We moved west through the broken mountains until the trees thinned into jagged stone teeth, and the sky darkened with dust. Shen Yue kept checking behind us, counting shadows that might not be shadows.
"You're sure you can walk?" she asked.
I shook my head. "No."
Her mouth twitched. "Then don't fall before I do."
The wind grew harsher. Grains of red sand cut across my cheeks like tiny blades. A storm on the horizon roared like some vast creature inhaling the world.
"That," Shen Yue said, pointing to the whirling wall of dust, "is not natural."
"It's the city," I said. "The one he sent us to."
"The one that forgot itself?"
"No," I murmured. "The one that chose to forget us."
The ground rumbled beneath our feet—the second warning since dawn. Armies marching. The mountains vibrating with the weight of tens of thousands.
We kept moving.
The sandstorm loomed higher. The sky behind it went black.
Then—
the bridge stirred.
Not violently.
Not with hunger.
With anticipation.
Something inside the storm was watching us.
I pulled my cloak tighter and quickened my pace.
"We're almost there," I said.
Shen Yue muttered, "That's what I'm afraid of."
Before we reached the storm, the wind changed direction. The sand pulled inward, forming a narrow opening—as if the storm was welcoming us, or swallowing us.
We stepped inside.
The world turned red.
Ling An did not sleep.
Zhou soldiers patrolled the streets in rigid formation, swords unsheathed but pointed down—a show of discipline, not peace. Civilians watched from shuttered windows. Ministers whispered in corners. Priests prayed in hallways where the shadows hummed.
In the Lotus Hall, Wu Jin stood over a map, trembling despite himself. The ink trembled with him.
He had returned from Zhou's Emperor as if walking back from execution.
He hadn't slept a moment since.
He ran a hand down his face and stared at the pins marking the approaches.
Southern forces moving north.
Zhou forces moving inward.
The Emperor himself marching with the marsh regiments.
All converging.
He whispered, "Father… what have you done?"
The answer came sooner than he expected.
The hall darkened.
A breeze entered—though all the windows were closed.
Shadows bent toward the door.
The Lord Protector stepped inside.
Wu Jin froze.
He bowed automatically, breath shallow.
"Rise," the Lord Protector said. "Bowing wastes time."
Wu Jin straightened, hands trembling behind his back.
"Zhou is preparing to overthrow the He Lian dynasty," he said. "The Emperor marches with the South. If they join—"
"They will not," the Lord Protector replied.
His tone was calm, gentle, even soothing—and that was the most terrifying part.
Wu Jin swallowed. "How can you be certain?"
The Lord Protector reached out and touched the map. The ink shifted beneath his fingers like liquid.
"Because they believe they are hunting each other," he said softly. "Not us."
Wu Jin stared. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," the Lord Protector murmured, "their hatred blinds them. Zhou wants the South crippled. The South wants Zhou humiliated. Neither understands that Liang is the only battlefield that matters."
He withdrew his hand. The ink stilled.
"And you, Jin," he said, "you will stay where you are."
Wu Jin hesitated. "And if the Emperor demands my surrender?"
The Lord Protector tilted his head slightly.
"If he wants you," he said, "he will have to climb the tower."
Wu Jin's breath left his lungs in a thin gasp.
"I'm not ready," he whispered.
The Lord Protector smiled.
"No one is."
He stepped closer, placing a cold hand on Wu Jin's shoulder.
"But readiness is irrelevant. We will win."
Wu Jin bowed his head.
He did not trust the Lord Protector.
He feared him.
But fear was no longer optional.
Fear was survival.
Outside the hall, Wu Shuang leaned against a pillar, listening. She let the shadows fold around her like a cloak.
She had heard everything.
The Lord Protector's confidence.
Wu Jin's breaking voice.
The shifting war lines.
She closed her eyes.
Then—
she turned away and walked down the corridor, silent as a blade slipping between ribs.
She stopped before the quarters of Minister Chen—the last minister openly loyal to Zhou.
She knocked once.
Chen opened the door, startled. "Princess? To what do I owe the—"
She placed her hand on his chest.
"Forgive me," she whispered.
He frowned. "For—?"
The shadows behind her rose.
When they fell again, Chen collapsed wordlessly, throat opened by nothing a mortal eye could see.
Shuang knelt beside the body and wiped her hands.
"Loyalty," she murmured. "Such a difficult thing to manage."
She stood.
"Better to prune early."
In the South, the Emperor of Liang's caravan crossed the marshes under banners of white lilies. The Southern King rode beside him, proud, deferential, utterly obedient.
"Your Majesty," he said, "our scouts report the He Lian capital preparing for siege."
The Emperor smiled.
"Good."
"And Zhou?" the King asked. "Their legions gather."
"Good."
The King hesitated. "And the Lord Protector?"
The Emperor's smile widened—too calm, too serene.
"I am eager to see him."
He brushed dust from his sleeve.
"Eager," he repeated, "to see whether he can finish what I began."
The Southern King bowed so deeply his forehead touched his saddle.
"Liang will follow your light," he whispered.
"Not light," the Emperor corrected gently.
"Truth."
He looked north.
"And truth burns."
The marsh wind trembled as if kneeling.
The sandstorm pressed inward as Shen Yue and I stumbled deeper. Sand hit my arms like sparks. The air grew thick, resistant, as if time itself slowed inside the storm.
Then the world shifted.
The noise stopped.
The storm fell silent as a temple after prayer.
We stepped forward—
and the storm parted completely.
A city appeared before us.
Not ruins.
Not stone.
A living maze of obsidian walls and golden-roofed towers, all flickering slightly as if half-real.
Torches burned green-blue along the gates.
Shen Yue whispered, "What is this place?"
"The one place Heaven forgot to erase," I said. "Or didn't dare to."
"Why?"
"Because they learned something here." My voice lowered. "Something Heaven could not control."
We approached the gate.
The shadows moved.
A hooded figure stepped out.
Not a monk.
Not a scholar.
Something in between.
He bowed to me without hesitation.
"We have been waiting," he said.
"For me?"
"No," he replied.
"For the bridge."
The bridge inside me coiled like a serpent.
Shen Yue stepped in front of me, blade up.
"Touch him," she said, "and you die."
The figure didn't flinch.
"We do not harm keys," he said. "We only reveal what they open."
I swallowed hard.
"What do I open?"
His eyes glinted beneath the hood.
"A door," he said softly. "One your father fears."
He stepped back, gesturing for us to enter.
"Come, Wu An," he said. "Your third cut awaits."
The bridge throbbed with a low, eager pulse.
Shen Yue squeezed my arm.
"We run if you say run."
"I know."
We stepped through the gate.
The storm closed behind us.
The city swallowed us whole.
And somewhere far away, the tower's second bell began to shudder—
a warning to every throne on earth.