Lin Hao stepped out from the shattered doorway of the main hall and stopped as if he had walked into an invisible wall. The courtyard he had known all his life was gone. In its place lay a field of death.
Bodies covered the flagstones from one end to the other. Some lay twisted as if their bones had melted mid-movement. Others had collapsed into withered husks, skin drawn tight over skeletons like mummified relics dug from an ancient tomb. A few had not even remained intact, reduced to grey ash scattered across the ground, their outlines preserved only by darker stains where blood had once pooled.
The air carried a strange smell, not just iron and decay, but something older, like burned incense and cold stone sealed away for centuries. Frost rimed the edges of broken weapons. A faint white mist clung to the ground, curling around ankles like something alive and reluctant to leave.
