“Jinshu…” Aunt Huo’s voice cut through the chaos, pulling his attention back from the fighting above. Her gaze locked onto his, heavy with a seriousness he had never seen before.
“There’s sothing you need to know,” she said, her tone wavering.
“Yeah?” he asked, blinking at her, his mind still trying to catch up.
“Your mother… she… she’s hurt. Badly.” Aunt Huo hesitated before forcing the words out.
“But she’s okay, right?” he asked, clinging desperately to the possibility.
Aunt Huo shook her head, her lips trembling as a single tear slid down her cheek.
“Where is she?” His voice cracked as the gravity of her words began to settle in.
Silently, Aunt Huo raised a hand and pointed toward the mountain’s entrance.
Jinshu didn’t waste a second. Stumbling forward, his thoughts were a jumbled ss, his heart pounding as a singular, overwhelming need drove him: he had to see his mother.
He moved past other Dragons clustered near the entrance, their gazes darting between the sky and the mountain. Their voices, though urgent, barely registered in his ears. His focus was unwavering.
The cavern’s entrance lood ahead, a gaping maw leading into the mountain's depths. As he stepped inside, the scene before him stole his breath.
The tunnel walls were lined with wounded and dying Dragons. So lay still, already lost to their injuries, their lifeless bodies unattended as the few healers remaining worked tirelessly on those who could still be saved.
Jinshu’s steps faltered for a mont before his eyes landed on a familiar figure: Yuetu. She was tending to a wounded Dragon, her hands moving with practiced care.
He forced his shaky legs to carry him toward her.
She noticed him before he was halfway there. At first, her face lit up with a warm, relieved smile. But as she took in his expression and battered state, her smile faded into a sorrowful frown. She handed her patient off to a younger helper and rushed to his side.
“Jinshu, is that really you?” she asked softly, caution in her voice.
He nodded stiffly, his throat too tight for words. “Where is my mother?” he asked, his voice breaking.
Yuetu hesitated, glancing toward the side.
“Tell !” His shout reverberated through the cavern, drawing the eyes of the injured and their caretakers.
Yuetu flinched but quickly pointed to a side chamber a short distance away.
Jinshu said nothing more, his legs moving on their own as he stumbled toward the indicated room. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if his heart were sinking deeper with every pace.
The anticipation was suffocating, his breaths coming shallow as the looming weight of what he might find threatened to crush him.
Slowly, Jinshu pushed open the door. A wave of potent, bitter scents hit him imdiately—an overwhelming mixture of dicinal herbs and blood.
Before he could fully take in the room, hurried footsteps approached. An old man in the signature white healer’s robes appeared, bumping into Jinshu’s chest in his haste.
The hunched elder looked up, his wrinkled face registering recognition as his gaze t Jinshu’s. He opened his mouth as if to say sothing but faltered, the words dying on his lips. With a small bow of his head, he brushed past Jinshu and disappeared down the hall.
Jinshu barely noticed. His eyes were fixed on the still form lying in the center of the room.
The sight hit him like a physical blow. The sheets on the bed were stained deep red, soaked with blood. The woman’s face was deathly pale, a stark contrast to her dark blue hair, now matted and stiff with partially dried blood.
It was his mother.
He stumbled forward, his legs feeling like they didn’t belong to him. His hand reached out instinctively, trembling as it stretched toward her lifeless form. But before he could reach her, his knees gave out, crashing against the hard stone floor.
Jinshu didn’t try to stand. He crawled on his hands and knees, each movent slow and deliberate, as though the closer he got, the more the truth would solidify into sothing he couldn’t ignore.
When he reached the bed, he grabbed her hand, desperate to find a trace of warmth, a sign of life.
But there was none.
Her hand was cold. Not the warmth of sleep or even unconsciousness, but the icy void of death.
His chest tightened as he struggled to breathe, his heart pounding in frantic denial. He pulled himself up and draped his body over hers, clutching her as though his touch alone could bring her back.
He wanted to scream, to cry, to beg her to wake up. But no words ca, only a strangled, choked wheeze that tore its way from his throat.
Only one thought prevailed in Jinshu’s mind. Fix this. I have to fix this.
***
Long Zui sipped leisurely from her custom-made, bottomless wine gourd, savoring her hand-brewed Drunken Dragon Wine. She watched the chaos below with mild amusent, her gaze lazily shifting to the giant, frantic figure clawing at the invisible barrier around her.
The bumbling buffoon—bird?—whatever it was, flailed uselessly. The massive Golden Roc Patriarch’s desperate attacks sent gusts of wind powerful enough to shove his own clan mbers backward, preventing them from advancing toward the dragons.
“Pftt! Sooo stupid,” she muttered between chuckles, her voice carrying an edge of condescension.
“Caw! Break, damn it! Break!” the bird screeched, his enormous talons scraping uselessly against her impenetrable defenses.
Long Zui sighed dramatically, feigning boredom. “Ah, this is getting so dull…”
With exaggerated slowness, she began tracing intricate formations in the air. Her movents were deliberate, taunting, each stroke oozing nonchalance. The glowing symbols floated around her, radiating multicolored light that shimred like a celestial halo.
“Let make this interesting,” she said, tapping the center of one formation with a flick of her finger.
The air around her erupted in a kaleidoscope of light. Rainbow-colored rays shot out in all directions, tearing through the fabric of reality itself. Wherever the light passed, the sky split into jagged black scars that revealed the void beyond.
“Caw!” Peng Niao shrieked as the rainbow rays slashed across his massive wings and chest, carving gaping, bleeding wounds the size of rivers.
“Hmm,” Long Zui mused, sipping her wine as if inspecting her handiwork. “Not bad. But I’m bored now. Ti for you to die.”
With a casual gesture, the rainbow beams converged in her hand, coalescing into the form of a radiant longsword. The weapon shimred with overwhelming energy, its edges humming with raw power.
She swung the sword lightly, almost lazily, unleashing crescent-shaped blades of energy that streaked forward faster than the eye could follow.
Her target wasn’t the Patriarch.
The deadly arcs of light swept across the battlefield below, cutting through the flock of golden rocs like a scythe through wheat.
Hundreds of rocs disintegrated in an instant.
By the ti she’d finished her third swing, more than half the enemy forces had been reduced to nothing but falling feathers and ash.
Their dying squawks were like music to the ears of the dragons waiting over the Dragon Vein Mountains.
The dragons' cheers echoed like thunder over the mountains, their voices swelling with newfound hope.
"Long Zui! Long Zui!" they chanted, her na rising like a war cry among the surviving warriors.
Peng Niao froze midair, his massive avian form trembling as the realization of their loss sank in. His golden feathers bristled, and his beak opened wide with a screech that reverberated across the battlefield.
“Caw! Retreat!”
The remaining golden rocs obeyed, scattering into the horizon. Yet, no matter how fast they flew, they could not outpace the deadly light that Long Zui unleashed. Crescent arcs of energy tore through the sky, claiming dozens more before they could escape.
By the ti the survivors disappeared into the distance, only a handful of the fastest and strongest rocs remained alive.
Long Zui finally lowered her radiant sword, letting it dissolve into shimring motes of multicolored light. With a soft sigh, she descended toward the main plateau, where most of the dragons had gathered.
The scene was grim. Over ninety percent of the dragons bore injuries, so severe, with only a few standing unscathed. Many elders and warriors were being tended to by healers, while others watched Long Zui’s approach with quiet reverence.
Three figures broke away from the crowd to et her.
The first was a white-haired woman whose icy deanor barely masked the exhaustion etched on her face. The second, her crimson hair wild and singed, walked with defiant energy despite a bleeding gash on her arm. The third, a quieter presence, had soft rabbit ears twitching nervously atop her head.
It was Xue who spoke first, her tone as blunt as ever. “Thank you for your help. Without you, we would have all died.”
“That’s not true!” Huo snapped, her fiery temper flaring despite her fatigue. “If Jiai hadn’t gotten injured, we could’ve held them off.”
Long Zui’s brow furrowed. “What do you an Jiai got hurt? Is she okay?”
The three won exchanged uneasy glances, their silence tightening the knot forming in Long Zui’s chest.
It was Tuzi who finally broke the tension, her voice soft yet steady. “Jiai’s heart was pierced by Peng Niao’s talon. We sent her to the clan’s best healer, but… we haven’t heard anything since.”
“What?!” Long Zui’s voice rose sharply, her usual playfulness gone, replaced by raw urgency. “Why are you all standing around?! Take to her!”
The three won hesitated only a mont before nodding in unison. Without another word, they turned and led Long Zui into the mountain’s depths.
Every step Long Zui took was heavy with dread, her mind racing. Jiai, her sister-in-law, was many things: stubborn, proud, and infuriating at tis—but she was also family. And family was sothing Long Zui protected at all costs.
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