The palace corridors had never felt this hollow.
Rui walked them like a ghost in silver silk, his fingers brushing the jade columns that had once awed him. Now, they felt brittle—fragile as truth beneath a smiling mask.
Word of their return had spread like wildfire, but not a single minister had sought his presence. Not out of respect. Not out of fear. But calculation.
He knew the scent of a snare when it crept near.
Li Yuan had returned to the imperial council, as expected. The emperor had to smile, nod, pretend all was well. Rui, however, was free to vanish into the margins of the palace.
And so he did.
Whispers Behind Doors
It was in the Hall of Records, buried among neglected scrolls and dim lanternlight, that Rui found what he wasn't supposed to see.
The scroll was misfiled—tucked behind a tax report from five winters ago. At first, Rui thought it was a copy of a merchant route.
Then he unrolled it.
Not trade, but treason.
An encoded message. Half-burned.
Marked with the seal of Minister Zhao.
His breath stilled. He studied the patterns—some code used between ministers. Half-legible. But the phrases were enough:
"The Crowned Star must fall… the southern omen confirmed… contact the Northern Wastes…"
Another line chilled him deeper:
"Let the union be broken by scandal if not by steel."
Rui closed the scroll slowly.
So they had known.
Not only of him. But of the prophecy.
And they feared it enough to turn blades inward.
The Emperor's Suspicion
Li Yuan paced the Council Hall like a coiled beast.
Seven ministers had declined his summons under various pretenses. Two had offered their allegiance in hollow words. One dared suggest the empire should "diversify its succession strategies"—a veiled insult, referring to Rui.
He kept his composure. But inside, a storm brewed.
By the time he returned to Rui's chambers that evening, his jaw was tight, and his robes reeked of incense and deceit.
Rui was seated at the window, moonlight across his skin. He turned slightly as Li Yuan entered, holding the scroll out.
"You should read this."
Li Yuan took it, eyes narrowing as they scanned the damaged words.
When he looked up, his voice was low. "Where did you find it?"
"Buried. Like truth always is," Rui said. "They've been plotting since before we left."
Li Yuan said nothing for a long while. Then, stepping closer, he asked, "Why give this to me?"
Rui turned his gaze to the moon. "Because you still believe I'm yours to protect."
Li Yuan reached for his hand, but Rui withdrew it gently.
"I don't need a cage, Li Yuan. I need an ally."
A pause.
"I am both."
Rui didn't answer. He didn't need to. His silence said more than any sword ever could.
The Divine Sign
That night, Rui dreamed again.
He stood in the temple ruins—no longer broken, but glowing. Pillars of gold. Roofs of starlight. He was barefoot, robed in silver threads that shimmered like dew.
At the center, the crown pulsed. Above it, a great serpent coiled in the sky, eyes burning red.
"You have awakened what was buried," it whispered. "But your heart… is still chained."
Rui looked down.
His chest bore a glowing sigil—a lotus wrapped in flames.
"Your union is not mere affection," the serpent hissed. "It is convergence. Of realms. Of blood. Of destiny. The heavens will not stay silent forever."
Then the serpent lunged.
He awoke, gasping.
And found his palms burned with two faint lotus-shaped welts.
The Priest's Warning
At dawn, Rui summoned High Priest Xian.
Few trusted him. Many whispered that he once consorted with spirits older than the empire itself. But Rui remembered the priest's eyes during their coronation—filled not with ambition, but knowing.
Xian arrived silently, his robes trailing smoke and myrrh.
"You bear a mark," the priest said at once, eyes narrowing as he examined Rui's palms. "It is not of this world."
"I dreamt of a serpent," Rui said. "It spoke of my heart being chained."
Xian exhaled, slow and grave.
"The serpent is the guardian of the divine gate. It only speaks to blood touched by prophecy. This mark… confirms what the Oracle feared. You are the Heir of the Star Lotus."
Rui froze. "What does that mean?"
"That your life, and your love, are tied to the fate of the empire," Xian replied. "If you fall… the gates between realms will open. And not all who cross them will be divine."
A chill slid down Rui's spine.
"What of Li Yuan?"
Xian studied him. "He is the fire to your lotus. Together, you are balance. Apart… the heavens will tilt."
In the Court Shadows
Meanwhile, Minister Zhao received a new letter—unsigned, but sealed with a sigil of the Old Kingdoms.
He opened it with a dagger.
Inside: instructions. Coded.
"The boy bears the mark. You must drive them apart before the lotus blooms fully. A blade may fail. But betrayal always cuts deeper."
Zhao smiled thinly.
Time to use the weapon they least expect.