The mountain bent wrong.
That was the first sign.
Space folded like silk pinched between invisible fingers. The stones beneath us tilted in directions the earth had no business leaning. Shen Yue steadied herself against a rock that pulsed once, almost like breath.
I didn't steady myself.
The bridge inside me went rigid.
Not warning me.
Hiding.
Which meant whatever stood on the other side of that fold was older than it. Older than the pact it came from. Older than the Lord Protector's impossible ambition.
A thin voice drifted through the warped air.
"You should not have come."
Not a whisper.
Not a human tone.
But the sound of a memory that had survived after the moment died.
Shen Yue drew her sword.
I stepped forward instead.
The fold unravelled.
And it stepped out.
If "stepped" was the right word.
Its body was the shape of a man who had been forgotten — limbs too long, joints bending in silent corrections, a face made of smooth stone where features had been erased. Patterns cut across its torso like seal script carved by a drunken god.
Not a beast.
Not a ghost.
A remnant.
A thing left behind when the world corrected itself.
Its faceless head tilted toward me.
"You are his," it said.
Shen Yue hissed. "Whose?"
It pointed at me.
Not at my skin.
At my bones.
At my inheritance.
"He marked you before you were born."
My stomach clenched. "Marked me how?"
The remnant moved its hand — the gesture crude, almost apologetic.
"With intent," it said.
My pulse went cold.
Intent.
The same word Father had used when he taught me sword forms as a boy.
"A blade means nothing. Intent is everything."
The remnant took a step closer. The stones around it recoiled.
"He came here," it said. "Your father. Long ago. When the border between living and not-living was thin enough to slice."
"What did he want?" I asked.
It laughed.
A broken, uneven sound, like a grave cracking open under frost.
"What all tyrants want. Permission."
The word struck harder than any spear.
Shen Yue's grip tightened. "Permission for what?"
"To break the world and remake it in the image of his wound."
I inhaled sharply. "His wound?"
The remnant touched its chest with a finger that had no fingerprints.
"He showed us his blood," it said. "Offered it freely. Poured it on the stone until the stone learned his pulse. He said kingship was not enough. Empire was not enough. He wanted the Mandate that never dies."
The thing leaned closer.
"And to buy it," it said, "he offered you."
Shen Yue moved between us instantly.
"You will not touch him."
"I cannot," it said. "He is already touched. Already carried. Already… carved."
My jaw clenched. "If he gave me away, why does the bridge inside me fear you?"
The remnant's head tilted again.
"Because I watched your father make it," it said. "Piece by piece. Ritual by ritual. Sacrifice by sacrifice."
My throat tightened. "What kind of sacrifice?"
It answered with a gentleness worse than cruelty.
"Blood."
Whose blood?
I knew before I asked.
Mine.
Wu Jin's.
Wu Shuang's.
The remnant continued:
"He spilled from his own veins. From your mother's. From those born before you, those who died before you. He gave parts of you to the bridge before you ever breathed the world."
Shen Yue froze. "There were others?"
The remnant nodded slowly.
"Children," it said. "Attempts. Patterns that did not hold. He offered them to the bridge, and the bridge refused. You, however… you it drank."
My skin crawled.
Shen Yue whispered, "An… don't listen—"
But I already had.
I forced my voice still. "Why tell me this?"
"Because he is coming," the remnant said. "And when he arrives, the thing inside you will kneel."
It stepped back.
"And you will not."
The stones began to tilt again.
The fold in the air twisted closed, like a wound re-stitching itself.
But before it vanished, the remnant spoke one last time.
"When the bell rings," it said, "he will claim you."
"Claim me for what?" I demanded.
The remnant's featureless face flickered — not in movement, but in recognition.
"For the throne he cannot take," it said.
Then it disappeared.
The world snapped back into shape.
Shen Yue rounded on me. "An—don't you dare believe—"
"It's true," I said hollowly.
"How can you know?"
"Because it explained something he would never admit."
She waited.
I swallowed.
"He never wanted to rule Liang," I said. "He wanted the Mandate itself. And the Mandate isn't a throne."
Shen Yue's breath caught.
"No," I said softly. "It's a vessel."
She stepped closer, gripping my arm. "An. Listen to me. You are not a vessel."
I didn't answer.
Because the bridge inside me was no longer hiding.
It was trembling.
Not with hunger.
With recognition.
Ling An slept badly that night.
Wu Jin did not sleep at all.
He read the same scroll three times — the one describing Hei Fort's silence, the tower rising with no workers, and the marsh that had turned to black glass.
Zhou's priests chanted softly in their courtyard, trying to "stabilize" the palace geomancy. Ministers whispered in corners about evacuation routes. Servants refused to look at mirrors after two had shattered without being touched.
Wu Shuang entered without knocking.
"You felt it?" she asked.
"Yes," Wu Jin said hoarsely.
"What was it?"
He looked at her — really looked at her — at the faint threads of gold under her skin, the unnatural stillness in her breath.
"When Father returned to the throne room," Wu Jin said, "and the city cracked… I thought it was power."
"It was," she said.
"No," Wu Jin whispered.
"It was permission."
Her eyes widened.
And for the first time, she looked afraid.
"Jin," she said quietly. "Where is he now?"
He stared south.
"At the tower," he said. "Finishing something he began long before we were born."
Night settled on the foothills like a shroud.
Shen Yue sat by the fire, sharpening her blade. It made no sound. The stone was dead. The metal was obedient.
I stared into the flames.
The remnant's words would not leave me.
Permission.
Mandate.
Vessel.
Father had not broken the world for kingdom or glory.
He had broken it for a throne no living man could sit on.
"An," Shen Yue said softly. "What are you thinking?"
"That the thing inside me wasn't born with me."
"And?"
"That he put it there."
She exhaled slowly. "Can you fight him?"
I looked toward the west, where the remnant had vanished.
"No," I said. "Not yet."
"Then what do we do?"
I stood.
The bridge inside me stirred.
Not in obedience.
Not in fear.
In defiance.
"We go further west," I said. "To find the ones who refused him. The ones he couldn't break. The ones who survived the first time he tried to take the Mandate."
"And when we find them?" Shen Yue asked.
"Then," I said, "we learn how to kill a man the heavens already said yes to."
The fire dimmed.
Just for a heartbeat.
Like someone far away had struck a bell.
And nothing had answered.