Ink and paint smolder, bones sing, a history of hidden blades lies beneath the snow.
Winter of the seventh year of Xuanhe. Snow falls over Bianliang like shattered jade.
The emperor holds a purple-bristled brush and paints Auspicious Cranes to pray for the realm. Before the ink on the feathers has dried, the Jin cavalry is already pounding at Yanshan.
The colors of a flourishing age and the gleam of blades in chaotic times clash in this very moment.
