In the inner gardens of the Palace of Calls, the cherry trees bloomed out of season.
"An omen," murmured one of the servants, gathering petals with trembling hands. "When trees bloom without permission, something hidden returns."
But Suwei didn't know.
That day, while the Empire prepared for the imperial wedding, he was writing a letter by hand. It wasn't for the Emperor. It was for someone whose name he hadn't spoken since childhood. The one who, in his memory, had been shadow and figure: his father.
But the parchment remained blank.
Because the right words don't always exist.
In another wing of the palace, Jin Long spoke quietly with the Captain of the Imperial Guard, one of the men who only obeys direct orders from the throne.
"Did you find him?"
"Yes, imperial majesty. On the northern shores, among broken ships and walls of exile. He lives... but does not reign. He hasn't spoken his son's name in a decade."
