The first light of dawn pierced the mist that clung to the peaks of the Jade Dragon Mountains like a soft, white scarf. In the village of Dragon's End, nestled in a high valley, the day began not with a roar, but with a sigh. The sigh of the wind through the ancient pines, the gentle gurgle of the glacier-fed stream, and the soft clinking of chisel on stone.
Li was already awake. At sixteen, he found he needed less sleep, his body thrumming with a restless energy he didn't quite understand. He knelt by the stream, the worn stone of the washing-slab cool and familiar beneath his knees. In his hands, he held a raw piece of green jade, its surface cloudy and rough. His father, the village's master carver, had tasked him with polishing it into a smooth, perfect sphere. It was a lesson in patience, his father said. To find the perfect shape hidden within the stone, one must not force it, but guide it.
"Your mind is like the jade, A-Li," his father would say, his voice as steady as the mountains. "Noise and haste only cloud it. Stillness reveals its true nature."
Li focused, the coarse grinding paste between the jade and the slab creating a rhythmic, rasping whisper. His world, in this moment, was small and perfect: the scent of damp earth and pine, the chill of the mountain air on his neck, the growing warmth of the stone in his palm. He could hear Old Man Fen whistling as he fed his chickens, and the distant, melodic laughter of the women gathering mushrooms in the forest.
This was Dragon's End. A place forgotten by the empire, a place of quiet routines and simpler truths. The name was a relic of a older, grander story—a legend that the great Serpent River, which carved the valley, had been born from the tail of a slumbering mountain dragon. To Li, it was just home.
His reverie was broken by a sharp, playful kick that sent a spray of cold water onto his tunic.
"Still playing with rocks, A-Li?"
It was Mei, her cheeks flushed from her morning run, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. She was the village headman's daughter, and Li's closest friend since they could both walk.
He scowled, though there was no heat in it. "I'm honoring the stone's spirit," he retorted, mimicking his father's solemn tone. "Something you wouldn't understand, you noisy pheasant."
Mei laughed, a sound that was brighter than the morning. "The stone's spirit looks bored. Come on! The Azure Cloud berries are ripe on the southern ridge. If we don't get them, the monkeys will."
Li looked down at the half-polished sphere. His father's voice echoed in his head, preaching discipline. But the sun was warm, the berries were sweet, and Mei was already starting up the path, looking back at him with a challenge in her eyes.
Patience, it seemed, could wait.
He hid the jade in his pouch, its surface still rough and imperfect, and sprinted after her.
The southern ridge was drenched in sunlight, offering a breathtaking view of the valley. Their village was a mere scattering of wooden roofs and plumes of cooking smoke against the vast, emerald tapestry of the forest. As they picked the fat, indigo berries, their fingers staining purple, Mei grew uncharacteristically quiet.
"Do you ever wonder what's beyond the peaks, A-Li?" she asked, her gaze fixed on the distant, hazy horizon.
Li shrugged, popping a berry into his mouth. "More mountains. Then the lowlands. They say the cities there are so big, a man could get lost in a single street. And the Emperor's army wears armor that shines like fish scales."
"They also say the Dragon Master's army wears scales that shine like fire," Mei said, her voice dropping slightly.
A sudden chill, unrelated to the mountain air, touched Li's spine. The Dragon Master. He was a story told to frighten children, a specter of a warlord from the far east who commanded the wind and fire. A figure of myth, not a man of flesh and blood.
"He's just a story, Mei," Li said, with more confidence than he felt.
"Is he?" She turned to him, her expression serious. "My father... he's been worried. The traders from the east last moon spoke of nothing else. Of villages that refused to bow, that were... silenced. They say he hunts for something. An ancient power."
Li scoffed, trying to dispel the unease. "And what ancient power would he find here? The world's most stubborn sheep? The secret of perfectly polished jade?" He gestured with the berry stain on his fingers. "Or perhaps our legendary berries?"
Mei smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You're right. I'm being foolish. It's just... stories have to come from somewhere."
They finished picking in silence, the joy of the morning slightly dimmed. As they began their descent back to the village, the world felt different to Li. The shadows between the trees seemed deeper, the rustle of leaves more menacing. He shook his head, chastising himself. Mei's fears were contagious, that was all.
They were halfway down the path when they heard it.
It wasn't a sound that belonged to the mountains. It was a low, resonant thrum, like a monstrous bee, but deeper, vibrating in the very marrow of their bones. It came from the eastern pass, the one the traders used.
Li and Mei exchanged a look of confusion that quickly sharpened into alarm. They scrambled to a rocky outcrop that overlooked the village square.
What they saw froze the blood in their veins.
The peaceful square was not peaceful anymore. Men on horseback, clad not in shining fish-scale armor, but in jagged, dark green plates that resembled the hide of some primordial beast, filled the space. Their banners flew a coiled, serpentine dragon against a field of ash grey. At their head was a man who sat upon his steed with an unnatural stillness. He wore a helmet fashioned into the head of a dragon, its jaws open in a silent roar.
This was no story. This was flesh and steel and terrible intent.
The village headman, Mei's father, stepped forward, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. His words were too faint to hear, but his posture was one of pleading.
The dragon-helmed man did not speak. He merely lifted a single, gauntleted hand.
And then, the screaming began.
Li's world, once so small and perfect, shattered into a million pieces. The last thing he saw before Mei pulled him back into the cover of the trees was a plume of orange fire erupting from Old Man Fen's house, and the distant, terrifying figure of the Dragon Master, turning his head slowly, as if sensing their gaze from across the valley.