The air that greeted them was largely occupied with light dew and a chilling silence. When the glare of the teleportation faded, the survivors of the Liu Clan found themselves scattered across a glade so vast that mist veiled its edges. The earth beneath their hands was damp and fragrant, moss clinging to roots that looked older than their ancestors.

Somewhere far above, birds in the distance gave shrill, uncertain cries, as though startled by the clan's sudden arrival. For a long while, none spoke. The only sound was the rustle of wind through cedar and the faint groans of the wounded.

The teleportation had succeeded, but the aftermath had not been gentle.

Ning Xue staggered to her feet, her vision swirling and warping. The ground still pulsed faintly beneath her brown sandals, remnants of spiritual energy flickering like fireflies before dimming.

Around her, the Liu banners holding up most of their luggage lay half-buried in mud, the crisp red sigils were now smeared and torn.

Jia Lin was already moving among the survivors, her voice hoarse from command. "Form up the ranks! Count the wounded first—elders to the center, the rest on perimeter duty! No one wanders alone!"

Her tone brooked no refusal. Even through exhaustion, the Liu clan still obeyed. Mei Yu, her face pale but largely composed, cradled a satchel of sealed scrolls against her chest, clutching them as if they were the heart of the clan itself.

Leng Yue stood apart from the group, scanning the treeline with the quiet focus of a grey wolf. She had not spoken since their arrival, but the faint tremor of her blade-hand betrayed that even she was spent.

Ning Xue drew a slow breath and steadied herself. "Jia Lin," she said softly, "how many do we count?"

"Barely two-thirds, Lady Ning." Jia Lin's lower jaw tightened. "Some never entered the array. As for the others—" She glanced at a blackened circle where the formation's final flare had torn through space. "Others were swallowed mid-transit."

Ning Xue closed her eyes briefly. 'The heavens never grant victory without a debt.' She knelt beside an unconscious elder whose robes were scorched from the energy surge, channeling a thread of qi through her palm to stabilize his pulse.

Around her, the air carried a strange vibration that was not hostile, but heavy, as if the forest itself was listening.

"Where are we?" Mei Yu asked quietly. Her eyes darted from the towering trees to the distant mist. "This place… it feels wrong. I can sense the veins of the leyline, but there is a strange distortion of space as if the world has no center."

Leng Yue's gaze flicked toward her. "Not wrong," she said at last. "It is concealed cleverly. Li Wei chose this place for that very reason." At the sound of his name, the weariness in Ning Xue's face fell into focus. "Then we are not lost," she said. "We are where we were meant to be."

Jia Lin muttered, "A fine comfort, if only I knew where that was."

"Comfort is a coin too rare to spend on complaints," Ning Xue replied evenly. "We will find shelter before nightfall. The wounded will not survive the fierce cold." She looked around, studying the ancient forest.

Each of the trees were massive structures, some so wide five men could not encircle them. Strange light filtered through their canopies, bending as if refracted through unseen lenses. And faintly, in the distance, the dull hum of running water.

"Westward," Ning Xue said. "There's a river not far. We make camp along its bank. Once we recover, we can begin reconnaissance."

Leng Yue inclined her head. "That seems plausible, I will scout ahead."

"No." Ning Xue's voice stopped her. "You've fought enough for one night. Rest first, your blade will be needed when the true darkness wakes." For a heartbeat, Leng Yue's stoic mask cracked, revealing faint surprise. Then she nodded and sheathed her weapon. "A fine suggestion."

By midday, the clan had begun to move. Their procession wound through ferns and half-buried stones, the air thick with the hum of unseen insects.

Some carried their wounded comrades on improvised stretchers, while a few of them bore crates of spirit stones and salvaged relics. Children clung to their mothers, silent and wide-eyed.

The further they went, the more alien the forest became. Roots jutted from the ground like the spines of a great beast, and faint blue motes drifted among the shadows. At times, they heard soft whispers, echoing murmurs that had no source.

Jia Lin caught one of the younger disciples glancing over his shoulder again and again. "If the spirits here wanted us dead," she snapped, "they'd have bared their fangs by now. Eyes forward!"

Still, even she walked a little closer to Ning Xue after that.

When they finally reached the river, the sight was both awe and unease. The water shimmered with colors that did not belong to any mortal spectrum—silver, violet, and faint gold, shifting like liquid moonlight. The current was gentle, yet its surface reflected nothing, as though it swallowed the sky whole.

"This is not an ordinary river," Mei Yu murmured, kneeling beside it. She dipped her fingers into the current; a chill ran through her arm, carrying flashes of strange visions of towering cities drowned under great tides, anguished faces without names.

She withdrew quickly, trembling. "It stores records that are best left buried." Ning Xue nodded solemnly. "Then it is perfect. The living do not follow where the dead whisper."

They quickly began constructing the camp along the eastern bank. Tents rose from the moss, fires were kindled, and the wounded laid out beneath makeshift awnings. For the first time since their swift escape, the clan breathed a fragile calm.

Liu Feng sat beside one of the fires, staring into its orange depths. His once-imposing frame now seemed shrunken, the weight of loss pressing on his back. "Crescent Moon," he murmured, voice rasped and thin. "My father's courtyard, gone in a blink. We ran like shadows before sunrise."

Ning Xue approached, bowing slightly. "Better a living shadow than a proud corpse, Patriarch."

He looked up at her, eyes dim. "You speak as though you never cared for the soil beneath your feet."

She met his gaze. "I care for the lives that walk upon it, not the stones that crumble beneath." He chuckled faintly, a hollow sound. "It seems Li Wei chose well when he left command to you. He always did see the world from an unusual perspective."

Ning Xue's lips curved in something between pride and sorrow. "Even a chessboard bleeds when the game is real." Before he could answer, a horn sounded from the forest's edge.

Low, tremulous, almost human. Instantly, every guard tensed up. Jia Lin appeared, sword drawn, scanning the mist. "Report!" she barked. A scout stumbled into the clearing, panting. "Lady Jia—movement beyond the ridge…".

The young lad was out of breath, but still managed to speak clearly, "Figures in dark cloaks. They don't bear banners, but their qi—" He swallowed hard. "It feels… Evil."

Leng Yue was already on her feet. "The Wu Clan followed us through the rift?"

"No," Ning Xue said slowly, her gaze distant. "The portal is still sealed behind us. These are not men who breathe air."

The mist grew thicker before them, coiling around the treetops like living smoke. A faint glow began to pulse from within it—red, then green, then black. Even the river's light dimmed, as though the world itself recoiled.

Mei Yu's voice trembled. "This forest… the leyline here isn't dead—it is famished."

Jia Lin raised her blades, flame licking along their edges. "Then it's about to find our steel hard to swallow." Leng Yue's expression hardened. "Form up ranks. Defend the camp perimeter. Whatever walks out of that fog won't be asking for directions."

Ning Xue took her place at the center of the formation, robes billowing as the first cold wind swept through the clearing. She could feel it now, the same energy that had tugged at her spirit since they arrived.

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