The throne room was quiet. No music. No ministers. No guards.
Just the sound of wind pushing gently through the golden drapes.
Zhao Yunxie stood alone beneath the imperial seal. Above him, the dragon carved in the ceiling stared down with stone eyes.
He had dismissed the court early.
He didn't know why, he just feels different, sad. His chest felt heavy. His hands… restless.
He walked slowly across the floor—his footsteps soft against polished stone.
This was his palace.
His power.
His world.
So why did it feel…Empty?
He touched the side of the throne.
It was cold.
But when he sat, it didn't feel like it used to. He stared at the far doors. At the space beyond them.
And then—
It happened again.
The air shifted.
The colors drained. The gold turned grey, the room had darkened. He was still on the throne—but everything was wrong.
The hall was broken. Torn silk hung from shattered beams. Ash coated the floor like dust from a grave.
And a woman stood at the far end of the room.
Her robe was red. Her long black hair, falling past her sash.
She wasn't facing him.
She didn't speak.
But he knew her. He didn't know how. Or why.
But he knew—he had done something to her.
Something terrible.
He stood from the throne.
Took a step forward.
She turned her head slightly. Just enough for him to see part of her face.
Her eyes weren't angry. They were sad.
That feels was worse. My chest feels like there's no air.
She opened her mouth.
And said—
"Ill remember everything."
He gasped and staggered forward.
But she was already gone.
The hall vanished. He woke up in his chambers, drenched in sweat.
Breath caught in his throat.
He looked around wildly. The room was empty.
He was alone.
But the dream had been real.
Not just a dream.
A memory, he doesn't remember.
Or something like it.
He stood, walked to the window, and stared into the black garden.
He didn't know her name.
Didn't know her face.
But something inside him whispered: She's close.