The warning horns scream across the Hawk Clan's territory, sharp and urgent, slicing through the wind like blades.
For a moment, the sky itself seems to hesitate.
Then it darkens.
From the western horizon, shadows surge forward—wings blotting out the sun, scales flashing like wet obsidian. The Demon Clan advances in a disciplined wave, not chaotic, not rushed. This is not a raid.
It is a declaration.
"You said war begins with whispers," Lin Yue murmurs as he stands beside Feng Lihan on the high ridge. "They skipped that part."
Feng Lihan's wings unfurl fully, red feathers igniting against the pale sky. "No," he replies quietly. "This is the echo."
Below them, the Hawk Clan moves with grim efficiency. Warriors take to the air, forming layered formations. Healers usher the young and wounded into the inner caverns. Elders carve glowing sigils into stone—old magic, forbidden magic, the kind used only when extinction looms.
An elder approaches Feng Lihan, bowing low. Not as a courtesy.
As allegiance.
"The clan stands with you," she says. "Not because of blood. Because you chose us."
Something tight in Feng Lihan's chest loosens—just enough to breathe.
"Thank you," he says. Then, louder, carrying on the wind, "All units—hold formation. Do not pursue. Let them see we are not prey."
The Demon Clan stops just outside the border winds, hovering in eerie stillness. At their center, a larger figure drifts forward, cloaked in dark crimson energy.
The Demon Lord does not shout.
He does not need to.
"Feng blood," his voice rolls across the sky, smooth and poisonous. "You hide behind borrowed feathers and call it loyalty."
Feng Lihan steps forward, unflinching. "You stand on stolen bones and call it rule."
A ripple of tension passes through both armies.
Lin Yue's hand curls unconsciously over his abdomen again. This time, the warmth surges stronger—reactive. Protective.
The Demon Lord's gaze snaps to him.
Ah.
So he feels it too.
"Well," the Demon Lord smiles, slow and cruel. "It seems the rumors were incomplete."
Feng Lihan moves instantly, shifting to block Lin Yue from view, wings flaring wide. "Look at me," he snarls. "Your war is with me."
The Demon Lord laughs softly. "Oh, it always was. But wars are won by ending futures."
Before Feng Lihan can respond, the air fractures.
A single Demon warrior breaks formation, hurling a spear of condensed black energy toward the ridge—not at Feng Lihan.
At Lin Yue.
Time snaps taut.
Feng Lihan moves on instinct alone.
His wings fold, spin, and shield—the spear slamming into his feathers with an explosion of light and force. The impact hurls him backward, crashing into stone.
"Feng Lihan!" Lin Yue screams.
Smoke clears.
Feng Lihan rises slowly, feathers scorched, blood trailing down his shoulder—but his stance is unbroken. His eyes blaze, no longer restrained.
"That," he says, voice echoing unnaturally across the battlefield, "was your last warning."
The Hawk Clan responds as one.
The sky erupts.
Red and gold wings clash with blackened scales. Wind magic screams. Talons meet blades. The mountain range becomes a battlefield of fire and shadow.
Lin Yue is pulled back by healers, resisting until Feng Lihan locks eyes with him midair and gives a single, sharp nod.
Live.
Reluctantly, Lin Yue retreats—heart hammering, senses ringing with every clash above. Inside the cavern, he doubles over as another pulse hits him, stronger than before.
This time, it hurts.
A healer freezes. "Chief Consort… that reaction—"
Lin Yue grips the stone, breath shaking. "Say it."
Her voice drops to a whisper. "The child is responding to combat magic. Strongly."
Above, Feng Lihan tears through Demon ranks, wings blazing like a burning standard. Every strike is precise. Furious. Controlled.
But far beyond the chaos, the Demon Lord watches—not angered.
Intrigued.
"So the heir awakens early," he murmurs. "How convenient."
He raises one hand.
The sky answers.
Dark clouds spiral inward, swallowing the battlefield in unnatural dusk. Warriors falter as pressure crashes down—ancient, suffocating.
"This ends today," the Demon Lord declares. "Bow, Feng Lihan. Or watch everything you love be erased."
Feng Lihan hovers alone before him, chest heaving, blood dripping into the void.
He thinks of his parents. Of the cave. Of Lin Yue's trembling hands. Of the life waiting to be born into this broken sky.
He lifts his head.
"I already watched the world burn once," he says. "I survived."
His wings ignite—fully, violently, gloriously red.
"And I will not kneel again."
From deep within the mountain, something ancient stirs.
And Lin Yue screams—not in pain, but power—as a burst of radiant energy surges outward, tearing through the darkness like dawn breaking a curse.
The battlefield freezes.
The Demon Lord's smile finally cracks.
"…Interesting."
The war has begun.
And the future has chosen its side.