Lin stood at the entrance of the royal palace, cold air biting his skin. His grip tightening around Shen's dagger, his fingers white as the steel glinted in the dim light. The palace was eerily quiet, too quiet. Lin had anticipated this moment for years, and yet, the anticipation didn't dull the bitterness in his heart. The death of the king, the queen, the nobles–it was necessary. It was the price of vengeance, and Lin had already paid in full.
The king sat atop his throne, unaware of the storm that was about to ravage his world. Lin didn't wait. The dagger flew through the air, sinking deep into the king's chest. Blood splattered, painting the floor red, a crimson testament to years of pain and betrayal. Lin didn't stop. The blade cut deeper with every thrust, relentless, until the throne was no longer recognizable under the bloodstains.
When the king's body fell, Lin turned to the queen. The one who ordered Yan's parent's death. Her fate was sealed the moment Lin set foot in this palace. His moved swiftly, without hesitation, and she joined the king in the pool of her own blood.
The nobles who had watched, who had supported king, tried to flee, but it was futile. Lin's rage consumed them all. He took there lives one by one, as easily as he had taken the king's. The soldiers who rushed in stop him fell like blades of grass before a storm. The palace was left in ruins, bodies scattered, blood staining the floor.
Lin stood amidst the chaos, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. The palace was burning. His heart was still. The fire reflected in his cold eyes. There was no joy in this victory, no relief. There was only the weight of everything he had lost.