Gravity of Regret

The wind howled through the ruins of Frost Moon Province, carrying the scent of charred wood and old blood. Kalima Chileshe stood atop a shattered pagoda, his fingers curling into fists as memories clawed at his mind. The blue-white flames flickered at the edges of his vision, whispering promises of destruction.

*"You could burn it all again,"* the fire murmured. *"No one would stop you."*

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, heavy and unyielding. John Mwanabeti's golden aura pulsed faintly in the dusk, his voice a low growl. "We're not here to relive the past, Kalima. We're here to bury it."

Kalima exhaled, forcing the flames to recede. "Easy for you to say. Your sins didn't turn your homeland to ash."

John's grip tightened. "No. But they're still mine to carry."

Below them, the rest of the Ghost Tigers moved through the ruins. Humphrey Bwalya's resonant hum vibrated through the ground, dislodging debris as he searched for survivors—though they all knew there would be none. Mwansa Nkalamo's shadows slithered like serpents, probing the wreckage for traps or hidden foes. Vincent Kabonde knelt beside a half-buried skeleton, his fingers brushing the bones with a healer's gentleness.

"Zhang Wei's men were here," Vincent said, his voice hollow. "They took the bones of the dead and reforged them into weapons. Just like they did in the Mourning Moss Swamp."

Chisangalalo Zulu spat into the dust, his toxic breath curling into a green mist. "And the empire calls *us* monsters."

A sudden tremor rocked the ground. Timothy M'hango's voice cut through the chaos, strained but steady. "Incoming."

The sky darkened as boulders—no, *automata*—rained down upon them, their bronze shells gleaming under the dying sun. Clockwork soldiers, their qi-core hearts pulsing with stolen energy, landed with mechanical precision. At their helm stood a figure clad in black lacquered armor, his face hidden behind a snarling demon mask.

"Warlord Zhang Wei sends his regards," the masked commander sneered. "He thought you might return to this graveyard."

Kalima's flames erupted before he could think, a searing arc of blue fire slicing toward the enemy. The automata raised their shields, qi-infused metal absorbing the heat—but not the impact. The force of the blast sent them skidding back, gears grinding in protest.

John lunged, his golden aura exploding into a shockwave that shattered the first line of constructs. "Focus on the commander! He's the one pulling their strings!"

Mwansa's shadows lashed out, wrapping around the masked man's limbs—but the commander laughed, a hollow, echoing sound. "You think shadows can hold me? I am *Yin Xue*, the Bloody Snow. I've slaughtered more of your kind than you can count."

With a flick of his wrist, blades of ice formed from the moisture in the air, slicing through Mwansa's darkness. Humphrey's sonic scream met the ice, shattering it into glittering shards, but Yin Xue was already moving, his movements fluid as a winter river.

Vincent's hands glowed with a sickly light as he warped the ground beneath Yin Xue's feet, flesh and stone twisting together to trap him. The warlord's mask tilted, unimpressed. "Bone-warping. How quaint."

Then the world *shifted*.

Timothy M'hango's power slammed down like a god's fist, multiplying Yin Xue's weight a thousandfold. The warlord's knees buckled, his armor groaning under the pressure.

"Now!" Timothy barked.

Chisangalalo exhaled a cloud of venomous fog, the miasma coiling around Yin Xue's struggling form. The warlord gasped, his mask cracking as the poison seeped through.

But just as victory seemed certain, Yin Xue's fingers twitched. A small, silver bell fell from his sleeve, ringing once—a sound so pure it cut through the chaos.

The automata froze. Then, as one, their qi-cores *overloaded*.

"Get down!" John roared.

The explosion lit up the ruins, a sunburst of qi and shrapnel. When the dust settled, Yin Xue was gone—vanished like a ghost. Only the bell remained, its surface etched with a single character: *Redemption*.

Kalima picked it up, his flames flickering uncertainly. "What the hell was that?"

Timothy's face was pale. "A message. Zhang Wei knows we're coming."

Mwansa's shadows coiled tighter around her. "Or he's *inviting* us."

Vincent stared at the horizon, where the Jade Capital's spires pierced the sky. "Either way, we can't stop now. Not when we're this close."

John clenched his fists, his aura flaring. "Then we move. Before more ghosts rise to haunt us."

As the Ghost Tigers turned their backs on Frost Moon Province, the wind carried the faint echo of laughter—and the weight of regrets yet to come.