Beneath the palace, in the Spiritforge Prison, Qingsai sat quietly within his cold stone cell.
Spirit-sealing glyphs etched into the walls weakened his flame. He could feel it—like a lid over his soul.
He didn't try to escape.
He waited.
He trusted Meiyan and Chunsi. And yet…
> Why did they throw me in here without hearing me out?
The silence around him was interrupted only once—by the distant clang of a heavy door, and the low murmur of guards outside his chamber.
He overheard pieces:
> "…he's dangerous…"
"…Spiritborn, they say… Soulkindled maybe…"
"…they'll decide what to do once the fathers speak…"
Qingsai's gaze sharpened.
> Fathers?
He didn't know that, above him, the king had already sent word to Master Luren, summoning him to the capital under royal decree.
Nor did he know that the three most powerful men in the kingdom now regarded him not as a boy, but as a living weapon wrapped in prophecy—one that must be tamed, or turned.