The days bled together like ink in rain—indistinguishable, merciless, and bitter.
The wind howled through jagged canyons and frost-laced valleys, never offering rest, only reminders that the world cared little for orphans or oaths.
The makeshift band dwindled under constant pursuit. One by one, the guards fell—some in valiant last stands, others in ambushes, too swift for defense.
There was no time for mourning. No time to bury the dead. Only whispered names etched into memory and promises of vengeance carved in bone-deep silence.
Starvation clung to them like a shadow. They scraped moss from stone, chewed bitter roots, drank from puddles half-frozen with grime. Shen LiuYan never once cried for food. Her lips cracked, her limbs shook, but her eyes—those cold, unwavering eyes—remained still as ice.
On the twenty-fourth night, under a sky choked with smoke and snow, only three remained:
Xie Yuan, bleeding and broken, his right leg useless and ribs crushed from shielding the girls. But still, he was carrying the two girls on his back.
"Uncle Xie" LiuYan called.
"Yes, my child"
"You can put me down. Just hold Xiao Liu. I will walk beside you"
LiuYan said with a tiny voice.
Xie Yuan was dazed. The child was only 5, yet she remained stoic and tenacious, which was unbelievable for a kid at this age. He put LiuYan down then held her tiny hand, while carrying LiuHua in his other hand.
LiuYan, gaunt but unbowed, her gaze hollowed by loss but sharp with purpose, followed the elderly, ragged man who stood by her side at her lowest moment.
Shen LiuHua, wrapped in furs far too large for her tiny body, cradled in her guardin's arms—was silent, sickly, unaware.
Xie Yuan had no more strength left for swordplay, so he lit the last of the soul-erasing incense, a rare artifact smuggled from the empress's vaults. It cloaked their presence like moonless fog. Then—without hesitation—he burned the last remnants of his own cultivation to mislead the demon trackers, scattering his essence across the ridges to buy them a ghost of a chance.
They walked. Or rather, they dragged themselves through the final stretch.
On the thirtieth dawn, after seven days, first without sleep and two only with water, the endless White Plains finally broke open into the gold-flecked grasslands of the western frontier.
The light hit first—golden, too pure for the tragedy behind them. The air was warm with the scent of dry earth and wheat. But none of them saw it.
Xie Yuan collapsed first, his knees hitting the soil beneath like stones. Blood stained his mouth, but his arms never loosened. He fell forward with both girls in his grasp—shielding them even in unconsciousness.
Shen LiuYan stirred barely, her fingers still clutching Liuhua's cloak, the ghost of her mother's lullaby trapped in her throat.
When the guards at the border outpost rushed out to the cries of the sentry,who they found was only a tattered warrior, two dying children, and a trail of blood across the snow-lined grass.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The border outpost of Western border had seen its share of war, but never had it witnessed something so quietly tragic.
The gates were opened at dawn as the guards scrambled to investigate the sound—three collapsed figures, barely clinging to life, just beyond the perimeter.
A man bleeding from his eyes and mouth. Two children—one unconscious, the other eerily still, her hand clenched around a sword hilt as if it were the last thread tethering her to this world.
General Han ZhenYue, commander of the Western post of Tianlong Dynasty, stepped out with his lieutenants, armored in deep bronze, his presence commanding silence. He took a deep look at the trio for a while and barked, "Take them inside. Bring the physicians."
He did not recognize them.
He saw only survivors.
They were placed in the infirmary. Hours passed. The girl with the icy stare refused to sleep until she saw the baby beside her start breathing normally. The man with the ruined leg, Xie Yuan, drifted between life and death for nearly two days before the fever broke. When he finally awoke, it was night.
The room was dim. Incense burned faintly in the corner. General Han stood nearby, arms folded, his expression taut with questions.
Xie Yuan coughed once, and then whispered hoarsely,
"Are we safe?"
"You are," Han replied. "Who are you? Who are those girls?"
Xie Yuan turned his head, eyes landing on the two sleeping forms in the corner. Shen LiuYan still sat upright, resting against the wall, blade across her lap like a guardian beast.
Then he spoke—halting at first, then with rising fury and grief.
"That girl… she is Princess Shen LiuYan, daughter of Field Marshal Long XiaoYue… and the last flame of the true Dragon Lineage."
General Han's breath caught.
Xie Yuan continued, voice cracking. "The emperor betrayed her. He killed our master. Unleashed demons upon her own kin. We escaped through a secret tunnel beneath the palace. But they… they didn't make it."
His fists trembled. "Only we three survived."
General Han took a step back. "You're telling me… the Empress...her majesty is—"
"Dead," Xie Yuan said bitterly.
"And so are all who remained loyal. The ones who live now wear the emperor's chain."
General Han turned slowly to look at the older girl again. Her face bore no trace of nobility or entitlement. Only the hardened silence of someone who had bled too long, and mourned too early.
Suddenly, the flickering torchlight caught a glint beneath her right ear. A sigil—the ancient Azure Dragon
The truth struck like thunder.
General Han dropped to one knee, his fist clenching at the floor. "Your majesty, I failed you. I failed all of you."
Liuyan's voice finally spoke, calm but cold.
"There's no room for guilt now, General. Only vengeance."
He looked up, and in her eyes, what he saw was not a child—but a storm.
A child who had walked through fire, carrying her sister on her back.
A child who had buried warriors and watched her world crumble.
A child who was no longer just a child.
He took LiuYan into his arms, then LiuHua.
From that day forward, the two orphans were hidden from the empire — raised in the house of Han as their own children.
But LiuYan remembered everything.
The blood moon, her mother's dying breath, the shattered sword, and the promise of vengeance.
And in her heart —
the fire never died.