Shuang Yan Chronicles : 01

The Valley

The twin suns were suspended like fiery eyes above the sky when Sai Yue arrived at the base of the Seventeen Silent Whispers Hills. Here, the air thickened with murmurs, not of people but of something older and deeper. The northern winds crashed into the hillsides, bouncing back in endless spirals, filling the landscape with overlapping whispers that clawed at the edge of hearing. Each gust carried a secret, each echo a mystery, all slipping into one another in an incoherent hum that pressed against the mind. The noise didn't belong to the living or the dead—it simply was, a constant reminder of the hills' otherworldly essence. Travelers were known to lose their sanity if they stayed too long in these slopes. It was said that without a tune to ground their thoughts, the whispers would carry them away into madness. But Sai Yue did not know any songs; her lineage was bound to silence. Unlike humans, dragons didn't sing.

She glanced back at Du Si Bo, who trudged behind, his voice cracking as he chanted an old song, his eyes tightly bound to shield him from vertigo. Despite herself, Sai Yue found her head nodding to his rhythm, her feet moving in time as they climbed.

 The path wound up like a twisted spine, clinging to the mountainside's edge, where a single misstep would send them plunging down to the valley below. Sai Yue could feel the weight of the journey pressing down with each step, the immense burden she carried, the daunting task that awaited on the other side. 

She'd never encountered the Draconians in her travels, but she knew of their reputation—brilliant, calculating, driven by something other than mere survival. Their lands boasted planned cities, temples adorned in strange, shimmering colors, a structured hierarchy, and a commission that ruled in the name of the Green Dragons. Their alliance with the Empire wasn't just advantageous; it was their shield. They were clever enough to shape their beliefs to align with imperial favor, securing power, influence, and safety. And yet, it was said that the Draconians had once believed in something else, something grander and older than the empire. Somewhere in their structured lives, beneath their clever façades, the seeds of that belief lay dormant. It was that spark she hoped to ignite.

"Do you think they'll let us through without harm?" Du Si Bo's voice cracked through the whispers, uneasy.

Sai Yue's face held no fear, her gaze fixed on the shifting path. "They won't," she said simply.

 "They don't know us, and they're loyal to the Empire. To let strangers pass might risk their standing. They'll likely detain us, question us, and if they suspect our purpose—" her eyes darkened—"they'll send us to the Emperor to be executed."

She stumbled then, the ground shifting under her foot, and they both lurched forward, grasping at jagged rocks.

 Du Si Bo cursed under his breath, clinging to her arm as she steadied them.

"How can you speak of it so calmly?" he demanded, breathless.

Sai Yue's eyes narrowed, cutting through the wind's murmur. "The Draconians worship dragons, but they're also beholden to a greater mystery: the Moon stone. If the Temple still stands, I might remind them that dragons aren't the only beings worth fearing."

Du Si Bo scoffed, a laugh bubbling out despite the tension. "Fear? Look at you—you're as adorable as a songbird."

Her gaze turned flinty. "I am a being that could stand beside a red dragon, a creature born of flame and fury. I am the one who emerged from their revered egg. When they learn that, they'll recognize me as one of their gods. Fear is a powerful force, and religious people are its most faithful servants. My father told me that nothing cripples a warrior race faster than faith. Half of them fear to kill, the rest fear to die. That's the weakness I'm betting on."