The group trudged through the dense forest, the mist curling around their legs like ghostly tendrils. The path was uneven, scattered with roots and stones that made every step a careful calculation. Their breaths puffed visibly in the crisp, cool air, and fatigue hung over them like a damp cloak.
At the front, Han Qing surveyed the terrain with his usual sharpness, his sword hand never straying far from its hilt. His expression was grim, his sharp eyes darting from side to side as he scanned for danger.
"We're close now," he said, his voice low but steady.
Behind him, the crown prince nodded, his face pale but determined. "Let's keep moving," he said, glancing back at the rest of the group. His words carried a quiet authority that kept the others focused.
