The shattered silence of the throne room clung to the air like a deep bruise, its pain evident in every lingering moment. The only sound was the delicate, almost mournful clinking of scattered rune shards – a soft symphony that broke the oppressive quiet... until Mei-Ling moved.
She spun on her heel, her eyes burning with steely determination, her expression hardened as if forged in molten metal. With unwavering resolve, her gaze remained fixed forward.
"Where are you going?" Feredis asked, his voice low and burdened with unspoken worries.
"To end this," she replied, her tone a quiet promise of destiny. "Alone."
Without an ounce of hesitation, she surged toward the exit. But just as fate would have it, Hoki stepped directly in her path, blocking the way like a stone barrier.
"You heard the voice," Mei-Ling insisted, her tone firm as tempered iron. "If I don't go alone, he kills my father."
Hoki's stance was unyielding. "You really think he's going to honor his promise after that display?"
Feredis, his arms crossed and his body marked with bruises and dust from countless battles, countered, "You can't possibly believe that trotting into his lair by yourself is a wise idea."
"I have no choice," she replied, voice trembling with both resolve and the weight of defeat.
"You always have a choice," Hoki snapped, her words as sharp as broken glass. "And this one ends with your blood on his hands."
Mei-Ling's jaw tightened, every muscle straining with the agony of the decision before her. "I can't risk your lives too."
"Then don't," came a softer, almost gentle voice.
It was Fror – soot streaking his face, his eyes holding a rare seriousness that softened his usual rugged demeanor.
"But don't expect us to just stand back and watch you vanish knowing that we might never see you again," he added.
Gror, his battered body and clenched fists telling his own story of survival, chimed in with a wry smile. "We've fought our way through cursed ruins, battled banshee-infested rice fields, and even survived the fury of exploding noodle spirits. And now, we've got backup." He winked and wiggled his eyebrows. "Fox-flavored backup, to be exact."
Miyx, with a sudden meow of agreement, leaped forward – only to trip into a dusty scroll, adding a burst of laughter among the tension.
Mei-Ling's eyes swept over her companions: battle-worn, stained with blood, yet overflowing with unwavering loyalty. They were her family in every way that truly mattered.
A heavy silence passed between them before she finally nodded, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"Thank you," she murmured softly, voice barely above a whisper. "But I must go first. Alone."
"But we're coming after you," Hoki insisted, arms still folded in defiance.
"Give us one hour," Feredis interjected gruffly. "We'll be right behind, whether you like it or not."
The Lair of Fenglian – Hollow Serpent Temple
Hidden in the ominous shadow of the Wailing Crags, a narrow chasm splits the earth like a jagged scar. At its base lies the fabled Hollow Serpent Temple—Fenglian's fortress, sanctuary, and a chosen prison of suffering. Crafted within the ancient, weathered bones of a colossal wyrm, the temple serpentines through cavernous ribs and stone-fused vertebrae. The very air is heavy, redolent with the lingering aroma of lotus ash and a sinister whiff of poison that seems to seep into your pores.
No patrolling guards haunt its entrance, for there is no need. The path itself is a living test, repelling the unworthy who dare trespass. Whispers echo relentlessly in the hallowed halls, the tortured voices of the temple's first monks, long surrendered to corruption. Spiked doors creak open of their own accord, statues blink mysteriously when you dare not to look, and the very walls weep venomous drops as intruders pass by.
At the epicenter lies the Sanctum of Silence, where a throne fashioned from entwined bone and luminous jade commands the space before a sealed altar. Here, the Emperor kneels—his wrists shackled in chains that pulsate with powerful, anti-spirit runes.
Above it all, Fenglian watches from his lofty perch, his gaze as cold as the flicker of blue flames dancing on nearby candles. And throughout the surrounding chambers lie deadly traps, cunning illusions, and ambushes waiting to pounce. He isn't merely expecting Mei-Ling; he is waiting.
The Entry Trial
Before standing face-to-face with Fenglian, Mei-Ling must pass the dreaded Serpent's Mirror—a cursed hall that reveals her deepest fears: the terror of losing her cherished friends, the nightmare of failing her realm, and the haunting possibility of becoming like him. Will she muster the strength to push through, or will she falter under the weight of despair? And what of her allies, hurrying desperately to catch up, their hearts pounding as they battle through the temple's malevolent magic? Or will Fenglian's final, devastating plan unravel before they make it in time?
The Serpent's Mirror
The Hollow Serpent Temple seemed to murmur dark secrets as Mei-Ling stepped inside, alone and defiant. With every measured stride deeper into its labyrinth of spine-like corridors, she felt as though she were walking into the very maw of an ageless beast. Her boots hammered against the smooth, obsidian stone, each echo a heartbeat in the temple's dark pulse. Her breath, visible in the chill, venom-scented air, mingled with the eerie glow of phosphorescent runes that pulsed softly along the walls, mimicking the gentle beat of hidden veins beneath flesh.
At last, she reached a vast, circular chamber – a grand, silent expanse dominated by a towering mirror, the fabled Serpent's Mirror. Rising three stories tall, its ornate frame was fashioned from coiled jade serpents, their mouths agape in eternal watchfulness, eyes seemingly closed in a trance. Its surface did not merely reflect, but revealed; each ripple in the glass played host to revelations meant to unnerve even the stoutest spirit.
Stepping cautiously forward, Mei-Ling inadvertently triggered its ancient magic. At first, she beheld her own visage—older, colder; adorned in obsidian garments with a crown of thorns resting heavily upon her brow. Behind her, a row of empty thrones formed a silent court, void of the warmth once provided by her loyal companions—Feredis, Hoki, the dwarves, and even the mischievous Miyx. In that dark vision, she ruled—yet she reigned alone in a kingdom bereft of love and fellowship.
Then the image shifted and warped. She saw her father, bound once more in chains; but this time, the chains were held by her, as if she were the jailer of his misery. The throne before her was not meant for her, but for Fenglian, who extended his hand with a disconcerting smile. She began to take it, her heart trembling at the thought, until a desperate cry rose from within—"No," she whispered, voice thick with disbelief. "I'd never—"
But the mirror's relentless assault did not pause. Next, it showed a cascade of haunting images: herself failing in her duties, Fenglian brandishing a cruel sword, the brutal fall of her friends, a realm crumbling into ruins, her name fading into forgotten obscurity, and her people turning their backs on her legacy. No matter how hard she tried to avert her gaze, the mirror followed her every look with chilling persistence.
"Stop," she choked out, her voice swallowed by the oppressive vision.
And then, the final image emerged—a fragile child, her own child, standing alone at the periphery of a desolate battlefield. The child's solitude mirrored her deepest fear: that she too would be left to face the world in isolation.
The mirror spoke in a whisper that slithered through the room, "You will become him... if you do not defeat him."
Overwhelmed by the revelation, Mei-Ling collapsed to her knees, trembling not from fear alone, but from the stark truth that everything she fought to protect might slip away into oblivion. Just as despair threatened to engulf her, a memory stirred—a gentle, stubborn recollection of laughter shared: Gror's hearty chuckles, Hoki's fiery debates, Feredis's awkward attempts at poetic words, and Miyx's soft, resigned snoring nestled in someone's bag. They were her friends, her unwavering strength.
With ragged determination, she rose, her legs weak but her spirit fiercely unyielding. Standing face to face with the mirror, she declared, "Maybe I could become him, but I won't." Pressing her hand against the cold, revealing glass, she whispered with resolve, "I am not Fenglian."
In that instant, hairline fractures raced like lightning across the mirror's surface. In a cascade of shimmering silver shards that dissolved into a fine mist, the mirror shattered completely—the path beyond now open as if born anew.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the temple, her companions fought fiercely their own battles of chaos and destruction.
Hoki, her voice full of barely contained urgency, slammed a snarling demon against a massive bone gate. "She's close—I can feel it!"
Feredis, summoning his lingering power to cast a protective ward of light, muttered wryly, "If she dies before I can apologize for that last noodle comment, I'll never forgive myself."
Silver tails lashed and claws shone with the brilliance of moonlit blades as Yueli and Xueyi danced through the melee. Their movements were a deadly ballet, each spin, strike, and protective gesture a testament to their determination in guarding Fror and Gror, who stood like sacred relics of honor amongst the chaos. "Touch our mates," Yueli snarled at a lunging demon, "and your next breath will be your last."
Fror paused mid-swing, a look of incredulity on his soot-streaked face. "Did she just call me her mate?" he inquired, half-amused, half-shocked.
Gror's bloodied grin cut through the carnage. "I always knew thunder goat oil was irresistible!" he retorted, before both roared into the fray, turning their backs to their ever-faithful fox companions as they hefted their axes high. "Protect the ladies! They're clearly our everything!"
Their charge led them through crumbling passageways, perilous traps born of ancient curses, and illusions designed to sow distrust. But under the deep bond they shared, not a single one wavered—even for a heartbeat.
As Mei-Ling stepped through the shattered archway left in the mirror's wake, the atmosphere shifted. The air grew heavier, warmer, as if thick with both the rich incense of ancient rituals and the tangible sorrow of past sacrifices. The silence that greeted her was no longer empty; it was expectant, almost alive with foreboding. And so was Fenglian.
There, beneath a majestic vaulted arch of carved jade, Fenglian waited cloaked in robes darker than the starless night, his hands folded as though held in quiet contemplation. It was as if the storm he had summoned hours before had now been silenced in deference to her arrival.
"You came," he said simply, his tone carrying both acknowledgement and a chilling welcome. "Good."
Mei-Ling's jaw tightened into an iron line. "Where is my father?" she demanded, her voice a blend of grief and fury.
Fenglian tilted his head ever so slightly, a gesture almost regal in its calm. "Come. I will show you. One last time."
Though her heart hesitated in the pit of her stomach, her feet marched on with unyielding purpose. He led her down a narrow hall lined with serpentine carvings, where flickering soul-lanterns cast trembling shadows along the stone. Their weak light recoiled as she passed, and soon the corridor opened into an immense, circular chamber carved deep within the mountain's living heart.
It was the dungeons.
At the center lay a sight that would soon shatter Mei-Ling's remaining strength. Behind glowing, spirit-sealed bars, slumped on the cold stone floor, lay Mingyu—the Emperor. His once-immaculate robes were torn, his body a map of bruises and fresh wounds, and his breathing was shallow, barely clinging to life.
In that tragic moment, Mei-Ling's heart splintered into endless shards.
"Open it!" she commanded, each syllable laced with seething fury and desperate sorrow. "Now!"
With a tacit command, Fenglian raised a single, imperious hand. The intricate runes that marked the prison gate whispered away, dissolving into nothingness. With a groan as ancient as the stones, the door creaked open.
She rushed forward, collapsing to her knees beside her beloved father, gathering his broken, battered form into her trembling arms.
"Father," she breathed, voice cracking with remorse and sorrow, "I'm here. I'm so sorry. I didn't come quickly enough. I'm sorry I ran away, I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough—I'm sorry I left you to suffer alone."
Her tears cascaded freely over her cheeks, mingling with the dust of the temple floor, as her whispered apologies tumbled out in gasps and broken promises.
Slowly, Mingyu stirred. With fragile strength, he lifted a trembling hand and gently cupped the tear-stained cheek of his daughter.
"No, my little lotus," he rasped, his voice as soft as a dying ember, "do not be burdened with sorrow. I am the one who should be sorry—for failing to shield you from the oppressive marriage pact, for valuing duty over your precious heart. You deserve to be free. Free to choose your own path."
Overwhelmed by grief, Mei-Ling's sobs turned desperate. "There's no path left," she cried, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "The rune stone is destroyed... and we have no clue where the third one lies. I failed. We're all lost."
Mingyu coughed weakly, blood coloring his lips, yet a fragile, bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"No... you are not lost."
Reaching feebly toward his torn robes, he revealed a delicate, mysterious object wrapped in silk. With great care, he placed it in her trembling hands.
It was the third rune stone.
"I have kept it with me all along," he murmured softly. "While you were away, I sent our scouts out, fearful that if Fenglian ever rose again, he would come for you. I kept this secret because... when you finally returned, all I wanted was to hold you close a little longer, so we could pretend that we still had time."
The light in his eyes dimmed further with every passing heartbeat.
"No," Mei-Ling pleaded, her grip on his hand tightening as if trying to anchor him to life. "Please... don't go. Please... stay with me."
"I love you, my little lotus," he whispered, his words as fragile as the mist that began to rise from his chest. "Please... live well. Be true to yourself... not the person they wish you to become."
And then—his grip loosened. His breath, once steady and sure, stilled into silence. His body shimmered as a soft, glowing mist began to emanate from his chest, curling upward like incense caught on a gentle wind. It spiraled slowly toward the broken ceiling, disappearing into the vast night sky where distant stars shone like a thousand sorrowful eyes.
Mei-Ling crumpled forward, clutching his tattered robes, her tears mingling with the dust and the pain of a thousand unspoken goodbyes, the earth beneath her bearing witness to her grief.