A soft glow suffused the morning as Lan Zhuoran woke near the battered cistern. The once-agonizing dryness in his mouth had eased, replaced by the promise of enough water to stave off despair. Gao Tianrong stood watch as always, gazing at the horizon where sunlight bathed the plains in gentle gold.
Yin Feiyan stirred on the other side of the small fire, her breathing steadier than it had been in days. She flexed her splinted arm gingerly, meeting Lan Zhuoran's eyes with a ghost of a smile. "Still tender, but better."
He nodded, rising to stretch sore muscles. "We're all improving. That water saved us."
Gao Tianrong knelt by the trickling pool at the cistern's base, filling a waterskin. "We should collect as much as we can before moving on. The next waypoint might be days away."
They set to work, topping off every container they had. Feiyan carefully dabbed fresh water on her bandages, washing away dust and dried sweat. The mule drank deeply, recovering from the harsh trek. Though the scorching sun threatened to reclaim the land, the three travelers felt an invigorating sense of possibility.
By mid-morning, they set out again, heading east once more. The dryness remained, but the knowledge that they weren't on the brink of collapse gave them renewed stamina. Gao Tianrong led the way, scanning for potential bandit trails. Lan Zhuoran walked with Feiyan, ensuring she didn't strain her injured arm too much, though she insisted on carrying her share of supplies.
As they crested a slope, the wind picked up, swirling dust around them. Dark clouds gathered in the distance—perhaps a distant storm. Feiyan tilted her head, hope flickering in her eyes. "Maybe we'll get rain."
Lan Zhuoran and Gao Tianrong exchanged uncertain looks. Rain could bring relief, but also flash floods or mud that mired travel. Still, anything was better than unrelenting drought. They continued, the wind tugging at their cloaks, the sky growing increasingly overcast.
Around midday, they spotted a lone traveler in the distance—a hunched figure in tattered robes, trudging west. Tension rippled through the trio, but the stranger showed no aggression, simply plodding along until they drew close enough for greetings.
"Blessings upon you, friends," the traveler called, voice raspy. "Might you spare some water? My flask ran dry."
Lan Zhuoran glanced at Gao Tianrong, who gave a slight nod. Their recent fortune at the cistern allowed for minimal charity. Feiyan handed over a small cup. The traveler gulped it gratefully, bowing in thanks.
"Safe roads to you," the stranger muttered, eyes darting to their weapons. "But heed this warning: storms brew east. I've seen warbands on the move."
Feiyan tensed. "Warbands?"
The traveler nodded grimly, returning the cup. "They wore no crest but carried enough steel to fill a smithy. Some said they're mercenaries banding together under a new banner. Could be the Black Wolf Syndicate or others. Hard to tell. Just be cautious."
Lan Zhuoran's stomach twisted. Each rumor confirmed the mounting chaos in the empire's outskirts. They thanked the traveler, who shuffled away, footsteps heavy with fatigue.
"That's not good," Gao Tianrong said quietly, eyes scanning the horizon where storm clouds gathered. "If the Syndicate is recruiting or merging with other mercenary groups, we're running headlong into a war zone."
Feiyan swallowed, adjusting the relic hidden under her cloak. "We can't turn back now."
Lan Zhuoran took her hand gently. "We'll face whatever comes."
They pressed on, the wind gathering force as the sky darkened. Thunder rumbled, and sporadic raindrops splattered the dusty ground. Relief mingled with apprehension—rain offered water, but also potential flash floods or muddy terrain. Gao Tianrong quickened his pace, seeking higher ground.
As afternoon gave way to tempestuous clouds, a sudden downpour unleashed upon them. Sheets of rain pelted their cloaks, drenching everything in moments. Feiyan gasped at the cold shock, her splint-bound arm stinging under the onslaught. Lan Zhuoran shielded the mule's face, guiding it up a rocky slope to avoid water pooling below.
Lightning cracked, illuminating the storm-shrouded plains in stark flashes. Gao Tianrong signaled for them to keep moving—stopping in a flash flood zone could be disastrous. They trudged through knee-high water that formed in gullies, mud sucking at their boots. Each thunderclap rattled Lan Zhuoran's frayed nerves.
After a grueling hour, they found a small bluff rising above the drenched plains. A shallow cave promised minimal shelter from the driving rain. With relief, they clambered inside, water streaming from their cloaks. Lightning revealed the cave's rough interior—just enough space for three travelers and a nervous mule.
They stripped off soggy gear, shivering in the chilly air. Gao Tianrong scouted the back of the cave, finding no dangerous animals or hidden foes. Feiyan sank onto the damp ground, every muscle quivering from exertion and adrenaline. "A storm like this… at least we won't thirst," she joked weakly.
Lan Zhuoran offered a shaky laugh, rummaging for tinder. The cave floor wasn't ideal for a fire, but they needed warmth. Despite the wet conditions, Gao Tianrong managed to coax sparks from flint, eventually lighting a small flame. Its flicker danced on the cave walls, shadows swirling in the wind's hollow moan.
For a time, they simply breathed. Rain hammered the rocky entrance, echoing in nature's fury. Feiyan cradled her relic-bound arm, eyes half-closed. Gao Tianrong dozed lightly, bow within easy reach. Lan Zhuoran stood near the entrance, transfixed by the lashing storm. Despite the hardship, he felt a strange reverence—nature's raw power overshadowed mortal conflicts for a moment.
Eventually, the trio shared a soggy meal of leftover dried rations, letting the fire's meager warmth stave off chills. Feiyan's wound remained stable, thanks to the new bandages. Outside, thunder gradually receded, though rain persisted. They resigned themselves to spending the night in the cave, half-expecting the Syndicate or unknown warbands to converge at any moment.
But no intruders arrived. The hours slipped by with only wind and rain as company. In that precarious solitude, they dared a small sense of safety, a fleeting sanctuary from the empire's chaos. Tomorrow, the storm might break or intensify, and the road to the capital remained uncertain. Still, for now, the cave's flickering firelight offered a fragile shield against both tempest and terror—a reminder that, even amid raging storms, hope could flourish.