A lone horse's whinny broke the moment. From between the trees, a courier in midnight-blue robes emerged, leading a riderless steed. His head bowed low as he presented a sealed scroll to Ling Han.
Courier: "From the Inner Court, urgent but… discreet."
Ling Han broke the wax seal without comment, scanning the lines. Whatever he read made his gaze flick toward Xiyue.
Ling Han: "…We're taking the north road."
Xiyue: "We?"
The courier didn't answer, only pressed the reins of the second horse into Xiyue's hand before disappearing into the trees.
It should have been simple—two horses, one path—but the road north was narrow, hemmed in by snow-laden pines. They were forced to ride close, so close that Ruo Han could feel the warmth of both men on either side of him.
Every crunch of snow under hoof seemed louder than it should be.
Xiyue kept his eyes forward, but his hand occasionally brushed Ruo Han's when the reins shifted. Ling Han rode on the other side, just near enough that his knee would tap Ruo Han's stirrup every so often—deliberate or not, Ruo Han couldn't tell.
Hours passed like this, tension braided into every step. Then, just as the pines began to thin, Ruo Han's mare halted abruptly, ears flicking.
From up ahead came the faint sound of chimes.
Not wind chimes—these were deeper, resonant, like temple bells heard underwater. And with each tone, the air grew heavier, the snow falling slower, as though time itself were being pulled apart.
Ling Han, low: "Illusion field."
Xiyue: "And a strong one."
Ruo Han's breath clouded in front of him, but the mist didn't fade—it hung there, curling like ghostly fingers around his face.
Somewhere beyond the trees, something was waiting.