After the ambush, the atmosphere of the regiment had changed. The night had left its mark—not in bodies, but in silence. Only a few had died, but everyone knew that was never the enemy’s true intent.

  If they had wanted it…

  There would’ve been dozens more.

  This fact haunted the march forward, sharpening every footstep. The journey to the northern frontier—once paced for strategy—was now rushed by dread. Rest became scarce. Travel became relentless.

  And the mountains grew colder with every step.

  The snow came not in storms, but in whispers—thin flakes brushing their cloaks, clinging to their boots, carried by a wind that always seemed to be watching.

  “I can tell we’re almost there,” General An Lushan said to his squad, adjusting the collar of his fur-lined armor. “Let’s keep moving forward.”

  “Lushan, I know you’re worried about the state of the frontier,” Li Yi muttered, rubbing her gloved hands together, “but traveling in these conditions is crazy.”

  “Crazy, but necessary,” the general replied without looking back. “We’ve lost contact with the allied soldiers stationed there. That ambush might’ve been our first sign... or our last warning.”

  Li Yi groaned, but kept walking. “Fine. But don’t ask for my help when you’re frozen stiff and begging for a fire.”

  The cold bit deeper as they climbed. Frost slicked the rocks. Ice crystals glittered in the ridges of the trees like glass teeth. Droplets of freezing mist fell every so often from the overcast sky, dampening their cloaks, weighing them down.

  At last, the regiment reached a snow-covered ridge overlooking the valley below.

  Wang Xuance raised a gloved hand, his breath curling in the air. “Everyone. Look.”

  Below them, nestled between the mountain walls, was the northern frontier outpost.

  Stone walls. Barracks. Watchtowers. All in view.

  But no movement.

  “We’re almost there,” Xuance said.

  “Finally,” Yang muttered. “Maybe we can just roll the rest of the way down.”

  “Yeah, you go first, Yang,” Shi Siming grinned. “We’ll follow right after.”

  Their jokes faded when the general narrowed his eyes.

  “Xuance… doesn’t it look too empty? There’s no smoke. No torches. No patrols on the wall.”

  Wang Xuance didn’t answer right away.

  He narrowed his gaze, but not just with his eyes—his senses stretched outward, like threads of Qi combing through the stillness.

  The valley didn’t respond.

  “I can’t tell from this far out,” Xuance said at last. “But your concern is valid. It’s too quiet.”

  “Then let’s keep going.”

  The mood is much different than normal, Yang thought.

  The squad’s usual chatter had quieted. Yin always seemed in deep thought.

  Something had changed.

  The squad continued their descent toward the frontier, everyone observing their surroundings more carefully due to the general’s concerns.

  As they got closer and closer to the stronghold, the silence became more haunting.

  Snow began to fall gently… too gently—like it was trying not to disturb something sleeping beneath it.

  Then they saw it.

  Near the gates, half-buried in frost and slush, lay an imperial banner.

  Tattered.

  Unmoving.

  Forgotten.

  The sight made several soldiers shiver—but it was what they didn’t see that struck them worse.

  There was no one.

  No sentry at the watchtower.

  No soldier at the post.

  Not even a flicker of torchlight behind the walls.

  “Um… are we really at the right place?” Yang asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

  “Isn’t this supposed to be a major stronghold? There should be hundreds of soldiers here. Right?”

  “Dad…” Wang Hua’s voice was smaller than usual. “Yang’s right. What’s going on?”

  Wang Xuance stepped forward, narrowing his eyes, breath visible in the cold.

  “Lushan,” he said slowly. “This is bad. I don’t sense… anyone.”

  The general stiffened. “Xuance, how in the world would that be possible? This place is manned—it has to be.”

  He moved with urgency past the gate, shoving open the snow-heavy doors himself, as if desperate to prove Xuance wrong.

  But the moment they entered—

  He stopped.

  Empty.

  Stone corridors stretched beyond the gate, broken only by frostbitten weapons left behind in neat stacks.

  A training dummy lay knocked over in the middle of a courtyard, its straw frozen stiff.

  A bowl of food sat on a wooden table, untouched—frozen mid-spill.

  No bodies.

  No blood.

  Just... absence.

  “Where are the fires?” someone whispered.

  “Where are the barracks guards?” another asked.

  Only the wind responded, brushing against the old stone like it was afraid to speak too loudly.

  Yin scanned the area with narrow eyes.

  “This isn’t abandonment,” he said.

  “It’s like they… disappeared.”

  “Keep looking around,” the general ordered, his voice sharp with frustration. “There’s no way everyone who was stationed here is just… gone. It can’t be!”

  “Yeah, Lushan’s right,” Shi Siming added, though the doubt was already creeping into his tone. “Maybe they’re just camped deeper inside somewhere. Taking cover from the cold. They’ve got to be here.”

  The squad began to spread out again, eyes scanning corners, searching rooftops, peeking into doorways. There was a flicker of hope—fragile, but real.

  And then—

  A scream.

  Short. Sharp.

  “Hua?!”

  Wang Xuance rushed to his daughter’s side, voice filled with sudden panic. The others followed quickly, drawn by the alarm.

  What they saw made them wish they hadn’t come.

  There, slumped halfway against the wall beneath a snow-covered overhang, was a single soldier.

  Frozen solid.

  Eyes wide open.

  Mouth parted.

  One arm reaching upward—as if he had died mid-motion, grasping for something just out of reach.

  No blood.

  No wound.

  No explanation.

  Just a perfect, preserved image of fear.

  Wang Hua had gone pale, her breath hitching as she turned away.

  “He’s not even frostbitten…” Li Yi muttered, kneeling cautiously. “He should have decayed, but his body... it’s been frozen like this for days.”

  “Days?” Yang asked, his voice uneasy. “Then why’s there no snow on him?”

  The general stepped forward, his brow furrowed.

  “Fang… can you use—”

  “I can’t,” Fang cut in quietly. “I don’t feel anything. No Qi echoes. It’s like… whatever happened here left nothing behind.”

  He stared at the frozen soldier, scribbling something into his notebook. “That’s what’s wrong. There should be something.”

  The wind blew again, softer this time—as if mocking their discovery.

  The wind whispered through the abandoned fortress, tugging gently at the edges of the imperial banner. No one spoke.

  The frozen soldier still lay at Wang Hua’s feet—his final expression burned into everyone's memory.

  General An Lushan finally broke the silence.

  “Something happened here,” he said, voice low but firm. “Something precise. Something fast.”

  He scanned the empty courtyard again. “We can’t waste time standing still. We split into pairs. Search every hall, every room, every shadow. If anything’s hiding in this place… we need to find it.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “The rest of the regiment will remain at the gates,” the general added, his voice clipped. “Too risky to move in without knowing what we’re walking into. Until we’ve secured the inner fortress, no one else enters.”

  Wang Xuance stepped forward, nodding. “We regroup before nightfall. Mark your paths and leave signals if anything seems off. And don’t face anything alone.”

  He looked at his daughter.

  No one argued.

  An Lushan turned toward the squad.

  “Yin—you go with Liu Fang. Check the command quarters and war room.”

  Yin nodded silently. Fang gave a small wave, his notebook already in hand.

  “Yang, you’re with Siming. Sweep the outer towers and barracks.”

  Siming cracked his knuckles. “Perfect. Been itching to move.”

  Yang grinned faintly. “Don’t fall behind, old man.”

  “Wang Xuance, take your daughter. Explore the archive halls and locked storage. You know what kind of signs to look for.”

  Wang Hua opened her mouth to respond, but her father was already moving. She sighed, then followed.

  “Zhongkan, Yi—you’re on the lower halls and infirmary. Check for survivors. Or remains.”

  Li Yi let out a breath. “Of course I get the creepy tunnels…”

  Zhongkan said nothing. But the slight twitch of his eyebrow betrayed unease.

  “And I…” the general said, turning his gaze to the high overlook, “will take the ramparts.”

  He didn’t explain.

  Didn’t need to.

  With a nod, each group turned and walked into the depths of the fortress.

  Their footsteps echoed off stone walls that hadn’t heard voices in days.

  Torches flickered.

  Snow fell.

  Silence returned.

  But this time…

  It was watching them.

  Yin and Liu Fang had reached the command quarters. A large door, old and rusty stood as the entrance. A heavy creek sounded as Yin pushed open the door to the command wing.

  Yin led the way, his sword in hand in case something or someone showed up. But there was no signs of that at all.

  “Still no signs of life,” Liu Fang said as he scribbled every detail of the command wing in his notes.

  In his notes described the long, narrow hall that the two were walking through. When the two finally reached the core of the room, they began to investigate the surroundings.

  Besides the strange emptiness, nothing in the war room was damaged or out of place. Maps were plastered on the walls, advanced weaponry placed around the wing. Scrolls filled with the normal war formations, strategies, and enemy information.

  “This doesn’t make any sense. If there was no one here, how are there no traces of struggle, battle? It’s like they vanished out of thin air.” Yin questioned in awe of the situation.

  “There’s always clues, we just have to look harder.” Liu Fang answered.

  “What exactly are we looking for though Fang? What could possibly explain this impossible situation.”

  “I’ve learned something valuable after joining Lushan. When things seem impossible or can’t be explained by logic, Qi is to blame.” Fang now looked up serious, putting his notes aside.

  “I see, so what do we do Fang? There’s no physical evidence and I don’t have any Qi abilities yet.”

  “But I do, I have a way to get some answers.” Fang answered.

  “Really? Since you haven’t used it yet, I guess it’s not that simple.” Yin replied.

  Fang nodded at Yin and looked down, coldness in his eyes. “Echoes of Insight. It’s the name of my Soulprint. After extremely intense or emotional moments in life, Qi leaves behind residuals or fragments of what happened.”

  “Echoes.” Yin added.

  “Exactly, my Qi ability allows me to see or hear a glimpse what happened during those moments by attuning myself to those Qi residuals. I didn’t feel any of these residuals so far… until now.”

  Yin thought back to what the General asked him, “So that’s what the general was asking you about.”

  Fang walked forward until he reached the center of the room where the biggest table was placed. Long and with multiple chairs around, this was probably where the leaders sat and discussed plans.

  “It’s here, I feel nothing but…” Fang froze without finishing.

  “But what Fang?”

  “Fear.”

  Fear. Yin hearing the word thought back to the unnamed man who spoke of his mother. The man the brothers had decided to call ‘Crow’.

  “Yin.” Yin's attention was brought back by Liu Fang calling his name. “I’m going to begin now, I’ll need silence until it’s over.”

  “I understand.” Yin said.

  Liu Fang placed a hand on the table and closed his eyes. For a while nothing happened—then

  A faint grid of lines began to show, starting from Liu Fang’s eyes and flowing down to his hands. The light near him began to flicker and the air around him seemed to move.

  Yin could only watch speechless, I thought I had an understanding of Qi but I’m starting to think I still know absolutely nothing.

  As the process continued, the expression began to change. His face made Yin begin to worry.

  Terror, panic, and fright not only showed on his face but he began to tremble and sweat uncontrollably.

  Yin wanted to help and stop him but he didn’t want to make matters worse by interrupting something he didn’t understand. So he could do nothing but watch. The words of Crow flashed again in his mind.

  Weak. Pathetic.

  Damn it! I have to get stronger!

  The lines finally started to fade and Fang gradually began to return but when it seemed the process was actually finished—

  Fang fell to the ground.

  Yin rushed forward, kneeling beside Fang as his body hit the ground.

  “Fang!” he called, grabbing his shoulders. “Can you hear me?”

  Fang’s breath was shallow. His eyes fluttered, unfocused. He looked like he’d been through a battle none of them could see.

  “Fang, wake up,” Yin said, more firmly this time. “You did it. Whatever you saw—it’s over.”

  At last, Fang stirred. His hand twitched, then slowly reached up to grip Yin’s arm.

  “Yin I’m fine, just help me up.”

  “Fang maybe you should just lay down. I’ll go get Yi.”

  Fang chuckled slightly, “It’s fine Yin. This is just the effect after using this ability. Now help me up.”

  Yin stood and helped Fang back to his feet. Gradually Fang seemed to return to normal.

  “Are you sure you’re ok?” Yin asked again.

  “Yea.”

  “So what did you see?” Yin asked.

  “I didn’t see anything. But I heard screams. I could feel the terror and fear of everyone involved. Something unimaginable must’ve happened.”

  Fang looked deep in thought, eyes unfocused as he searched through the fragments still lingering in his mind.

  “Also... I could faintly hear something else,” he said slowly. “Not a voice. Not even part of the screams.”

  He paused, brow furrowing.

  “It was... a scratching sound. Sharp. Repetitive. Like chalk dragged across stone.”

  Yin tensed.

  “Writing?”

  Fang nodded. “Or drawing. It was happening beneath everything else. Like someone was carving a shape into the floor while everyone else was screaming.”

  He turned his gaze toward the large war table at the center of the room.

  “I think... it came from under there.”

  They both looked at each other, realizing they might have just figured something out. But hearing those screams and seeing Fang’s face made both of them hesitate.

  Finally Yin forced himself to lay under the table. As he looked, the squad had finally found the first clue.

  Under the table was a pale silver etched in frost with the shape of a snowflake.

  Yin reached to touch the symbol and as soon as his finger met contact…

  The coldest temperature he ever felt flashed through his body, Yin rolled from under the table scared he may freeze to death.

  “Fang you were right? There’s something under there!”

  Yin and Fang decided to flip the table over to the side so that Liu Fang could study the symbol easier.

  “This symbol… what could it mean?” Fang muttered, sketching each line with careful strokes. His fingers trembled—not from fear this time, but focus. Obsession.

  “I don’t know,” Yin said, still shaking the frost from his hands, “but if there’s one here…”

  “There might be more.”

  Yin nodded. “We need to regroup. The others need to see this.”

  Fang carefully closed his notebook. “Let’s hope we’re not the only ones who found something.”

  He gave the symbol one last glance before following Yin out.

  Behind them, the faint lines of the frost-rune pulsed gently once more—before vanishing entirely beneath a new layer of snow.

  Meanwhile, in the lower halls—

  “Why is it always me with the creepy rooms,” Li Yi muttered, adjusting the strap on her satchel. “I’m a healer, not a ghost hunter.”

  “Then consider this… practice,” Zhongkan said flatly, stepping ahead with sword in hand.

  “Ugh, you’re worse than the ghosts.”

  The two were walking in dim corridors which led into the medical wing. Cracked lanterns hang from the ceiling, their light barely illuminating the frost-slicked floor. The scent of herbs has long faded, replaced with something metallic and cold.

  As they stepped into the infirmary, they noticed that it was in near-perfect condition. Rows of beds, as if in use until just recently. None of the medical equipment looked stolen, all in one place.

  “A perfect infirmary… but no patients,” Yi commented.

  Yin Zhongkan remained silent as he observed and looked at his surroundings.

  “Are we really chasing ghosts? What could have happened here?”

  Yi turned for the entrance, “Hey let’s leave this creepy frontier, we’ll just report back that the soldiers abandoned their post.”

  “You know we can’t do that Yi. Also I know you want to find out what happened to our allies. Stop pretending like you don’t care and let’s figure something out.”

  “Ugh you’re no fun old man, let’s find some clues and leave quickly.”

  Yi and Zhongkan searched and searched throughout the infirmary but there was no physical evidence of anything happening.

  “Ahhh, so frustrating! This is unbelievable, every soldier is missing and there’s no signs of attack.”

  Yi’s boots echoed as she paced past the last row of empty beds.

  “This makes no sense. If there was a mass injury or outbreak, someone would've left a record—bandages, blood, even a body sheet. But it’s like…”

  She stopped.

  Zhongkan turned. “What is it?”

  She crouched beside the floor, brushing her hand across a patch of stone that felt unnaturally cold.

  “There’s a draft,” she murmured. “Coming from… below?”

  Zhongkan stepped closer. “The morgue.”

  Yi looked up at him, eyes narrowing. “You think the answer’s down there?”

  “I think if people died here… that’s where they were taken.”

  The air grew colder as they descended the short staircase leading to the lower chamber. The torches in this hallway were all out. Frost clung to the walls in jagged lines—not natural formations, but veins. Lines of white spidering upward… like something had bloomed from below.

  They reached the morgue.

  It was small. Tight. But still eerily untouched.

  Six slabs lined the stone walls. Each clean. Empty. Untouched.

  But at the center of the room—just in front of the drainage grate—they saw it.

  A silver rune, carved into the floor.

  Subtle. Almost missed.

  Yi stepped closer. “What is this…”

  But as she reached out, Zhongkan caught her wrist. “Don’t touch it.”

  Yi swallowed, her voice quiet.

  “It goes… upward.”

  Zhongkan nodded slowly, tracing one of the thin frost-veins with his eyes as it disappeared into the stone.

  “This pattern—it’s not just etched into this room.”

  Yi followed the curling branches with her gaze. “It stretches into the infirmary…”

  “Maybe beyond,” Zhongkan added.

  The silence returned, heavier now.

  Yi stepped back from the rune, arms folding across her chest for warmth—or comfort. “I don’t like this,” she murmured. “This isn’t just frost… it was placed here. Etched.”

  Zhongkan’s tone was calm, but cold. “A mark. Or a message.”

  “Or a trap,” Yi added, glancing once more at the curling symbol beneath them.

  Neither spoke after that.

  But both of them were thinking the same thing:

  They hadn’t found the answer.

  Only the beginning of it.

  And the frost was spreading.