"We're off course."
Wei's voice was flat, as if he were talking about something trivial.
He stopped, glanced around the trees, then looked up to check the direction. In the end, he just clicked his tongue.
"The footbridge isn't this way," he said.
Chun halted at once.
"H–how far off?" she whispered.
"Not much." Wei pulled her toward the edge of the forest, sounding casual."We can just loop around from here."
He said it so lightly—
so lightly that Chun almost wanted to strangle him.
They continued along the forest's edge.
But Chun's eyes kept darting forward, then back.
"Then… if we go this way, we'll still reach the bridge, right?" she asked.
"Of course," Wei replied without hesitation.
"We won't circle back into the village?"
"No."
"And we won't run into those people again?"
Wei let out a short laugh.
"You ask too many questions."
He lifted a hand to push aside a low-hanging branch. The motion was quick and clean, yet he didn't speed up.
The forest was too quiet.
No insects. No wind.
It was as if the entire woodland was holding its breath.
Chun couldn't help herself."As long as we cross the bridge, we'll be safe, right?"
Wei didn't turn around.
"If you keep thinking like that," he said,"it'll feel like we're almost there."
"When you're walking, don't keep counting how far's left."
"But—"
"No buts." Wei cut her off."Just watch your footing."
His tone stayed loose, almost careless,
but his hand never let go of hers.
The ground ahead began to slope.
Tree roots jutted out along the forest's edge, crossing the path like obstacles left there on purpose.
"Wei…"
Chun's voice grew softer."Are we off again?"
Wei scanned the path ahead.
"No," he said.
After a brief pause, he added,
"Even if we are, we can always circle back."
"Y—" Chun's fist was already clenched.
But Wei suddenly pulled her down low, one hand still gripping hers, the other pointing straight ahead.
-----------------
"My love!"
The cry split the air.
Lin froze as if struck by lightning. His body locked in place, every muscle seized.
He looked up, and the shock in his eyes tore his breath apart.
It was her.
His wife's voice.
Under the moonlight, a group of villagers was being driven forward.
Their wrists bound with rope.
They stumbled as they walked, dragged and pushed along the edge of the clearing.
They were exhausted, filthy, barely standing.
But they were alive.
That alone felt unreal.
The armored warriors moved with them, iron boots striking the ground in steady rhythm. Each step rang out across the clearing, cold and sharp, metal against stone, like death tapping its fingers against the world.
The General reached out and rested his hand against the exposed bone of the skeletal warhorse.
His fingers tapped lightly, producing a dull clicking sound, as if the creature were answering his touch.
The horse's hollow eye sockets glowed with a sickly green fire. The light flickered faintly as the skull shifted, a subtle movement that felt less like obedience and more like mockery.
It stood waiting.
Watching.
As if savoring what was about to happen.
The general turned his head slowly.
His gaze descended from above, heavy and precise, like a blade lowered with intent.
When his eyes found Lin, it felt as though something sharp had been driven straight into Lin's chest.
"You believe we eat living hearts because we crave blood?" the general asked.
His voice was low, rasping, scraped raw by time and death. There was no anger in it. No excitement.
Only certainty.
"That is merely how we sustain endless life," he continued."No different from how you eat flesh to survive."
He lifted one finger and gestured casually toward the bound villagers.
"They will not die," he said calmly."Not if they obey our rules. In time, they will become something more useful."
The words were spoken without emphasis, without threat.
Which made them far worse.
Lin's eyes moved past the ranks of iron and bone and found the faces behind them.
Faces he knew.
Men in their prime. Young women. Children.
No elders.
The absence struck him like a blow.
There was no need to ask where the old ones had gone. No explanation was necessary. Their value had already been weighed.
The clearing felt like a vast, open pit. Lin stood at its edge, staring down into something cold and endless, unable to step back, unable to look away.
They brought her forward.
Lin's wife was pushed toward the general. She was small beside him, her figure fragile against the mass of iron and ancient armor, like a child dragged toward an altar.
Her clothes were wrinkled and stained with mud. Her hair hung loose and tangled, as though the night itself had clawed at her. But her eyes—
Those eyes Lin knew better than his own—
They were still bright.
Bright like a flame crushed deep inside darkness.
Bright enough to tear at his chest with every beat of his heart.
The General raised his hand lazily.
Two bronze-armored warriors stepped forward and, without warning, cut the rope from her wrists.
The cord fell to the ground with a soft sound.
Too soft.
Sharper than any blade.
The general's hand came down and rested on her head.
It was massive. Cracked. Cold.
A hand that needed only the slightest pressure—
And her skull would burst like fruit beneath his fingers.