The sky over the Celestial Empire had never seemed so heavy. Fire roared up the snow-white marble minarets of the imperial palace, their echoes twisting on the jade-green river which curled around its base. There was smoke to fill the air, and the cries of fear from those who dwelled within the palace. Among them, a man huddled in the courtyard, his wrists bound behind him, his clothes in shreds, his face deathly pale but unyielding.
Prince Lian Xiuyun gazed upon the golden figure of the Celestial Emperor that moved amidst flames. Betrayal felt like bitter poison on his mouth, a hurt that cleaved like fires fiercer than steel. His own brother, the Heir Apparent by name, had planned the revolt. Those honorable ministers, those loyal comrades, those weapons that once protected his family against himself.
Your Excellency," a quivering guard whispered, his head bowed. "The execution is imminent."
Lian's face contorted into a bitter grin. "Execution?" He spoke flatly, almost robotically. "Do you not know, little soldier, it is not death they fear so deeply, but memory of it?
The guard's eyes went wide open. Lian's were narrowed, cold and merciless. The young prince was no longer a young man then. He was a storm waiting to burst, even though he was bound hand and foot.
The executioner came, immense and motionless, his ax flashing in the fire. He knelt beside Lian, muttering a sacred imprecation, the language itself designed to rip the soul away from the body before it hit ground. Lian's own heart, though, seethed with a fire of rage. With each gasp, each thud, was a repetition of a single thought: I will not die here.
As the executioner lifted the axe, the world went slow. Lian's eyes flicked to the crowd — silk and gold nobles, their visages masks of horror and awe. One of them was one figure, unmoving as a rock and calm as a stagnant pond. His brother. The traitor who had destroyed Lian's universe in flames. Lian's lip twisted.
And the blow struck. The axe descended with a ringing crash, and the world was crimson.
But death did not take him.
Pain evaporated to zero. Scream stopped, fire quenched, and Lian's body unloaded, unencumbered. His eyes opened to a sky that he recognized, yet never beheld before. Seven years ago. On the same morning when he awoke to see his father, prior to the letter sentencing him to death, prior to the betrayal bringing down the empire.
They rose from the green grass of the palace garden, head clear, a thousand plots already taking shape. The world had provided him a second chance, a sword smithed from the stuff of time itself. He would not squander it. His friends would all be tried and proved true. His enemies would all be made to pay. Each betrayal would find its answer in a precision capable of shattering kingdoms.
He did have to be a fool, however.
Lian bowed to the sun, and the wind cut across his face. His heart was cold ice, his will iron. There would be no one this time to see the storm gathering until it passed by them.
Whispers in the darkness of the palace. Guards, courtiers, servants moved by without noticing the prince's return. But one of them stayed among them, the one who used to curse him, whose smile tore his soul apart. A girl of unknown past, of eyes radiating awe and mischief, not knowing that upon the boy's shoulders rested the fate of the empire.
Lian's lips curled into the ghost of a smile. Let them dislike him less. Let them deride him. Let them believe the coward was returning.
For when the mask is shed, when at last the empire discovers its shadow below, not one of them would be left unscathed.
And at that moment, Lian Xiuyun breathed on the wind, a promise keener than any sword: "All of it, I'll take back. And they'll all pay."