The silver morning mist curled along the veranda like a silent witness to Rui's restlessness.
He stood barefoot in the dew-soaked corridor outside his chambers, silk robe untouched by the chill. The weight of the serpent's words still rang in his chest. Convergence. Blood. Destiny.
He clenched his fists.
The lotus mark hidden beneath his sleeves still throbbed faintly, as if reminding him: You are no longer just yourself.
Behind him, the door creaked.
Li Yuan stepped out, expression softening the moment he saw Rui. "You couldn't sleep."
Rui didn't turn. "Neither could you."
Li Yuan approached carefully, like one nearing a skittish bird. "You've been distant since the dream."
Rui finally faced him. His gaze wasn't cold—it was resigned. "You heard what the priest said."
Li Yuan's jaw tightened. "Yes. That your life and mine are tied to fate. That we're some divine balance meant to hold the empire together."
He paused. "But Rui, I've never wanted you because of prophecy."
Rui's lips curled faintly. "Haven't you?"
Li Yuan blinked, as if slapped.
Rui's voice softened. "You saw me in a conquered hall and made me yours. You called it fate, obsession, need. Maybe it was all those things. But now… you see a sign in my blood and suddenly it's destiny."
He took a step back, the mist curling between them.
"I need to know who I am outside of all that."
Li Yuan reached for him, then stopped. "I don't want to lose you."
Rui looked at him, eyes unreadable. "Then stop trying to hold me."
In the Emperor's Study
Later that day, Li Yuan sat in his private study, scrolls unrolled before him—reports of troop movement, diplomatic letters, coded warnings.
But his thoughts wandered.
To Rui. To the look in his eyes.
He had fought wars with less confusion in his heart. Rui wasn't just beautiful or clever or mysterious. Rui made him feel. Made him hesitate. Made him want to be more than an emperor raised by bloodshed.
He ran a hand through his hair. The court was growing restless. The ministers whispered behind their fans. And worst of all—he could feel them closing in on Rui like wolves in silk.
He had to act.
But not with force. Not this time.
The Emperor's Gift
That night, Rui returned to his chambers to find a box carved from pale moonwood.
No note. No seal. Only the faint scent of camellia and sandalwood.
Inside, nestled in white silk, lay a comb of jade and silver—delicate, hand-carved. At its base was a lotus bloom, petals shaped with aching precision.
Rui held it in his hand for a long moment.
He remembered the old stories—the ones his mother told him before the war. Of kings who combed their beloved's hair to show tenderness. Not dominance. Not claim. But care.
He looked out into the dark, uncertain whether to feel warmth or fear.
Was this love? Or another weapon, polished with good intentions?
The Ministers Move
Elsewhere, in the hidden chambers beneath the Jade Court, the ministers gathered once more.
Zhao paced slowly, his voice cold. "He is withdrawing from the emperor. The prophecy has frightened him. Good. Fear separates faster than poison."
Minister Xu frowned. "But it also makes him harder to predict."
"We don't need to predict him," Zhao said. "We only need to ensure the emperor's heart continues to blind him."
A new voice spoke from the shadows.
"If Rui walks away… will Li Yuan still be our puppet?"
The silence that followed was sharp.
Zhao's lips twitched. "That depends. On how deep the emperor has fallen."
A Moment Interrupted
The following morning, Li Yuan came to Rui's chambers again.
But this time, he didn't demand entry. He waited.
After a long moment, Rui opened the door. Their eyes met—neither guarded, neither surrendered.
"I saw the gift," Rui said quietly.
"I didn't mean it as a bribe."
Rui's gaze flickered. "Then as what?"
Li Yuan hesitated. Then, earnestly, "As a gesture. That I see you. Not just the prophecy. Not just a prince. But Rui. The man I wake up thinking of. The one who makes my heart quieter when he walks into a room."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Then Rui looked away. "I don't know what I am anymore, Li Yuan."
"You're mine," the emperor said.
Rui's voice was flat. "Don't say that."
Li Yuan stepped closer, voice low. "I don't mean it as a command. I mean… I want you to be. Not out of duty. Or destiny. But choice."
Rui looked up slowly, something fragile flickering in his expression.
But before he could answer, a sharp knock shattered the moment.
A guard bowed at the door. "Your Majesty. There's… been an incident at the southern shrine."
Li Yuan's expression darkened. "What kind?"
The guard swallowed. "A blood omen, my lord. The priest was found dead. His eyes… burned with lotus marks."
Foreshadowing the Gods
That night, Rui stood at the shrine, staring at the charred remains of the altar.
The scent of lotus ash hung thick in the air.
A symbol had been scorched into the stone. Not human-made.
A spiral coiled like a serpent, wrapped around a sword. The sign of the Heavenly Watchers—the ancient gods exiled beyond the mortal realm.
Rui touched the cold stone.
Whispers stirred in the wind.
He heard it again: You cannot run from what you were born to be.
His pulse slowed.
If the gods had marked him, then this was no longer about love or prophecy.
It was war.