The throne hall is lit too brightly.
Not with celebration.
With exposure.
Every torch burns high. Every shadow is forced thin against the walls. The jade floor has been cleaned, but faint dark veins still run where Wu Shuang's blood touched it. They refuse to fade.
Wu Jin sits on the throne.
Not comfortably.
The crown rests on his brow, but it feels like a weight he hasn't grown into. His fingers grip the armrests too tightly. His eyes move between us—calculating, searching for advantage in a room where none exists.
I stand below the steps.
My father stands to the right of the throne.
Three points of a triangle.
Outside, cannons boom faintly as the Southern Kingdom tests the outer wards again. Black Tiger horns answer in disciplined intervals. The war continues, but this room feels heavier.
More final.
Wu Jin speaks first.
"The South believes the capital fractured," he says, voice steadier than before. "Zhou believes we will collapse under pressure."
He looks at me.
"You changed that."
Not gratitude.
Not accusation.
Fact.
My father's gaze remains forward. "Temporary victories," he says calmly. "Both empires are patient."
Wu Jin turns slightly toward him. "And what would you advise, Lord Protector?"
A small emphasis on the title.
My father does not react. "Negotiate with Zhou. Offer trade routes. Stall the South with faith. Appear divided, but unified enough to discourage invasion."
"And Wu An?" Wu Jin asks.
Silence settles.
"I am not a proposal," I say evenly.
Wu Jin's jaw tightens. "You are a problem."
"Good," I reply.
The torches flicker.
My father's voice remains measured. "You cannot rule beside him. Not indefinitely."
Wu Jin looks between us.
"I don't intend to," he says quietly.
The words land heavy.
My father finally turns his head slightly toward Wu Jin. "And how do you propose to remove him?"
"By choosing the moment," Wu Jin says.
His eyes shift to me. Not hatred. Not fear.
Resolve.
"You've become something the throne cannot contain," he continues. "If you remain, every foreign power will justify intervention. They will call you heresy, demon, instability."
"They already do," I say.
"Yes," he agrees. "But now they can prove it."
The hall feels smaller.
The Presence inside me does not surge. It listens.
"And you," I say softly, turning to my father, "what do you call me?"
He studies me in silence.
"Necessary," he answers.
Wu Jin's head snaps toward him.
"Necessary?" he repeats.
"Yes," my father says. "He forces clarity. He reveals weakness. He removes illusions."
"And then?" Wu Jin presses.
"Then he burns out," my father replies calmly.
There it is.
Not shouted.
Not denied.
Just expectation.
Wu Jin rises halfway from the throne. "You always planned for that."
"Yes."
"Even if it meant the capital drowning in blood?"
"Yes."
"And if Zhou invades?"
My father's eyes sharpen slightly. "They will. Eventually. That is unavoidable. The question is whether they inherit a weak state… or face a forged one."
Wu Jin stares at him.
"You would sacrifice the dynasty."
"I would sacrifice anything," my father corrects, "to ensure it survives."
I laugh.
It is not loud.
But it echoes.
"You see?" I say to Wu Jin. "You sit on the throne. He sits behind it."
Wu Jin's knuckles whiten.
"And you?" he asks me. "Where do you sit?"
I look at the throne.
Then at my father.
"Outside it," I say. "Where power actually breathes."
The air tightens.
The Presence presses gently against my ribs — not urging violence, but offering it.
Wu Jin's gaze hardens.
"You killed Wu Shuang," he says.
"Yes."
"You destabilized the South."
"Yes."
"You forced Zhou to hesitate."
"Yes."
"And now you stand here as if you're not the greatest threat in this room."
"I am," I reply calmly.
Silence again.
But this time, something shifts.
Wu Jin descends the steps.
He stands between us.
For the first time.
"I will not be your pawn," he says to my father.
"And I will not be your scapegoat," he says to me.
The hall seems to lean inward.
My father's expression finally changes — not anger, not fear.
Interest.
"And what will you be?" he asks his son.
Wu Jin breathes in.
"Emperor," he says.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But with intention.
Outside, a cannon roars closer than before. The Southern Kingdom is pushing harder. Zhou's scouts shift positions along the northern hills.
The world presses in.
Inside the hall, the triangle tightens.
I meet Wu Jin's gaze.
"If you want to rule," I say quietly, "then rule. Stop asking permission."
His eyes flicker — hurt, anger, understanding.
My father speaks again, softer now. "You both think this is about control."
He steps forward, closing the triangle fully.
"It is about survival."
The Presence hums.
The torches gutter.
Outside, war grinds on.
Inside, three wills collide — none willing to bend, none willing to retreat.
And for the first time since Ling An began to burn, the most dangerous battlefield is not the gates.
It is this room.
And no one leaves it
unchanged.