In the eleventh year of the Yan–Liang War, winter came too early.
Snow stuck to the broken flags of both kingdoms like old bloodstains. The battlefield had gone silent—not because anyone won, but because both sides were too drained to keep fighting.
The White Fox Treaty forced a temporary ceasefire. Just enough time to bury bodies. Just enough time to breathe.
So Lin Ruoyi, General of the Southern Liang Army, rode into enemy territory alone.
Her cloak, deep red and stained darker by ash, trailed behind her like a storm flag. When she dismounted in front of the Peace Pavilion, the sound of her boots hitting stone cut through the cold air like a warning. Her presence didn't ask for attention—it demanded it.
The Yan ministers didn't look at her face. They looked at the two golden whips on her back, curled like sleeping dragons. Everyone had heard of her. The general who called down lightning when she fought. The one who never flinched. The one they said even the gods didn't dare provoke.
What they didn't expect was how young she looked. Or how cold. She had a strong God like aura.
She walked in like she owned the place.
Inside, seated behind scrolls and drawn maps, was Yan Xuan—the Third Prince of Yan.
He looked less like a warrior and more like a well- learned Scholar. White robes, long beautiful hairs. A pale mask covering the left side of his face, only showing his beautiful left eye and hiding scars beneath. Runes were etched faintly into the mask. Old. Protective. Or cursed. Or mysterious.
Only his right eye was clearly visible. Gold, sharp, steady.
He stood as she entered.
And for a second—everything shifted.
Nothing dramatic. Just something in the air. Off balance. Like a thread had been pulled somewhere above the sky.
Lin Ruoyi noticed it. She didn't show it.
Something deep inside her clenched. Familiar. Dangerous. Like seeing a memory from a life she never lived.
"General Lin," he said first, voice smooth and low. It was familiar voice.
She nodded. "Your Highness." The words were respectful. The tone? Not quite. She was lost for a second.
Their eyes locked again. He blinked. But dazed.
A flash slammed behind his eyes—her, in armor made of fire and gold, reaching for him while fading away. It was for a brief moment but it made him uneasy and grim.
"Do you believe in fate?" she asked. Just like that. No warning. Her voice was calm, but sharp.
Yan Xuan didn't blink. "I used to."
She looked at him for a second longer, then turned toward the treaty scroll on the table.
"Then maybe we were always meant to be enemies."
But neither of them believed that. Not really.
Far beyond the clouds, in the realm where gods once walked,
a forgotten fragment of a goddess's soul stirred.
And something old, something cursed, had just taken its first breath again.