The flames soared into the sky, making half of the night sky glow with scarlet.
Among the broken walls and ruins, the Cold Palace has long been turned into purgatory.
The charred wood crackled and exploded, and thick smoke billowed like an ink snake entwining the sky.
The flames licked the corpse that had not yet cooled down, and a woman wearing a phoenix robe was randomly thrown on the top of the pile of corpses. Only half of the wings of the phoenix embroidered with gold threads were left intact, and the rest was gnawed into gray and black curls by the flames.
Her long hair was as withered as grass, the skin and flesh on the left side of her face rolled up, revealing the white bone marks underneath, and her breathing was so weak that it was almost imperceptible.
