Chapter 2:
I sat on the silk floor of the Imperial Carriage, my back against the vibrating wall. The silver-black veins in my arm thrummed in a slow, agonizing rhythm that matched Long Feng's heartbeat. Every time we jolted, the iron collar bit into my neck—a cold reminder that my soul was now anchored to a dying sun.
Long Feng leaned against the velvet cushions, his eyes closed. The gold fire in his aura had settled into a low, predatory hum. The gray rot had vanished from his face, replaced by a porcelain stillness that felt more like a mask than a recovery.
"You are silent, little ghost," he said. His voice didn't come from his throat; it resonated within my own skull.
"I am listening to the echo of the girl who died in this seat before I took it," I whispered. I looked down at my palm. The skin was becoming translucent, the silver ink beneath it swirling like a trapped storm. "Her name was Yue. She was a genius of the Star-Sword Sect. She died in this carriage, Long Feng. She died screaming while the ink filled her lungs, and you watched her do it."
Long Feng went perfectly still. The temperature in the carriage plummeted. "The Void does not speak. It only erodes."
"It doesn't speak," I said, meeting his gaze. "It echoes. A hundred 'vessels' sat exactly where I am sitting. I can feel their cold hands on my shoulders."
Long Feng leaned forward. He didn't seize my jaw this time. Instead, he reached out and pressed his thumb firmly against the silver pulse in my wrist, checking the stability of the tether. His touch was searingly hot—the heat of a man who had been a corpse for a decade and had suddenly found a spark.
"Do not look for ghosts in the dark," he rasped, his eyes searching mine. "Focus on the living. We reach the City within the hour. My brother, Prince Hou, will be waiting at the gate. He has spent five years measuring my coffin. He will not appreciate you lengthening the wood."
I looked into the darkness of his pupils. "You want him to succeed. You want to let go of the mountain."
He didn't flinch, but his thumb tightened against my pulse. "I want the Dam to hold. If Hou could hold it, I would have let him cut my throat years ago. But he is a moth. He wants the light of the throne, but he cannot fathom the weight of the shadow. That is my flaw, little ghost—I am a man who hates his life, yet I am too arrogant to let the world end without me."
He pulled his hand back, his fingers trembling—a micro-movement that betrayed the exhaustion beneath his mask.
"Stay close," he commanded. "If you move more than ten steps from me in that Palace, the tether will snap. And the Void's hunger is far less merciful than mine."