The rain had not stopped.
It lashed against the small, battered hovercraft Sheng Long had "borrowed" from a nearby village depot, soaking the windshield and howling through the engine vents.
Inside the cramped cabin, Xiao Lin lay bundled in a thick cloak, his breathing shallow but steady.
Every so often, he whimpered in his sleep, the fever from blood loss and exhaustion making his slender body tremble.
Sheng Long kept one hand firmly on the controls and the other lightly covering Xiao Lin's chest, feeling the weak but stubborn heartbeat underneath.
He had seen countless injuries in his life — men torn apart by Zerg claws, comrades bleeding out under alien skies —
but nothing had ever filled him with such cold, helpless rage as the bruises on this boy's delicate wrists, the fading whip-marks on his back.
"I should have killed them all," he thought grimly.
"One day... I will."
But now wasn't the time for revenge.
It was time to plan.
Sheng Long reached into the console, pulled out an old, half-broken communicator, and punched in a private, encrypted channel.
There was a sharp crackle of static.
Then a gruff voice barked:
"Identify yourself!"
Sheng Long's lips curved into a faint, almost invisible smile.
"Yan Shuo," he said quietly, voice cutting through the interference like a blade. "It's me."
Silence.
Then a choked, gasping sound.
"Marshal?!"
The voice dropped to a stunned whisper, full of disbelief and emotion.
"Marshal Sheng?!"
Sheng Long kept his gaze on the stormy road ahead.
"Listen carefully," he said. "I don't have much time. I'm alive — barely. But my condition is... complicated."
A pause.
Yan Shuo's voice trembled slightly as he barked, "We thought you were dead! We — We held a memorial! The whole damn Empire—!"
"I know," Sheng Long said flatly. "That's why you're going to keep pretending."
Silence again.
More controlled this time.
"You suspect something," Yan Shuo said slowly. "Inside the capital?"
Sheng Long's hand tightened slightly over Xiao Lin's chest.
"I don't just suspect," he said coldly. "I'm certain."
The battle on the Zerg front — the strange withdrawal of reinforcements, the missing supply fleets, the way the Zerg Queen had known exactly where to strike.
No.
It was no accident.
Someone had betrayed them.
Someone high enough to manipulate entire fleets.
Possibly... someone close to the Emperor himself.
Yan Shuo exhaled sharply. "Orders, sir?"
"Mobilize the Shadow Corps," Sheng Long said.
"Only those you trust with your life. No leaks. No contact with the palace or the War Department."
"And you, Marshal?" Yan Shuo's voice was tight with emotion. "Where are you?"
Sheng Long glanced down at Xiao Lin, whose pale fingers had curled weakly around the edge of the cloak.
"I have someone to protect," he said softly.
"I'm taking him to a safe place first."
"I'll send medics — elite ones. Quiet. No records."
"Good."
"And Marshal," Yan Shuo hesitated, voice low, "It's damn good to hear your voice again."
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Sheng Long allowed himself a small breath of warmth.
"You'll hear a lot more soon," he said grimly.
"Get ready."
The channel cut out.
The hovercraft skimmed over the wet roads, heading toward a hidden outpost Sheng Long remembered from before the war — a secluded safehouse built for emergencies, long abandoned by the main army.
There, he could finally breathe.
There, he could protect Xiao Lin properly.
The boy stirred again, murmuring faintly.
Sheng Long leaned down, brushing a strand of silver hair from Xiao Lin's damp forehead.
"Hold on," he thought fiercely.
"Just a little longer. I won't let anyone hurt you again."
The black dragon inside his soul stirred restlessly, sensing the shift in their bond — no longer just protector and protected, but something deeper, something ancient and sacred.
He had once been the Empire's weapon.
Now, he was something far more dangerous:
A weapon with a heart.
And he would burn the stars themselves to keep that heart safe.