that's what I'm afraid of losing."
She looked at me, her expression softer than I'd seen it in days. "You're more human than most. You fight for others, even when they condemn you. The gods never did that."
Her words quieted the noise inside me. For a brief instant, the mark's glow eased.
"I don't want to hurt anyone again," I said.
"Then don't," she replied simply. "That's how you'll stay yourself."
I smiled faintly. Somehow, her simplicity hurt and healed all at once.
At dawn, the sound of horns broke the fragile peace. Scouts rushed into the camp, shouting, "Imperial forces! They've crossed the river—Zhao Tian's vanguard is here!"
Within minutes, the encampment transformed into a storm of activity. Soldiers armed themselves, banners raised again, trembling in the grey morning wind.
Fan Liang approached quickly. "Prince Mukul, they bring something unnatural with them. Our scouts say their eyes shine red in the dark."
I stepped past him, gripping the Snowfire Blade. Its half-red, half-blue light roared to life, steady and fierce. "Then we meet darkness with light."
Arina's voice steadied inside my mind, a heartbeat of certainty.
"Host, the enemy ahead carries traces of Zhao Tian's corrupted resonance. This may be a test to see how far his shadow can reach. Do not hold back too much… and do not lose restraint."
"Understood," I whispered.
Lian moved beside me, frost spiralling around her palm. "Ready?"
"As always."
We strode together toward the bluff overlooking the valley. Across the plain, an army waited—black banners painted with crimson dragons, flames flickering as unnatural energy rippled through their ranks.
At their front stood a single rider, shining with the glow of dark fire. Even from this distance, I recognized the gesture he made—a salute both mocking and challenging.
"Zhao Tian's herald," Lian said quietly. "He wants you to see him."
"Yes."
I raised my sword high, the glow brightening the morning air. "And I will answer."
Behind us, the soldiers of flame and frost shouted, their voices merging into thunder.
The first clash of light and darkness began again, and this time, I could feel something deeper awaken inside me—not anger, not hatred, but the faint tremor of fear.
Because maybe Arina was right.
Maybe I wasn't fighting the darkness anymore. Maybe, piece by piece, I was becoming it.