Chapter 25: The Road to the Red Gate
The road from Jingyang was not a road at all—it was a memory of one.
Dirt paths twisted through scorched forest and mist-cloaked hills. Burned trees stood like forgotten sentinels. Smoke still curled from the ground in places, and no bird dared sing.
Yu Zhen led the column in silence.
Beside him, Lan Yueran walked with a hand on her blade, scanning the treeline. Behind them, dozens of villagers-turned-warriors trudged forward. Some bore spears. Others carried baskets of supplies or wheeled carts of bandages, arrows, and rice.
They were not an army.
But they moved like one.
---
By noon, the sun had vanished behind thick cloud.
Kaiwen rode near the rear, eyes closed in meditation. He was saving his strength to open a short portal leap near nightfall. Madam Yue marched near him, berating a young man for limping too obviously. "If your leg's broken, crawl. If not, stop whining."
Yu Hao walked beside Yu Lian, pointing out collapsed stones that once marked old borders. "The empire used to patrol these lands."
Yu Lian frowned. "Now, they barely remember us."
"Maybe we'll make them remember."
---
That afternoon, they reached a burned-out village.
Charred frames of homes jutted from the soil. Blackened bones lay beneath collapsed rooftops. A broken well bubbled with oily water.
Lan Yueran moved first, inspecting the area. "No survivors," she said.
Yu Zhen knelt by a half-buried door. The edges were scorched, but a child's drawing remained—barely—a sun and two stick figures holding hands.
He didn't speak.
Kaiwen joined him. "Tianrui wasn't the only one."
Yu Zhen stood. "Let's move."
---
By evening, they set camp near a shallow stream.
Kaiwen opened a portal that had shaved a day's march. He collapsed afterward beneath a tree, muttering, "No more portals 'til morning."
Tents were hastily pitched. Lanterns flickered. Rice was boiled over open flame. Children—those few who came with them—curled up beside siblings or mothers, their faces weary beyond their years.
Yu Zhen sat apart, sharpening his blade.
Lan Yueran approached with two bowls.
"I seasoned yours," she said.
"With what?"
"Dignity," she smirked. "And saltweed."
He took it without comment. They ate in silence. Firelight danced across their faces.
"You ever think we'll see Jingyang again?" she asked.
Yu Zhen didn't answer immediately. "Not the same."
Lan Yueran stared at the flames. "Then let's make the world worth returning to."
---
That night, the dreams returned.
Yu Zhen stood in a city of glass towers and golden spires—Rael's home, long before it fell. The sky above shimmered with light, and the air rang with quiet harmony.
Then fire swept across it all.
Screams. Ash. Kaien's laughter echoing.
"You could've stopped it," the dream whispered. "You still can."
Yu Zhen awoke with a start. The fire was low. Most still slept. Only Kaiwen sat awake, sketching glyphs into the dirt.
"You're awake," he said without looking.
Yu Zhen rubbed his temples. "Didn't plan to be."
Kaiwen nodded at the stars. "They're returning. Slowly."
Yu Zhen followed his gaze. A few pale lights glimmered between clouds.
"Maybe they're watching," Kaiwen said. "Or maybe they're just as lost."
Yu Zhen said nothing.
---
The next day, the weather turned.
Rain soaked them before dawn. Mud clung to boots and wheels. The wind grew sharp, and mist thickened around the forest's edge.
Madam Yue snapped, "Someone check that child's cough. I swear if we lose another to fever—!"
Yu Hao led a group ahead to scout the river crossing. When they returned, he was pale.
"The bridge is gone. Swept by flood."
Yu Zhen moved forward. "Can we ford it?"
"Too deep. Too fast."
Kaiwen stepped beside him. "I can build a temporary path. But I'll need help."
Lan Yueran rolled her sleeves. "Then help you'll get."
With spears used as anchors and ropes strung between trees, they constructed a makeshift passage. Rain beat down harder. One cart nearly tipped, but a boy named Ren held the wheel steady with a grunt and a prayer.
They crossed—slowly, carefully, soaked to the bone.
On the other side, Madam Yue wrapped a cloak around a shivering girl. "You're not dying on me. I don't have time."
---
By the fourth day, tension cracked.
A young man named Bo—a former carpenter—spoke up near the fire.
"This is madness," he said. "We lost six yesterday. Starving. Drenched. Chasing a myth."
Yu Hao stood. "We knew it wouldn't be easy."
"And what do we get at the Red Gate? More monsters?"
Voices murmured agreement. Someone whispered, "We should've stayed. Built walls higher."
Lan Yueran rose. "If we'd stayed, we'd be ash."
Bo turned to Yu Zhen. "And you. Who are you, really? Why did Kaien call you Rael?"
Silence.
Even the fire seemed to pause.
Yu Zhen stood.
"I was someone who failed," he said simply. "Someone who tried to hold the world together and watched it burn."
"But now," he continued, eyes burning, "I walk to stop it from burning again."
He turned away.
Kaiwen spoke next. "Follow or don't. But know this—those who wait for mercy in their homes will find fire instead."
Bo sat down, ashamed.
The group continued forward the next morning—quieter, but resolved.
---
On the sixth day, they reached the cliffs.
The land split open before them—massive chasms carved by ancient battle or old gods' wrath. Wind howled through the gorge.
At the far side, rising from red stone and shadowed peaks, stood a great archway.
The Red Gate.
It loomed tall, cracked but unbroken, its surface marked with thousands of ancient sigils glowing faintly in the dusk.
Yu Lian whispered, "We made it."
But Yu Zhen stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
"No."
From the cliffs ahead, figures emerged.
Dozens. Maybe hundreds. All in dark cloaks. No faces visible. Weapons drawn.
Kaiwen stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "I know those symbols."
Lan Yueran drew her blade. "Who are they?"
Yu Zhen whispered.
"Keepers of the Gate."
---
The enemy did not speak.
Instead, they raised staves and blades—and a low hum filled the air. The very stones began to tremble.
Kaiwen's eyes widened. "They're channeling. Ancient war magic."
Yu Zhen stepped in front of his people.
"No more running."
He unsheathed his wooden sword.
And as it began to glow once more—light not of power, but of purpose—he said,
"We hold the line. One more time."
And they charged.
---
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