Contrary to expectation, the native spirits did not strike again. They drifted into the fog, watching from a distance like sentinels wary of a stranger's campfire. Though Li Wei's presence had quelled them, he knew such tolerance was fleeting.
In every realm, balance demanded dominion. Which meant that only one species could claim it for long.
For now, the Liu clan breathed. Fires crackled, breath steamed in the frigid air, and the wounded murmured faint prayers. Yet the stillness that followed was the kind that often precedes a storm, not peace.
Li Wei stood at the river's edge, his reflection bending in the current like a ghost that refused alignment. His voice was low when he spoke, but it carried across the camp. "Do not mistake silence for defeat. Even the wind bows before the mountain, but never for long."
