The vast chamber shimmered faintly under the glow of suspended spirit-lamps, each flame dancing like a captured star. The silence was soon broken by the soft rustle of silken robes as servants entered — heads bowed low, their auras restrained in reverence. They moved with practiced grace, setting down trays of jade and gold upon the low table before their lord. Plates of celestial fruits, moon-petals, and spirit confections shimmered faintly, the air filling with a fragrance both sweet and ancient.
When they withdrew, Rui Ying spoke, her tone carrying that teasing lilt she was known for, though her words bore weight.
"The only reason Master could not resist the seal before… was because Master gave up two of his tails—"
She halted abruptly as Zhì Fēng's cold gaze cut across the air like a blade. His golden eyes flashed with silent warning.
"Master did it from the goodness of his heart,"
He said firmly, his voice deep and edged with pride.
Àn let out a quiet sigh, leaning back upon the carved armrest of his throne-bed. The violet smoke from his pipe curled upward, twisting around his fingers.
"It is true,"
He murmured,
"I did give up two-ninths of my essence… to Xiǎo Lóng."
For a long moment, the chamber fell silent save for the faint echo of flowing water from the distant courtyard.
Rui Ying opened her mouth to continue,
"But at that time—"
Àn raised a hand, cutting her off. His gaze had turned distant, the glint of ancient memories flickering behind his eyes.
"I know,"
He said quietly.
"He entered the Phantom Ruins without telling me. He wished to force his own ascension… foolishly."
Àn rose, his robes flowing like midnight waves.
"And for three hundred years,"
Rui Ying added softly, ears drooping slightly,
"he did not send a single word."
Zhì Fēng's jaw tightened. His voice rumbled with restrained anger.
"Yet Master still went to him. You sacrificed a portion of your cultivation just to pull him out alive."
Àn chuckled — a sound neither bitter nor amused, merely knowing.
"Children will always be children,"
He said, stepping toward Zhì Fēng.
He placed a pale hand atop the dragon's head — a rare gesture of affection.
"And you two… care far too much."
Zhì Fēng bowed slightly, his massive frame lowering, but his eyes gleamed with emotion unspoken.
Àn turned away, plucking a delicate pastry from the tray. He bit into it lightly, the golden crust crumbling between his lips.
"Though…"
He murmured, a faint frown tugging at the corner of his mouth,
"why do I have the feeling… that I'm missing something here?"
Before either could answer, Rui Ying shifted without warning. Her form rippled into that of her beast self — a midnight panther no larger than a cat. With a playful bound, she leapt into Àn's arms, curling herself comfortably against his chest.
Her emerald eyes gleamed like liquid jade as she purred softly.
"Because, Master," she whispered into his mind,
"some things are meant to be found… not remembered."
Àn's gaze softened faintly, though his lips formed no reply. The violet smoke rose once more, veiling them in dreamlike haze.
"I heard…"
Àn's voice was low, almost tender, yet it rippled through the chamber like the slow unfolding of a storm. He raised one hand, and a few glistening butterflies—woven from dreamlight and memory—fluttered down from the ceiling. They landed upon his slender fingers, wings shimmering faintly with hues of violet and gold.
"Xiǎo Lóng has lost his memories."
The butterflies stilled.
Across the room, Zhì Fēng and Rui Ying froze. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the faint hiss of the incense and the distant hum of the palace's dream barriers.
Àn's gaze did not lift. His thumb traced lazily along Rui Ying's fur as she lay in his lap, though his touch—gentle as it seemed—made her tremble. There was no warmth in it. Only a quiet, glacial weight that pressed down upon her soul.
"M–Master—"
Àn exhaled softly, the sound like wind over frozen glass. His voice, when it came again, was colder than the void.
"It was not long after I was sealed."
The words turned the air brittle. Even the butterflies, sensing the shift, flickered and dissolved into violet mist.
Rui Ying's tail stiffened. She shivered, unable to meet his eyes.
"Y–yes, M–Master…"
Zhì Fēng, usually steady as a mountain, felt his chest constrict. He dropped to one knee, the air trembling under the pressure of Àn's qi.
"M–my lord…"
Àn's hand stilled, then flicked sharply.
Rui Ying was cast aside by invisible force, her body twisting midair before she struck the ground and shifted back into her humanoid form. Her knees met the cold jade floor as she bowed, trembling, her forehead touching the polished stone.
Àn stood slowly. The soft clink of gold chains and jewels echoed through the silent chamber.
"What,"
He began, each word deliberate,
"exactly happened while I was away?"
His eyes—those golden irises rimmed in violet—were devoid of mercy.
Rui Ying's voice broke as she forced the words out.
" Jīn Yín Lóng escaped from the Phantom Ruins… and… and created an army."
Àn's gaze sharpened, like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath.
Zhì Fēng bowed lower.
"Afterward, he went to the Primordial Palace in the Primordial Realm… with no recollection of who he was."
"Thus becoming…"
Rui Ying's voice was barely a whisper,
"the Fifth Prince of the Primordial Realm."
Àn's face did not move, but the air around him grew heavy. The smoke from his pipe darkened to deep violet, swirling around him like a storm of restless souls.
"Then?"
He asked quietly.
Zhì Fēng's claws dug into the marble floor.
"The Elders grew restless. They feared retaliation from both the Demon and Primordial Realms. Their loyalty faltered."
"And?"
Rui Ying swallowed hard.
"We dealt with those who turned their eyes elsewhere. Those who betrayed the Dream."
The silence that followed was long.
Then Àn lifted the pipe once more, the faint glow at its end flaring like a dying star.
"As long as we're stable…"
He murmured, purple smoke curling from his lips,
"nothing else matters."
The chamber fell still again — save for the faint hum of the butterflies' dying glow, and the echo of a king who, even in stillness, could make eternity tremble.
*><*
Somewhere within the Primordial Realm — the Silver Palace.
Moonlight poured across polished marble floors, turning the vast corridor into a river of pale luminescence. Celestial wind bells chimed faintly from the high arches, their sound carrying the stillness of ancient divinity.
Through this corridor walked a lone figure, trailed by several attendants whose steps dared not echo too loudly.
The figure was draped in a layered ombré robe, white at the shoulders, fading gradually into storm-grey and ending in a black as deep as the void. A collar of snowy fur crowned the robe, soft yet regal, while faint golden embroidery traced symbols of draconic lineage along the sleeves — threads that seemed to glimmer of their own accord.
Beneath the elegant folds, a darker power radiated — an intensity both restrained and lethal. Raven-black hair fell in long waves down his back, and his eyes, gleaming silver-gold, carried the weight of both wisdom and sorrow. His very presence distorted the air — as though light and shadow vied for dominion around him.
He was a being carved from divine heritage and forbidden power — Xiǎo Lóng, the Fifth Prince of the Primordial Realm.
"The tournament is in a month. Am I correct?"
His voice cut through the silence — low, even, yet sharp as a blade.
One of the attendants at his back flinched slightly, then answered with hurried reverence.
"Y–Yes, Your Highness. His Majesty, the Emperor, has urged that you join the tournament this year."
A heavy pause followed. The mere mention of the Emperor's will made the others avert their eyes.
Another attendant dared to speak, voice low.
"His intentions are clear as day…"
The prince halted, his gaze distant, the faintest curl of disdain crossing his lips. The echo of his next words filled the corridor like a chill wind.
"Whether they shine in daylight or vanish into night, his intentions remain the same…"
He turned slightly, and the dim light caught the edge of his eyes — gold bleeding into silver, an otherworldly shimmer that made even the shadows bow.
"He never seems to stand his ground."
Silence followed, heavy and unbroken. The attendants bowed deeply, not daring to breathe too loud under the weight of their master's aura.
As he resumed walking, the embroidered dragons on his robe shimmered faintly, coming to life with each step. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled from the palace spires — deep, sonorous, ancient — announcing the turning of another celestial hour.
And though none dared to speak it aloud, every soul in that hall could feel it —
The calm before a storm long forgotten by time.
For in the heart of the Fifth Prince of the Primordial Realm,
Something sleeping had begun to stir.