The cheers did not fade quickly.
They rolled through the Hawk Clan Arena like thunder, shaking the totem of feathers and bone until dust rained softly onto the stone. Warriors beat their fists against their chests, wings flaring in open reverence. Even those who had once supported Zhao Kuan lowered their heads.
Power did not lie.
The elder stepped forward, his gaze lingering on the cracked arena floor, on Zhao Kuan's unmoving form, then on Feng Lihan—standing tall, red wings folded with restrained authority.
"From this moment on," the elder announced solemnly, "Feng Lihan shall assume the position of Acting Chief. The formal ascension ceremony will be held at the next full moon."
A sharp intake of breath swept the stands.
Acting Chief.
That single title carried weight heavier than steel.
Lin Yue's heart slammed against his ribs.
Before he could fully process the words, Feng Lihan turned his head slightly—as if he could feel Lin Yue's gaze even in the roaring crowd. Their eyes met.
For a brief moment, everything else vanished.
No clan. No bloodline. No Chief seat.
Just them.
Feng Lihan gave the faintest nod, a silent promise.
Lin Yue pressed his lips together, forcing back the sting in his eyes. Pride welled up until it hurt. This was the man he had chosen. The man who had climbed to the sky with his own strength.
Guards dragged Zhao Kuan away, his wings limp, his ambition shattered beyond repair. Whispers followed him like shadows, but Feng Lihan did not spare him another glance.
He had already fallen beneath his notice.
As the arena slowly cleared, the elders surrounded Feng Lihan, voices layered with caution and respect.
"Four-Star Warrior," one elder said, tone measured, "with the Chief seat comes responsibility. Enemies will rise. Other clans will test you."
Feng Lihan inclined his head. "Let them."
Simple. Absolute.
That answer alone silenced further warnings.
When the formalities finally ended, Feng Lihan turned and walked straight toward Lin Yue. Warriors parted instinctively, making way for him. Some watched with curiosity, others with dawning realization.
So this is the one.
Lin Yue didn't step back.
When Feng Lihan stopped in front of him, the scent of blood and wind still clung to his clothes. Lin Yue lifted his hand without thinking, fingers brushing the cut on Feng Lihan's shoulder.
"You're injured," he said softly.
"It's nothing," Feng Lihan replied.
Lin Yue frowned. "You always say that."
For the first time since the battle ended, Feng Lihan's expression eased. Not a smile—something quieter. Warmer.
"Come," he said. "We're leaving."
Lin Yue blinked. "Leaving?"
"Yes." Feng Lihan's gaze swept the arena once more—the elders, the warriors, the sky that now belonged to him. "Tonight, I'm not a Chief. I'm just yours."
Heat rushed to Lin Yue's face.
Under countless watching eyes, Feng Lihan reached out and took his hand.
Not hidden. Not careful.
Open.
A ripple passed through the clan.
Lin Yue's fingers tightened around his. Fear flickered—then settled into certainty. Whatever storms lay ahead, whatever blood or betrayal awaited the Hawk Clan's future…
He would face it with Feng Lihan.
Above them, crimson feathers caught the light of the setting sun ...