That night, the palace did not rest.
A thick mist descended from the jade roofs, covering the courtyards like a sigh from the gods.
Lanterns floated in the fog like lost stars, and the echo of footsteps seemed to belong to no one.
Suwei awoke with a start.
The silk of his bed was cold.
And in the air... a whisper.
A calling.
He rose without lighting the lamp.
The mist was inside his room.
And the door, slightly ajar.
—
He walked barefoot through the corridors of the east wing, guided by that strange mist.
The tapestries stirred without wind.
The statues seemed to bow as he passed.
And then...
He saw it.
A vision.
Not a dream.
A living scene.
Jin Long, wounded, his cloak in tatters,
Kneeling in the middle of a field red as blood under a broken moon.
Beside him, a boy...
or a girl?
Their golden eyes, their serene expression.
And a phrase:
"Fear not. The dragon is reborn when it burns."
The vision shattered like crystal.
Suwei fell to the floor, trembling.
—
