The moon was a pale lantern in the heavens, spilling silver light over the mountainside as Lianna stood at the edge of the training ground. Her sword trembled in her grip, not from weakness, but from the weight of expectation pressing down on her. Around her, the night was alive with restless whispers—the rustle of trees, the sigh of the wind, and the low growl of unseen creatures prowling beyond the torches.
Han Feng watched her carefully, his arms folded, his expression sharp as ever. "Again," he said, his voice cutting through the silence like the crack of a whip.
Lianna gritted her teeth and raised her sword. Sweat dripped down her forehead, stinging her eyes, but she ignored it. She had repeated this sequence a hundred times already, her muscles burning with exhaustion, but she knew he would not allow her to rest. Not tonight. Not when the veil between worlds was thinning.
She moved, her steps measured, her strikes precise. Slash, pivot, thrust—her body flowed like water, just as he had instructed. But halfway through the final stance, her wrist faltered. The sword wavered.
Han Feng was in front of her instantly, his hand seizing the blade before it could dip further. His eyes burned with irritation, but beneath that fire was a deeper concern he never voiced aloud.
"You hesitate," he said coldly.
"I'm tired," Lianna whispered, her breath ragged.
"Do you think the Forgotten King will wait for you to rest?" His words lashed at her pride, making her heart tighten. "Do you think fate will bend because you are weary?"
She looked up into his gaze, feeling the familiar sting of his harshness. Yet, for once, instead of shrinking under it, something inside her snapped.
"And do you think I'm made of steel?" she demanded, her voice trembling with both fury and despair. "You expect me to fight endlessly, to endure like a machine—but I'm not! I'm just me, Han Feng. A girl thrown into battles I never asked for. A girl trying to survive."
Her words echoed through the night, hanging between them like a drawn sword.
For a moment, Han Feng said nothing. His expression remained unreadable, but his grip on her blade loosened. He stepped back, watching her with eyes that seemed to pierce deeper than the surface of her anger.
"You think I don't know?" he said at last, his tone quieter, though still edged with steel. "Every time I push you, it tears at me too. But weakness will not forgive you, Lianna. The moment you falter, you die. And I…" His voice faltered, the words choking in his throat before he could finish. He turned away sharply, hiding the storm in his gaze.
Lianna's chest rose and fell, her anger simmering into silence. She lowered her sword slowly, her hands trembling. There was so much she wanted to say—so much she wanted to demand from him—but the weight of the night pressed heavily on both of them, silencing their unspoken truths.
It was at that moment that Zhao Yichen approached from the shadows, his smirk faintly illuminated by the torchlight. "Well, well," he drawled, his tone playful but sharp. "Did I just stumble into a lover's quarrel, or was that supposed to be training?"
Lianna's cheeks flushed instantly. "It wasn't—"
Han Feng shot him a glare that could have burned stone, but Yichen only shrugged, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. "Relax, Prince of Frost. If you keep glaring at me like that, I might actually think you care too much."
"Get to the point," Han Feng snapped.
Yichen's expression sobered, his playful mask slipping. "Scouts returned. They've seen signs of movement in the northern woods. Shadows darker than night itself. The Forgotten King's presence… it's growing stronger."
Lianna's heart clenched. The mere mention of that name was enough to stir the dread coiling at the edges of her soul. Ever since she had first heard the prophecy, the name had haunted her like a curse—an omen of the storm to come.
Han Feng's eyes narrowed. "How soon?"
"Two days, maybe less," Yichen replied grimly. "And if that's true, then we don't have the luxury of bickering anymore." His gaze shifted to Lianna, softer now, though still carrying its usual edge of mischief. "You've been pushing yourself, but the real battle will be unlike anything you've faced. You'll need more than just technique."
Lianna looked between the two men—the cold, unyielding warrior who pushed her beyond her limits, and the sly, sharp-tongued protector who always seemed to see through her masks. Both of them were right. She had no choice but to grow stronger. Faster. Smarter.
"Then teach me," she said suddenly, her voice steady with newfound resolve.
Both men blinked at her.
"Don't hold back. Don't treat me like I'll break. If the Forgotten King is coming, then I need everything you can give me."
A slow smile spread across Yichen's face. "Finally," he murmured. "The fire I've been waiting to see."
Han Feng's gaze softened almost imperceptibly, though his tone remained stern. "Very well. But remember—you asked for this. There will be no mercy."
The training that followed was merciless indeed. Han Feng drilled her in precision, forcing her to repeat every stance until her body screamed in protest. Yichen, on the other hand, focused on her instincts, setting up traps, illusions, and feints to sharpen her reflexes. Where Han Feng demanded perfection, Yichen demanded adaptability.
Hours bled away into the night, the torches burning low. Lianna's body was battered, her arms trembling, but she refused to yield. Each strike, each dodge, each desperate parry carved strength into her bones. With every failure, she rose again. With every stumble, she steadied her resolve.
By the time dawn painted the horizon in shades of gold and rose, she collapsed to her knees, her chest heaving. Sweat soaked her clothes, and her hands were blistered, but her eyes shone with determination.
Han Feng stood over her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he extended his hand.
She looked at it for a moment before taking it, allowing him to pull her to her feet.
"You're not ready," he said bluntly.
Her heart sank.
"But…" His gaze held hers, steady and fierce. "You're closer than you've ever been. And that… might just be enough."
Yichen smirked, leaning against a tree. "High praise from the ice king himself. Lianna, you should frame that compliment—it may be the only one you ever get from him."
Lianna managed a weak laugh, though her body trembled with exhaustion. Despite the looming dread of the Forgotten King's approach, despite the terror coiling in her chest, a flicker of hope burned brighter than before.
For the first time, she believed she might survive what was coming.
But survival was only the beginning.
---
The rising sun painted the horizon, but its warmth did little to soothe the gnawing unease spreading through the camp. The scouts' reports echoed in every corridor of the fortress, whispered among soldiers who tried to mask their fear with bravado. The air itself felt heavier, charged with an energy that prickled at the skin and made even seasoned warriors restless.
Lianna sat beneath the canopy of an ancient pine, nursing the blisters on her palms. She wrapped a strip of cloth around her hand clumsily, her movements stiff. Every muscle in her body throbbed from the night's relentless training, but she refused to complain. Pain, she was learning, was not her enemy—it was her teacher.
Yichen dropped down beside her, a casual grin tugging at his lips. He held out a small flask. "Here. Drink."
Lianna sniffed the contents suspiciously. "What is it?"
"Medicine," he said innocently.
She raised a brow. "Since when does medicine smell like burnt cherries?"
"Since I decided to improve the taste." He winked.
Despite herself, Lianna chuckled softly before taking a tentative sip. The liquid burned her throat and made her cough violently. Yichen thumped her on the back, laughing outright. "See? Works like a charm."
Han Feng appeared then, his presence a stark contrast to Yichen's playful energy. His gaze swept over Lianna, assessing every tremor in her body, every flicker of exhaustion in her eyes.
"She needs rest," he said firmly.
Yichen leaned back lazily. "She needs strength more. Rest won't win us battles."
"Exhaustion won't either," Han Feng countered coldly.
Their voices clashed, but Lianna spoke up before the tension could explode. "Enough. I'll decide for myself." She looked at both men with steady resolve. "I know you both want what's best, but I can't keep hiding behind your arguments. If I'm to fight the Forgotten King, I must stand on my own feet—even if they're shaking."
Yichen raised his hands in mock surrender. "Fair enough. At least the girl's got fire."
Han Feng's jaw tightened, but he gave a short nod.
Before more could be said, a horn blast split the morning air. Deep, resonant, and filled with urgency—it was the signal for assembly.
The three of them rushed toward the courtyard where soldiers were already gathering. At the center stood Commander Zhao, his stern face grim as he addressed the troops.
"Last night, shadows were seen moving across the northern ridge. This morning, scouts found two villages empty—every soul gone without a trace. No blood. No struggle. Just silence."
A murmur of fear rippled through the crowd.
"The Forgotten King is moving faster than we anticipated," Zhao continued. "We must prepare for the possibility of an early confrontation."
Lianna's heart pounded. She exchanged a glance with Han Feng, who gave nothing away, and with Yichen, whose smirk had vanished entirely.
After the assembly, the atmosphere thickened with unease. Soldiers sharpened blades, whispered prayers, and prepared barricades. The fortress buzzed like a hive bracing for an attack.
That night, the sky grew restless. Clouds rolled in, swallowing the moon. The wind howled through the mountains, carrying with it a sound that chilled Lianna's blood—a low, mournful wail, like thousands of voices crying out in despair.
She stood on the ramparts, gripping the cold stone as the sound echoed. Yichen joined her, his expression unusually serious.
"Do you hear it?" she whispered.
He nodded slowly. "The souls he has taken. Bound to his will, crying through the wind. Once you hear it, you never forget."
A shiver ran down her spine. "How do you know?"
For a moment, Yichen's mask slipped, revealing a shadow of pain. "Because I've heard it before. And I lost someone to it."
She wanted to ask more, but Han Feng's sharp voice interrupted. "Both of you, inside. Now."
When they turned, they found him standing at the tower's entrance, his face pale and tense.
"What is it?" Lianna asked.
Han Feng didn't answer immediately. He glanced at the darkening sky, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "The barrier has weakened. He's closer than we thought."
The three of them hurried to the council chamber, where Zhao and the elders had already gathered. Maps were spread across the table, marked with red ink and scattered notes.
"The northern wards have collapsed," one elder said gravely. "We don't know how, but the seals that held him back are breaking."
"It's not just him," Zhao added. "Someone is aiding him. Someone within our ranks."
The room fell silent at his words. Betrayal. The very thought made Lianna's stomach twist.
Han Feng's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
"We don't know," Zhao admitted. "But the wards could not have failed so quickly without help from the inside."
Yichen tapped his fingers against the table thoughtfully. "Then it seems our fight isn't just against shadows—it's against traitors too."
Lianna's mind swirled. Who among them could betray their people? Why would anyone willingly aid the Forgotten King?
The meeting ended with grim orders—double patrols, stronger wards, and preparations for battle. But the seed of mistrust had been planted, and it grew like poison.
That night, Lianna lay awake in her chamber, staring at the ceiling as doubts consumed her. Faces of soldiers she had trained with, laughed with, trusted—any of them could be the traitor.
Her heart ached with the weight of uncertainty.
And then, just before sleep claimed her, she heard it again.
A whisper.
Not from the wind, but from within her room.
She sat up sharply, scanning the shadows. Her sword was at her side, but her hand trembled as she reached for it.
"Lianna…"
The voice was soft, almost gentle, but it made her blood run cold. It was neither Han Feng's nor Yichen's. It was something older, something darker.
Her breath caught. "Who's there?"
Silence.
Then, a laugh. Low. Sinister. Echoing as though from the depths of her own mind.
"The storm is coming, child of fate," the voice murmured. "And when it does… will you choose to stand, or will you kneel?"
Her heart hammered in her chest. The shadows in the corner of her room seemed to twist, stretching like claws reaching for her.
And then, just as suddenly, the presence vanished.
Lianna was left alone, trembling, the echo of the laugh lingering in the air.
---
❓️❓️❓️❓️❓️
Who is the traitor aiding the Forgotten King—and what choice will Lianna make when the shadows finally demand her allegiance?