Chapter 53: Marching

Dark clouds cloaked the sky and earth, casting a vague gloom over the fields. The fleet, mighty and vast, moved eastward, rowing against the current.

Xiulote sat cross-legged at the bow, clutching a long Obsidian dagger in his arms, which relaxed him. He watched the mighty river, observed the undulating mountains, gazed at the lush forests, and beheld birds flying low. Raindrops fell, pitter-pattering, dampening his long hair. The mist blurred his vision, making the world seem distant.

He had once been a passerby across millennia, silently wandering alone in the primitive past. Like a lost goose, circling in a strange sky, merely watching the years pass by, overlooking the majestic landscapes, feeling a distant detachment in his heart. Such was the loneliness of a transmigrator.