By the time they reached the ridge, their lungs burned from the climb.
The storm still raged around them, but from this height the valley stretched out in brief, jagged glimpses whenever the snow thinned.
Ruo Han pressed a hand to the rock face, steadying himself. "There—look."
Through the storm's veil, a cluster of rooftops appeared, faint lantern-light glimmering like embers in the dark. An isolated sect village, small enough to be overlooked on most maps, but not so small that it could defend itself from an army.
And in the distance—dark lines moved through the snow.
An endless stream of masked figures, their formation cutting across the valley like a scar.
"They're heading straight for it," Ling Han said, his voice tight with disbelief. "An entire sect village… slaughtered under cover of this storm. No one outside will even know."
Xiyue's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. "It's not random. He's testing something. Cover, troop movement… control of the storm itself."
Ruo Han shivered despite the heat still burning under his skin from that blast of power earlier. He couldn't shake the lieutenant's words. It is you.
Why him?
Xiyue turned to them both, cloak snapping in the gale. "We have two choices. Warn the village, or find the masked man and cut this at the root before it begins."
Ling Han swore. "You're talking about diving into that army blind."
"I'm talking about ending it before the village is nothing but ash." Xiyue's voice was iron.
The storm howled louder, as if mocking their indecision.
And Ruo Han knew, deep down, that whichever path they chose tonight—warning the innocents or striking at the serpent's shadow—would bind their fates tighter to this storm than ever before.