True to rumors, the next morning brought distant thunder—both natural and manmade. Heavy clouds gathered in the sky, while faint booms of artillery or war-drums echoed from the western gate. Lan Zhuoran, Yin Feiyan, and Gao Tianrong arose early in the modest inn, tension knotting their stomachs. The city seemed poised on a knife's edge, bracing for an incoming storm.
They left their room, stepping into streets teeming with anxious crowds. Soldiers roamed in squads, dragging reluctant conscripts or ordering barricades built at strategic intersections. Civilians hoarded food or boarded windows, fearful of warlords breaching the walls. Overhead, the thickening clouds cast a pall of dim light.
Their forged passes in hand, the trio moved carefully toward the Jade Hall district. Feiyan's splint felt steadier, but she remained wary of jostles in the agitated throng. Gao Tianrong noted each guard checkpoint, ensuring they avoided rigorous scrutiny. Lan Zhuoran watched for any sign of Syndicate scouts, recalling their black-cloaked menace from earlier travels.
As they approached the Hall's perimeter, the atmosphere turned electric. Loyalist soldiers in phoenix-crested armor erected barricades, barking instructions to workers stacking sandbags. Ministers and aides scurried in and out of side gates, carrying bundles of scrolls. The city's leadership evidently prepared for siege or infiltration.
Councilor Hui stood near a makeshift command post, conferring with officers. Spotting the trio, he beckoned them closer, relief flickering across his face. "You returned," he said, voice low. "Good. The outer wards might face an assault at any moment."
Feiyan's chest tightened. "Are the warlords that close?"
Hui grimaced. "A coalition led by two or three warlords—Zhang Iron-Heart among them—gathers outside the western gate. We suspect they mean to test our defenses within days, if not hours. Some inside the Hall debate surrender or negotiation, but others demand we fight."
Lan Zhuoran's staff rested at his side. "And the relic… is it still safe?"
A thin smile tugged at Hui's mouth. "Yes. Ministers Xiao and Sheng remain vigilant. No sign of infiltration yet. But if the Hall's walls crumble, no ward can hold. War can break any seal if it's total chaos."
Gao Tianrong squared his shoulders. "Then we'll help. We can fight, guard, whatever it takes. We didn't come all this way to watch warlords tear the city apart."
Hui nodded, gaze flicking to Feiyan's bandaged arm. "You're sure you can manage? The battlefield won't spare injuries."
Feiyan inhaled. "I'll do what I can. My arm's better. I owe it to my mentor—and to the city—to stand firm."
Warm satisfaction flickered in Hui's eyes. "Thank you. The Emperor's principal general, Lord Wei, organizes volunteers to bolster our ranks at the inner gates. Take your passes, join them, and keep watch for mercenary infiltrators or Syndicate turncoats. The capital needs every able blade."
The trio bowed in unison, heartened by a sense of purpose. Hui pointed them to a side gate leading to the Hall's armory yard, where new recruits and volunteers mustered. With a final nod, they parted ways.
Following Hui's directions, they found the armory yard bustling with blacksmiths hammering weapons, quartermasters distributing battered armor. Shouts and clangs created a cacophony of frantic preparation. A stern officer in phoenix-crested armor halted them, suspicious until they displayed Hui's pass. Grim acceptance replaced suspicion on his face.
"You three are a welcome addition," the officer said curtly, tossing them each a scrap of identifying cloth—a phoenix insignia. "Wear it so our troops don't mistake you for enemies."
Lan Zhuoran pinned his to his belt, Gao Tianrong fastened one near his bow quiver, and Feiyan tucked hers into her cloak. The officer pointed them to a corner where volunteer squads formed. Surly peasants, minor martial artists, and a few seasoned veterans huddled in uneasy camaraderie.
A call rang out: "Positions at the west gate! Move out in an hour! Archers to the parapets, spearmen to the barricades!"
A jolt of realization coursed through Feiyan—this was no training exercise. Real war might break out within hours. She glanced at Lan Zhuoran, who offered a reassuring nod. Gao Tianrong tested his bowstring, face set. We protect the city. We keep the relic safe by extension. That was their resolve.
A grim sense of unity pervaded the yard. People murmured about warlords approaching in waves, mercenaries rumored to slip inside disguised as refugees. Tension soared. The trio found a quiet spot to check gear and re-bandage Feiyan's arm. Each subtle ache reminded them how far they'd come—no relic on their persons now, only the vow to defend its keepers.
As the sun climbed behind thick clouds, casting a pale glow over the armory yard, an aide announced final instructions. "All volunteers, report to Gate Captain Ruo at the western battlements. Stand ready for an imminent clash. May the phoenix crest guide our blades!"
With no time to waste, the trio joined the volunteer column marching through the city's battered streets. Citizens peered from shuttered windows. Drums thumped in the distance, heralding the approach of forces beyond the walls. A heaviness settled in Feiyan's chest: once again, they walked toward peril.
Yet their steps held purpose. If war erupted, they'd fight—guarding the Jade Hall from within, safeguarding the relic by ensuring the ministers remained in power. Past storms and trials had honed their courage. Now, with the empire's fate teetering, they would stand on the ramparts, staff and bow and wounded arm raised in defiance of chaos.
Ahead, the western gate loomed, soldiers lining the parapets, volunteer squads forming ranks. Thunder rumbled in the distance—whether real or metaphorical, none could say. The capital's final stand might be at hand, and Feiyan prayed their sacrifice wouldn't be in vain. For the relic, for the empire, for hope—they marched onward into the gathering tempest.