In the gray chill of morning—beneath the pale, lingering mist—the caravan moved slowly through the valley, heading toward the magnificent capital of the Wei Empire. The horses’ warm breaths turned into white vapor as they hit the icy air, and their hooves beat a steady rhythm against the muddy stone road. The soldiers rode with rigid posture, their frost-bitten faces tight with vigilance, not letting their guard falter for even a heartbeat.

At the front, General Han guided his horse with unwavering pride, his gaze never leaving the surroundings. Yet his mind kept drifting back to Princess Sayina’s unusual behavior. A sharp, persistent unease sat like a thorn in his chest. He couldn’t explain it—only that it was the very instinct that had saved his life on the battlefield. And so, he would stay alert until the end.

He didn’t care about the woman’s life itself.
But if anything happened to her under his command, her powerful family would be ruined—and the Emperor would finally have the excuse he needed to strip Han of his military authority.

That silent dread, growing behind the general’s usual composed façade, chilled him more than the morning frost. So he watched the princess as carefully as he watched the wilderness around them. She was nothing like the refined, soft-spoken princesses of Wei. A woman shaped by the harsh winds of the steppe could never be delicate; the open plains bred endurance, not elegance. He had expected Sayina to be cold, fierce, wild…
Yet she kept putting others before her own interests.
Why?

The journey stretched on through the entire morning. When the sun climbed higher and reached its peak, the soldiers’ shadows shrank to almost nothing, and the metal rims of their helmets glimmered under the bright light. They had no clocks—only the sun traveling from east to west to measure time. Noon arrived when the horses’ shadows fit neatly beneath their bellies.

Heat pressed down on them. The soldiers’ lips cracked with dryness, waterskins were lifted from saddles more frequently, and even the insects in the dry grass seemed to buzz slower under the sun’s weight.

In the middle of all this movement, the princess’s carriage remained silent—an island untouched by noise. Sayina didn’t speak, didn’t request anything. That silence grew heavier than the sound of boots, hooves, or armor. It echoed in General Han’s thoughts and sharpened his curiosity.

They continued on until the morning mist fully dissolved. General Han knew his men were reaching their limit, but he refused to slow down. Pushing them past their endurance might be their only chance if danger struck. Every moving shadow in the fog, every shift in the stillness felt like the breath of an unseen enemy.

The carriage curtain had stirred a few times, but the general never caught the princess’s gaze. The quiet inside was so absolute that if Chen Bo hadn’t spoken to her, he would’ve believed the carriage empty.

Finally, when they passed a clear spring, General Han decided it was time for a brief rest. A single look at Chen Bo was enough; his lieutenant lifted a hand and signaled the halt. Reins tightened. Hooves slowed. The caravan stopped.

“We rest here,” Chen Bo announced, his voice deep and commanding, cutting cleanly through the air.

The soldiers moved quickly but calmly—setting up tents, gathering firewood, watering the horses. Amid all the noise, the princess’s carriage sat still, like a ghostly relic abandoned in a desert. Its silence cast a heavy shadow across the camp.

General Han turned to Chen Bo. He intended to give the princess one last chance to take care of her needs—because once they set off again, he had no intention of stopping. Time was their sharpest weapon.

But then a piercing cry tore through the sky.
An ashen hawk glided above them, its wings wide and gleaming under the sun. As its shadow crossed General Han’s face, an unease tightened in his chest—like an omen, a warning of an approaching storm.

The breeze hardened. The soldiers’ murmurs died down. Only the horses’ drinking and the rustling leaves could be heard. It wasn’t peace—it was the quiet before something snapped.

A horse suddenly whinnied. The reflection on the spring’s surface rippled violently. One of the soldiers reached for his sword. Chen Bo noticed—and tension knotted in his throat.

General Han lifted his head again.
The hawk was circling faster.
Even nature sensed danger.