The festival fires were still burning when the sky darkened—not from nightfall, but from a swarm of blackness on the horizon.
Zerg.
The warning bells didn't even have time to finish their first toll before the screams began.
Sheng Long's orders were shouted over comms, his black armor already strapped into place as he leapt onto the highest command platform.
"Defensive lines! Shield sectors A through D! Get the civilians underground!" he barked, his voice slicing through chaos like a blade.
Xiao Lin had been beside him just moments before—smiling softly as he adjusted his fox pendant, brushing fingers against Sheng Long's as if promising another quiet night.
Then it all erupted.
Somewhere in the initial chaos, a sharp pain had sliced through Xiao Lin's shoulder—not from the Zerg, but a blade. Human.
He turned, eyes wide, and saw one of the royal guards pulling off his helmet, revealing a scarred face Xiao Lin didn't recognize.
"You're worth more dead than alive," the man hissed, pushing him into a collapsing corridor as the wall burst behind them.
Then it went black.
When Xiao Lin came to, he was underground—deep in the old sewer system beneath the city. A place the Zerg wouldn't go near for reasons unknown. He was bleeding, dizzy, but alive.
Above, the battle raged.
He could feel Sheng Long.
Not see him. Not hear him. But feel the desperate, raging storm through their bond.
Xiao Lin's legs trembled as he stood. His beast nucleus ached, his healing power flickering like a candle about to go out—but he forced himself forward.
I have to get back. He thinks I'm dead.
Sheng Long stood at the front line, soaked in blood, both human and Zerg. His blade cleaved a path through enemies, eyes searching, always searching.
"Marshal! You have to pull back—"
"No!" Sheng Long roared. "Until I find him, no one retreats!"
The dragon inside him was screaming. Clawing.
Not again. Not again. Not like before.
The last time he'd lost someone he cared about, he'd detonated his beast core and nearly destroyed himself. This time, if Xiao Lin was truly gone, he didn't think he'd survive it.
And maybe he didn't want to.
Flames burst from his body as his dragon partially formed, tearing through the Zerg front.
Below ground, Xiao Lin pressed trembling hands to his wound and muttered a quiet incantation. A soft white glow lit the damp walls.
He didn't stop. Didn't rest.
Even if he had to crawl, he would reach Sheng Long.
He owed him that.
And more.
Atop the battlefield, Yan Shuo shouted into comms. "We've cleared the southern sector—still no sign of Xiao Lin!"
Sheng Long stood still for a moment, eyes burning.
Then he whispered, more to himself than anyone else, "I will burn this empire to the ground if they took him from me."
Just as another wave of Zerg came crashing down.