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The first thing Guosheng noticed was the heat.

It clung to him the moment he stirred, thick and damp, pressing against his fur and settling in his lungs as he drew a shallow, startled breath. The ground beneath him was warm stone, not the cool tiled floors of the infirmary, not the familiar hush of shaded corridors and incense smoke. When he opened his eyes, light spilled down through broad leaves overhead, fractured and gold, and the sound that met him was not the distant murmur of palace life—but insects, birds, and the low, constant breath of water moving somewhere nearby.

He pushed himself upright slowly, heart beginning to thrum with quiet urgency. Around him rose a tropical mountainside, lush and alive, greenery layered upon greenery until the cliffs themselves seemed swallowed by life. Vines crept over rock, heavy with flowers he did not recognize. Somewhere downslope, water spilled in a warm, steady cascade, its mist drifting through the air like breath. The ocean stretched beyond it all—vast, blue, and impossibly close—its presence carried on salt and wind. It was beautiful. Undeniably so. And utterly wrong.

His eyes scanned the landscape, searching instinctively for stone walls, for banners, for the symmetry of Tianlong’s design. There was none. No palace roofs catching the sun. No distant bells. No attendants, no healers’ wing, no sense of structure at all. Just heat, life, and a wilderness that paid no mind to his confusion.


He took a step forward, then another, following the sound of water as much for comfort as direction. The air was heavy, humid enough to bead along his fur, but it did not repel him; instead, it settled around him like a living thing, warm and insistent. Strange animals moved in the undergrowth—bright-feathered birds, unseen shapes rustling leaves—and the scent of ripe fruit hung thick and sweet, unfamiliar yet inviting. Paradise, perhaps, to someone else. To Guosheng, it was disorienting in its abundance.

Still, he moved with care. He noted the plants, the terrain, the way the stone held heat beneath his paws. He reminded himself to breathe evenly. Panic would not help him here.

Guosheng continued forward, ice-blue eyes searching the jungle and the cliffs beyond, carrying with him the small, steady hope that this was only a wrong turn in the world—not the loss of everything he knew.

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Sūruì woke to heat.

Not the familiar warmth of silk-draped chambers or the measured quiet of palace mornings, but something heavier—humid air clinging to her fur, the scent of ripe fruit and wet stone pressing close. She lay still for a moment, disoriented, eyes opening to bright green foliage and a slice of blue sky far too open to be indoors. The ground beneath her was uneven, warm, alive with distant movement and sound.

She rose carefully, paws unsteady, short tail tucked close as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. Towering mountains rose nearby, their slopes lush and steep, framed by the glitter of ocean beyond. Somewhere, water fell—warm waterfalls spilling over stone, the sound constant and unfamiliar. Birds cried overhead, strange and colorful, and the air felt thick enough to breathe.

The palace was nowhere in sight.

Panic fluttered quietly in her chest, restrained more by habit than calm. Sūruì searched the landscape for signs of order—paths, walls, banners, anything that might suggest civilization or courtly life—but found only jungle, stone, and sky. She smoothed her fur instinctively, as if composure might summon familiarity, then began to walk, small and careful, calling softly into the open air.

Hello?

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For :3