After the Storm

Far from the celebration in Tiantan, in a realm where shadows dance with the weight of ancient malice, another story unfolds. The air itself seems to hold its breath, waiting for the confrontation that will shape the fate of worlds.

Princess Sayaka leads the battered Fox Spirits and Husk Soldiers through the dark woods, her presence a shadow among Shadows. The portal awaits them like a wound in reality, bleeding darkness into the fragile membrane between realms. They pass through like breath through a veil, leaving behind the world of light and hope—leaving behind a retreat that tastes like ash in her mouth.

The air on the other side is cold. Still. Too quiet, even for a dead realm.

She has been here a few times, and she still hates it here. The very atmosphere seems to cling to her like a second skin, heavy with the weight of broken promises and forgotten dreams. Every step through this desolation feels like trespassing in a tomb that remembers the names of all who have failed before her.

The sky above stretches black without stars, a void that seems to swallow all dreams and spit back only the bitter taste of what might have been. The ground beneath her feet is rocky and rugged, bearing the memories of a thousand wars fought in the name of conquest, each stone a monument to ambition turned to dust. And in the centre—pulsing, humming, always watching without eyes that can see beyond mortal comprehension—stands the Yellow Monolith.

The Princess steps forward, her steps dragging a trail of simmering rage behind her like the tail of a comet, each footfall a punctuation mark in a sentence of fury. The Fox Spirits follow in her wake, unusually silent, their heads bowed in submission to forces greater than themselves. The Black Husk Soldiers are already burrowing their hideous carapaces back into the ground, returning to the earth from which they spawned like nightmarish seedlings retreating to their roots.

The horde files in, limping, smoking. Lesser than they were before the battle, their mightiest Rock Guai’s are missing, their numbers reduced by the courage of those who stood against them.

It shouldn’t have ended like this. The words echo in her mind like a mantra of failure, a reminder that victory was within her grasp and yet slipped through her fingers like sand through an hourglass, each grain a moment lost, each grain a promise broken.

“Explain yourself!” she roars at the Monolith, her voice sharp and cold as winter frost. “Why did you call the retreat?”

No response comes at first. The Monolith always likes silence, believing that silence is power. That waiting makes it righteous, that patience is a virtue when wielded by those who have eternity to spare.

The Princess is in no mood to wait. Her patience has been stretched thin by the taste of almost-victory.

“I had the Riders in my grasp! The General was mine. Another minute and I would’ve crushed him and stormed the town.”

“And lost control!” the Monolith replies at last, its voice carrying the weight of cold, ancient calculation. “The Elite Riders are the sword-hand of Heartland. A direct assault would bring attention we are not yet prepared to repel.”

“Attention to Yue Kingdom!” Princess Sayaka retorts. “Why do you think I fought in this disguise, for a dress-up party?”

“Yue is not part of the plan.”

The Princess clenches her fists, the leather of her gloves creaking with the force of her frustration. Power simmers beneath her skin like molten metal, ready to be unleashed upon those who would dare to question her methods, even before a supernatural overlord.

“And this is your so-called ‘plan’? Letting the Earth Princess slip through our fingers?”

“Your job was to secure the upper ranges. Our new weapon hunts the Earth Princess.”

“The Clone?” Princess Sayaka scoffs, and tosses a scorched figure before the Monolith like a ragged doll. The broken form clatters against stone, limbs askew, its once-brilliant core now dark as dead embers. “I took a detour to pick up your broken toy. You wouldn’t want to draw the Riders’ attention snooping around your trash now, would you?”

The Fox Spirits gasp and dare not breathe, looking up at the Monolith with wide, terrified eyes.

The silence that follows means only one thing: Princess Sayaka is right. Their silence is an admission of failure, a recognition that their carefully laid plans have been thwarted by forces beyond their control—forces the Monolith had not anticipated, forces that suggest the Earth Princess is far more powerful than any of them realised.

“You’re afraid,” she says, her voice carrying the weight of accusation and truth, sharp as a blade between ribs. “Afraid that if I destroy too much, too fast, you’ll lose your game pieces. You need Heartland intact for the grand design you’re weaving. You need the Riders alive because killing them would trigger responses you’re not ready for. You’re playing a long game, and I’m just another piece on your board.”

The words strike true. She can feel it in the way the air shifts, in the way the Monolith’s silence becomes something heavier, something that acknowledges her insight without conceding her power.

“We are playing for more than your childish duels!” The Monolith’s voice deepens, filling the space between her ribs like cold smoke, carrying with it the weight of ancient malice and the promise of consequences yet to come. “This is but a minor setback. Phase One is already complete. Phase Two begins now, and it requires precision, not brawl. We must carry out the next phase with haste before our enemies realise what we truly seek.”

Phase Two. The words hang between them like a blade suspended by a thread. She knows what this means—operations beyond simple conquest, movements that span kingdoms, manipulations that reach into the very heart of power itself. And the power needs to be in their hands.

Princess Sayaka turns her back, a gesture of defiance that speaks volumes of her royalty and prowess. She is the Princess of Wei. She will not be ordered about like a common soldier, will not be told how to fight and when to retreat.

The Fox Spirits glance at her, their eyes shivering with unspoken unease, and they dare not speak. They know better than to interfere in matters between powers greater than themselves.

“We don’t share power,” the Princess says, her teeth carrying the weight of truth and the promise of consequences. “We just happen to share a goal.”

The Monolith doesn’t respond. Its silence is a concession, a recognition of their plan’s dependence on the mortal Princess’ might.

“Very well, I’ll entertain your next game.” She walks away towards another portal opening, her movements carrying the grace of a predator and the determination of one who will not be denied. “And this time, don’t get in my way.”

Her words hang in the air like a promise and a threat, carrying with them the destinies to come—destinies that will unfold across kingdoms and through shadows, destinies that neither the Monolith nor the Princess can yet fully see, but which draw closer with every heartbeat, every breath, every moment that the world continues to turn in their favour.

As the portal swallows her form, the shadow realm returns to its eternal quiet, broken only by the Monolith’s low hum, a sound like distant thunder promising a storm that has not yet arrived, but which will come. It always comes.

And somewhere, far from this dead realm, a pink crystal pulses with life in a general’s pouch, a girl follows a farm girl into the wilderness, and a town celebrates a victory they do not fully understand.

“The threads of fate continue to weave. The game has only just begun.”