The caravan seemed unusually quiet, probably because they were nearing the Qiusangze River. There were always unsettling legends about the woods around here, and besides, something like that had happened earlier.
Naxin glanced around before turning back to untie a leather waterskin from the packhorse's saddlebag. He pulled out the stopper, tipped his head back, and drank the last of the water inside in one gulp. He immediately frowned. Even the water had begun to taste sour. Fortunately, they should reach the banks of the Qiusangze River before nightfall and replenish their supply there, assuming nothing went wrong.
He vigorously rubbed the beast's sturdy neck, then gripped the leather reins and stuffed the limp waterskin away again. The packhorse snorted. It was an old horse, with teeth that showed more than twenty years of age. Ever since Naxin had taken up this dangerous livelihood along the endless border, the old fellow had been chewing grass under his care.
Dusk was approaching. The already gloomy sky had taken on a hazy tint, while wisps of thin mist drifted through the distant woods. A few long-abandoned houses appeared and vanished among the trees. Above the ribbonlike clouds, several stars glittered, decorating the horizon's faint crimson glow.
Naxin stared in that direction. Where the sun sank lay land covered by Black Rose banners. Beyond the kingdom of the dead and a vast ocean, there was supposedly a prosperous human world.
The strange phenomenon in the western sky had occurred three days ago. That night, the caravan had stopped in Tomro, and everyone had drunk themselves senseless. They only learned from the locals the next morning what strange sight had occurred that night. Naxin, however, had personally witnessed the golden raindrops falling from the sky and vanishing beneath the western horizon.
The sight reminded