The caravan had stopped for the night at a small clearing just beyond the town of Ironwood, where the forest thinned and the terrain began its slow, rugged descent. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and the smoke of campfires. Travelers huddled near their wagons, their conversations subdued as dusk deepened into night. Horses shifted in their harnesses, their soft snorts blending with the rustle of leaves overhead.
Mei knelt by one of the wagons; her scarf pulled low over her head as she worked on a young girl’s feverish brow. The child’s cheeks were flushed, her breath coming in soft, shallow gasps as she whimpered against the damp cloth Mei pressed to her skin.
“Just a little more, little one,” Mei murmured, her tone soothing despite the tightness in her chest. She reached into her satchel, pulling out a small vial of powdered herbs. Sprinkling a pinch into a cup of hot water, she swirled the mixture until it dissolved, then gently tilted the cup to the girl’s lips.
“Drink this. It’s bitter, but it’ll help.”
The girl’s mother, hovering anxiously nearby, whispered a soft prayer as her daughter took a hesitant sip, then another. Mei nodded reassuringly before moving on to her next patient, a grizzled old man with a sprained wrist sitting by a campfire.
As Mei bound his wrist with careful precision, she overheard snippets of conversation among the travelers. They spoke of the road ahead and the rumors from Ironwood about caravans disappearing, sects attacked and destroyed, and slaves taken, their faces drawn with unease.
Mei said nothing, but her ears strained to catch every word.
She hoped Jin Wu had been taken; better that than dead.
Later that night, as the camp settled into an uneasy quiet, Mei sat apart from the others at the edge of the clearing. Behind her, the faint glow of campfires flickered, casting long shadows over the craggy ground. She pulled an ancient map from a hidden space in her satchel, its brittle edges trembling slightly in the cool night breeze.
She unrolled it carefully, her fingers tracing the worn parchment. The map was old—far older than her grandfather. Sharp and angular markings were written in a language she could only partially understand. It was said to have been passed down through her family for generations, a relic of a time before the Ashen Wastes became what they were now—a desolate, forsaken stretch of earth.
Mei’s gaze lingered on the inked lines marking the Ashen Wastes, its expanse sprawling like a jagged scar across the map. Her attention settled on a particular spot, circled in faded ink marked with an unfamiliar symbol. Around it, notes had been scrawled in the same angular script, unreadable except for one ominous line, translated in careful handwriting:
“Beware where the earth swallows the sun.”
In the lower left corner, there was a diagram that looked like a maze, with a series of symbols at the bottom.
Mei frowned, the phrase echoing in her mind like a distant whisper. Her father had dismissed the map as a curiosity, a relic of their ancestors’ superstitions. But why were the mercenaries looking for it?
Her fingers tightened on the edge of the parchment as the faint murmurs of the caravan drifted behind her. The map was more than just a piece of her family’s past. It was her only clue to what those mercenaries were looking for. She rustled with the same question. Maybe it would be better if she hid. Find a little out-of-the-way town and open a shop again. But something tugged at her.
Mei’s jaw clenched, her thoughts swirling. If she stayed with the caravan, she would be all right.
“What’s out there?” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible above the rustling of the forest. Her eyes burned with quiet determination as the map reflected the faint firelight. She didn’t have the full picture, but she knew one thing: the mercenaries wanted something buried in the Ashen Wastes.
She folded the map carefully, tucking it back into her satchel. Her decision was made.
Mei was preparing to rest when the sound of horses approaching the camp shattered the fragile calm of the night. Four riders emerged from the darkness, their cloaks billowing as they dismounted with unhurried ease. The firelight cast their faces in flickering relief, but the shadows of their hoods obscured their features.
The caravan master rose to greet them, his tone polite but wary. “Travelers?”
One of the men—a wiry figure with a sharp nose and a faint scar across his cheek—nodded. “Just traders,” he said smoothly, his voice too casual. “Coming back from Ironwood. Thought we’d join your camp for the night. Strength in numbers, after all.”
The caravan master hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he took in the newcomers. “You don’t look like traders.”
The scarred man held up a small pouch, the faint clink of coins audible as he tossed it to the caravan master. “For your trouble,” he said, his smile not reaching his eyes.
After a long moment, the caravan master grunted and stepped aside. “Fine. But keep to yourselves. We’re not running an inn.”
The four men exchanged amused glances before settling at a fire near the edge of the camp. Mei watched them from the shadows, her scarf pulled tightly over her hair. Something about them set her on edge. Their movements were too practiced, their postures too controlled. One of them—broader than the rest, with a jagged blade strapped to his hip—glanced around the camp, his eyes lingering on each traveler as though taking inventory.
Mei’s heart sank. She tugged her scarf lower, her mind racing. Were they her pursuers? Or just more danger on the road?
That night, Mei lay beneath her blanket, staring up at the dark canopy of trees overhead. The campfires flickered faintly in the distance, their light barely reaching the edges of the clearing. Her satchel lay beside her, a reminder of the decision she’d made.
She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Her instincts told her the four men were not what they claimed to be. One of them had glanced in her direction earlier, his gaze lingering for just a moment too long before turning back to his companions. She told herself it could be a coincidence. But deep down, she knew better.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
The faint scrape of a boot snapped her attention. She sat up slowly, her hand instinctively reaching for her satchel. Her sharp ears picked up soft footsteps. Some traveler's call of nature? Or something else?
Unseen to her, four silhouettes moved through the camp, checking every traveler. They moved with the patience of hunters stalking prey.
Mei’s unease deepened. She clutched the satchel tightly, her thoughts heavy with resolve. With a swift move, she rolled from her bedding under a wagon, came out on the other side, and, like a ghost, banished into the forest.
----------------------------------------
The iron gates groaned open, revealing the sprawling expanse of the compound, shrouded in shadows. The air carried a chill that seeped into their bones, heavy with the weight of something ancient. Rabbit and Ears stumbled forward with the other captives, their shackles weighing on them.
Ears eyes darted across the compound as they entered, taking in the details. A cluster of buildings lined the western wall, their doors shut tight. A nine-storied, black pagoda rose in the distance to the east. Near the center of the compound, a central pavilion loomed, flanked by structures that might have been storerooms or armories. Prisoners huddled in small groups within a fenced-off enclosure near the far edge, their faces pale and lifeless.
Rabbit trudged beside him, his steps heavy with feigned exhaustion. To the untrained eye, they were just another pair of broken disciples, but Ears knew better. Rabbit’s gaze flicked to the guards stationed along the perimeter and then to the runes faintly glowing on the fence. He didn’t speak but opened and closed his hands, signaling what Rabbit already suspected: at least forty guards.
Ears tapped his finger against his thigh to get his attention and then brought his thumb and forefinger together in the form of a triangle. Rabbit's face sunk slightly—runes reinforced the fence.
A mercenary jabbed Rabbit with the blunt end of a spear. “Move, whelp,” the man growled. Rabbit staggered forward, gritting his teeth but keeping his head bowed. He knew better than to invite attention.
The prisoners were herded into the compound’s heart, where a tall man stood waiting. His black armor gleamed in the light, etched with silver crescents. A cold, oppressive aura surrounded him, pressing down on the captives like the weight of the heavens. His sharp eyes swept over them with disdain.
“Remove their shackles,” the man ordered, his voice sharp and devoid of mercy.
The guards moved quickly, unlocking the chains and casting them into a pile. Rabbit flexed his wrists, suppressing a wince as the raw skin protested the motion. Beside him, Ears did the same, his face a mask of stoic indifference. Any sign of relief or defiance could mark them as targets. They had learned that lesson well.
The man in black armor sneered. “You may think yourselves disciples of great sects, but here, you are nothing. Do as you’re told, and you might see another sunrise. Defy us, and you’ll wish for death long before it comes.”
With that, he gestured to the guards. “Throw them in with the others.”
The guards prodded Rabbit, Ears, and the other captives toward the fenced enclosure. The gate screeched open, and they were shoved inside. The gate clanged shut behind them, the sound reverberating like a death knell.
Rabbit and Ears exchanged a brief glance before moving to the far corner of the enclosure, where the shadows were deepest. They sank to the ground, their backs to the fence. Rabbit’s fingers brushed the dirt, tracing faint patterns as he began mapping the compound in his mind.
Ears leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper. “No easy way out.”
Rabbit nodded, his eyes scanning the prisoners clustered in the center of the enclosure. Their robes were tattered and stained, but the emblems of their sects were still visible—Silent Willow, Verdant Crane, and Radiant Flame among them. His jaw tightened. Had all these sects been attacked?
“We need information,” Rabbit murmured, his tone low. “Start with them.”
Ears nodded and rose to his feet, moving toward the group with the slow, weary shuffle of a broken captive. Rabbit remained where he was, his sharp gaze sweeping the compound for anything the guards might have overlooked.
Ears crouched near the group of prisoners, his expression carefully blank. “Where are we?” he asked, his voice low but steady.
A wiry man with a jagged scar across his cheek glanced up. His eyes were hollow, his voice flat. “The Darkmoon Sect’s outer stronghold,” he muttered. “Just beyond the Ashen Wastes.”
Ears frowned slightly, though he kept his tone neutral. “And what do they want with us?”
The scarred man shook his head. “No one knows,” he said bitterly. “They’ve been gathering disciples for weeks—maybe months. They take us in groups to the Wastes. None have returned.”
Another prisoner, a gaunt woman with a faded Verdant Crane emblem on her sleeve, spoke up, her voice a hoarse whisper. “They’re looking for something out there. We heard the guards talking about ruins.”
Ears nodded, filing the information away. “And escape?” he asked, his tone even quieter.
The scarred man let out a hollow laugh. “Escape? There’s no escape. The runes keep us in, and the guards kill anyone who tries. Even if you made it out, the Wastes would finish the job. You’d never survive.”
Ears said nothing, but his mind was already working through possibilities. He stood slowly, his expression unreadable. “Thank you,” he said simply before turning back to Rabbit.
Rabbit glanced up as Ears returned, crouching beside him in the shadows. “Guards are disciplined,” Ears said quietly. “No weak links. Runes on the fence seal the compound. They’re moving prisoners in groups to the Wastes.”
Rabbit’s jaw tightened. “We need to go before they move us.”
Ears nodded. “Not tonight. Too many eyes. We need a plan.”
Rabbit was about to respond when movement at the far end of the compound caught his attention. A group of figures emerged from one of the low buildings, their dark robes trimmed with silver. At the center of the group was a man Rabbit recognized instantly.
His breath caught. “Nian Ru,” he whispered.
Ears followed his gaze, his eyes narrowing. “It’s him,” he murmured. “But… not him.”
Nian Ru moved with the same commanding presence they remembered, but something about him was wrong. His skin seemed to shimmer faintly in the light as though it were not entirely flesh. His movements were too smooth, too precise, and his eyes… his eyes glowed faintly, catching the light with an unnatural sheen. The whole group looked off, inhuman.
Rabbit’s stomach turned. “They're not human,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.
Ears nodded grimly.
The group passed by without acknowledging the prisoners, their presence heavy and oppressive. Rabbit and Ears exchanged a glance, their fear mirrored in each other’s eyes.
“We have to leave,” Rabbit said quietly, his voice steady despite the unease gnawing at him. “Whatever’s happening here, we can’t stay.”
Ears nodded, his jaw clenched. “Soon.”
As the shadows deepened around the compound, the weight of the Darkmoon Sect’s presence pressed down on them like a suffocating shroud. Time was running out—and they both knew it.
----------------------------------------
The forest was an endless tangle of shadows and whispers. Mei moved as quickly and silently as she could, darting between trees and dodging low branches. Her satchel was pressed tightly against her chest, the map within a heavy weight that threatened to pull her down. Every instinct screamed at her to keep going, but exhaustion clawed at her legs, and her breath came in sharp, shallow bursts.
Behind her, she could hear them. The four men were gaining ground, their movements confident and unrelenting. They weren’t rushing—they didn’t need to. They were hunters, and they knew their prey had nowhere to go.
“She’s heading north!” one of the men shouted. His voice carried easily through the night, cold and triumphant.
Mei’s heart sank. They were driving her deeper into the forest, away from the safety of the caravan and toward isolation. Her mind raced, grasping for a plan, but the only thing she could think of was to keep moving. If she stopped now, it was over.
The faint glow of moonlight illuminated a small clearing ahead, but as she broke into it, her foot caught on a hidden root. She stumbled, her balance slipping as she fell hard onto the damp earth. The impact jarred her, and her satchel spilled open, its contents scattering across the ground.
“No!” Mei scrambled to gather the spilled herbs, bandages, and, most importantly, the ancient map. Her hands trembled as she snatched it up, but before she could stuff it back into the satchel, a shadow fell over her.
“End of the road, healer,” the scarred man said, his voice dripping with mockery.
Mei twisted around, her knife already in hand. She slashed upward, forcing the man to step back, but another figure appeared behind her. A heavy boot slammed down on her wrist, knocking the blade from her grasp. Pain shot up her arm as the jagged-faced man grabbed her roughly by the shoulder, pulling her to her feet.
“Still got fight in you,” the man growled, smirking.
The scarred man crouched, picking up the map that had fallen from Mei’s grasp. His sharp eyes scanned the brittle parchment, his expression shifting from curiosity to satisfaction. He turned the map over, his fingers brushing the faded ink and angular script.
“This must be it,” he said, his tone low and thoughtful.
Mei struggled against her captor’s grip, her voice sharp. “That's just an old drawing my father made. It has no value.”
The scarred man’s eyes flicked to her, his lips curling into a sly smile. “Oh, I think it does. It's worth five thousand gold taels to the right people. ”
“Darkmoon wants her alive, right?” the broader man asked, his voice gruff.
The one with the map shrugged, “Might as well bring her along. Maybe we can get a little extra.”
The scarred man folded the map carefully, tucking it into a pocket. “Exactly. We’ll let the Sect decide what to do with her. Besides…” He gestured toward Mei, his expression darkening. “They’re always looking for more prisoners.”
Mei’s blood ran cold. She knew what that meant.
“You won’t get away with this,” Mei spat, her voice trembling angrily.
The scarred man chuckled, motioning for the others to secure her.
The journey to the Darkmoon Sect was a grueling blur. Mei’s hands were bound, and her captors kept a constant watch on her, their eyes sharp and unyielding. They spoke little, their focus on the road ahead. The forest gave way to barren hills, the air growing colder and heavier as the jagged peaks of the Ashen Wastes loomed closer. Four days later, as the sun was just beginning to rise, casting a pale, sickly light over the desolate landscape, they reached the sect's compound.
Mei’s first glimpse of the Darkmoon Sect sent a chill down her spine. Beyond the gates, she could see a cluster of buildings, their angular rooftops shadowed against the dull sky.
The gates groaned open, and Mei was shoved forward. The scarred man led the way, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his blade. Two guards approached, their dark robes marked with the crescent moon insignia of the Sect. They exchanged a few terse words with Mei’s captors before motioning them inside.
She was taken to a central enclosure, a wide, open space surrounded by tall iron fences reinforced with glowing runes. Inside, dozens of prisoners huddled together, their expressions hollow and defeated. Their robes were tattered and dirty, but the emblems of various sects were still visible—Silent Willow and others Mei didn’t recognize.
The ropes around her wrists were cut, and she stumbled forward into the enclosure. The gates clanged shut behind her, the sound echoing through the compound like the tolling of a bell. Mei rubbed her sore wrists, her eyes darting around the enclosure as she tried to make sense of her surroundings.
Her gaze lingered on a group of younger prisoners huddled near the far corner. Two of them stood out—a boy with a mop of messy hair and another with a wiry frame and sharp eyes. Their robes bore the faint emblem of the Eternal Harmony Sect, the same sect that Jin Wu had once called home.
Mei’s breath caught. Could they know something? Was Jin Wu alive? She fought the urge to approach them immediately, forcing herself to remain cautious.
She wrapped her arms around herself, her mind racing. If the Eternal Harmony disciples were here, perhaps there was still hope. But hope was a dangerous thing in a place like this.
For now, she would wait. And watch.