Chronicles of Fates Path

Rain drummed on the broken barn's roof as dawn broke—pale light seeping through holes in the wooden boards. Gao Tianrong stirred the last of the soggy embers, coaxing up a meager warmth. Yin Feiyan slept fitfully, arm cradled close, while Lan Zhuoran pulled the mule outside for a quick check. Mud squelched beneath his boots, and a cool wind ruffled his hair.

His shoulder still ached, but compared to Yin Feiyan's condition, he had little to complain about. He found himself recalling the early days of this journey, back when Baihe Village was his only reference point for hardship. So much has changed, he mused, and there's no turning back.

When he re-entered the barn, Gao Tianrong was adjusting his bowstring, eyes scanning the corners as if expecting trouble. "We should move on as soon as possible," he said curtly. "The rain's still heavy, but staying here is a risk. Anyone could stumble on us."

Lan Zhuoran nodded, stepping over loose beams to check on Yin Feiyan. She stirred at his approach, blinking away grogginess. "Morning already?" she asked with a dry swallow.

He offered her a half-smile. "As much of a morning as this rain allows. How's the arm?"

She glanced down, grimacing at the blood-stained cloth. "Feels like it's on fire. But I can walk."

They gathered their scant supplies, extinguished the fire, and pushed open the barn's creaking door. Outside, the world lay shrouded in a dull gray, puddles reflecting the sky like fragmented mirrors. Gao Tianrong led them southeast, following what looked like an old dirt road now turned to muck.

Through the haze, Lan Zhuoran spotted distant shapes—perhaps stunted trees, or the remains of old fences. Occasional half-collapsed structures hinted at abandoned farmland. His heart sank at the sight of so much desolation. Were these lands all ravaged by bandits and mercenaries?

Midday arrived with no break in the weather. The downpour made it difficult to hear anything beyond a few feet, but Lan Zhuoran stayed alert, scanning each cluster of shrubs for ambushers. Despite the tension, the soggy trek lulled them into a kind of trudging monotony.

Then, out of the rain, a voice called: "Halt!"

All three froze. Gao Tianrong instinctively reached for an arrow, eyes darting for the source. Ahead, on a muddy rise, two figures materialized—a man and a woman, each clad in patched leather armor and carrying spears. They raised their weapons, though not in a full offensive stance.

"Who are you?" the man demanded, water dripping from his short beard. "We don't want trouble, but no strangers pass these parts without explaining themselves."

Lan Zhuoran steadied his breathing, relieved that they didn't bear the Black Wolf emblem. "We're travelers, seeking a route to the capital," he said, raising his free hand in a peaceful gesture.

The woman frowned, glancing at the battered state of Yin Feiyan's bandages and the ragged condition of their supplies. "You look half-dead, and your friend's injured."

"She needs herbs and rest," Gao Tianrong cut in, his usual wariness tempered by desperation. "Do you know of any safe place to stay around here?"

The pair exchanged a hesitant look. Finally, the man lowered his spear a fraction. "There's a small settlement two hills over—Keshan Hamlet. If you mean no harm, we can escort you there."

Relief flickered in Lan Zhuoran's chest. Another chance to rest, maybe to find proper help for Yin Feiyan's injury. But caution remained. "We appreciate that."

Still uneasy, the pair guided them off the muddy path and around a hillock, explaining that Keshan Hamlet had formed when a handful of farmers banded together for protection against raiders. They peered suspiciously at Gao Tianrong's bow and Lan Zhuoran's makeshift staff, but said nothing of it, perhaps understanding the need for self-defense in these lawless lands.

Soon, a collection of low huts emerged through the sheets of rain. Smoke rose from a few chimneys, and hastily assembled wooden barricades surrounded the hamlet. A wary guard at the entrance recognized the two escorts and let them pass. The hamlet seemed small—maybe a dozen buildings in total—yet the sight of organized dwellings felt like a haven after so many nights of uncertainty.

A short, stout man with a patchy beard approached as they entered. He wore a tattered cloak, eyes scanning the newcomers. "Who are these folks, Linghu?" he asked the male escort.

"Travelers," Linghu replied. "One's hurt. They're trying to reach the capital. I told them they could rest here if they keep the peace."

The stout man nodded slowly, sizing up Lan Zhuoran and Yin Feiyan. "I'm Yao, sort of the headman around here. We don't turn away wounded, but times are tough. We have little to spare."

Yin Feiyan stepped forward despite her pain, bowing respectfully. "We only ask for a dry place to rest. If you have any herbs to trade, we have some silver left."

Yao eyed them for another tense moment, then relented. "Fine. There's an old storehouse with a decent roof. You can stay there tonight. But don't cause trouble. We can't fend off bandits if things go south."

Gao Tianrong dipped his head. "We'll be grateful for the shelter."

Linghu and the woman—who introduced herself as Siqin—escorted the trio to a cramped storehouse near the hamlet's edge. The roof, patched with mismatched planks, offered meager protection from the unrelenting rain. Inside, barrels and sacks lined one corner, and a wobbly wooden table stood against the wall.

"We'll send someone with warm water," Siqin said, giving Yin Feiyan a sympathetic look. Then she departed, her spear clinking softly.

Once alone, Gao Tianrong began inspecting the corners for hidden threats. Lan Zhuoran helped Yin Feiyan settle onto a bench. She exhaled shakily, face pale. "At least it's not leaking as badly."

Lan Zhuoran gently set aside her cloak, checking the wound. "We'll see if we can find better herbs here."

She nodded, wincing. Gao Tianrong crouched beside them, brow furrowed. "We can't stay long. The Syndicate might have eyes everywhere. But a day's rest could make the difference between life and death."

Lan Zhuoran glanced at the storehouse door, rain tapping on the planks. For the moment, Keshan Hamlet offered an oasis of sorts, though fragile as any in these lands. "We'll make the most of it."

Exhaustion tugged at all three. The synergy of relief and lingering fear created a volatile mix, but for now, the battered travelers took solace in four walls and a roof—no matter how flimsy. Outside, the rain continued, promising them one night of uneasy peace before the road to the capital beckoned once more.