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The snow stretched endlessly, a vast sea of white. It wasn’t solid but made of countless tiny ice crystals, each like a grain of shimmering sand. And it was these countless grains that formed an extraordinary landscape, an icy desert of snow and frost.
Naran trudged forward barefoot, each heavy step sinking into the strange terrain, one deep, one shallow. With every step, more of the white frost clung between his toes.
His entire body was caked in blood, but his hand, iron-strong, gripped Meng Xingxian like a vice. His eyes, wide and wary as brass bells, swept the area without rest.
This Wolfmother was tricky, dangerous in ways that couldn’t be trusted. So he kept her close, his massive golden axe poised right against her pale neck, blade unmoving.
Behind him, the two-headed direwolves followed closely, silent but relentless.
“Make them back off,” Naran growled, voice like rolling thunder.
“Khagan, you’re giving me too much credit. I’m not that powerful,” Meng Xingxian cooed mockingly, her tone light and...
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