The horn sounded again, closer this time, reverberating through the ice-clad cliffs like the bellow of some ancient beast.
Ruo Han froze. Not because of the sound itself — but because he knew it.
Xiyue glanced at him.
Xiyue: "What is it?"
Ruo Han's fingers tightened around his fan.
Ruo Han: "That call belongs to the Iron Fang Battalion."
Feng Lian paled.
Feng Lian: "The Emperor's hunters?"
Ruo Han didn't answer. The snow beyond the gorge shifted with movement — a wall of armored riders emerging from the fog, their mounts shod in steel. At their head rode a man in black-and-scarlet lamellar, glaive balanced across his shoulder like a promise.
Ling Han.
The years had sharpened him. The youthful warmth from Ruo Han's dream was gone; in its place was a predator's calm. His gaze swept the carnage around the cave mouth, lingering on Ruo Han before shifting to Xiyue — and staying there.
Ling Han: "So. This is the man who stands between us."
Xiyue stepped forward, blade angled low, snow crunching underfoot.
Xiyue: "And you're the one who thinks he can take him."
A faint smile touched Ling Han's lips.
Ling Han: "No. I know I can."
The battalion behind him spread out, cutting off every escape path. The gorge narrowed, making retreat impossible without going through them.
Ruo Han moved to Xiyue's side, his fan trembling not from fear, but from the tension of coiled instinct.
Ruo Han: "He won't fight fair."
Xiyue: "Neither will I."
Snow began to fall again, slow and heavy — the kind that muffled sound, but made the gleam of steel seem brighter.