The sun had barely crested the horizon when Rui stood alone by the pavilion overlooking the imperial gardens. Mist clung to the curling paths like reluctant secrets, and dew glistened on the lotus petals like the residue of a dream he couldn't quite remember. He hadn't spoken to Li Yuan since their return, not truly. They had been greeted with celebration, but beneath the surface, Rui had felt the unease. Like the air before a storm.
Rui tightened the sash around his robe and turned his face toward the breeze. It smelled of jasmine, but also of change. Something was shifting. Within him. Around him.
Behind him, the delicate rustle of footsteps on stone.
"You're awake early," Li Yuan's voice, soft yet weighted, approached.
Rui didn't turn. "I couldn't sleep."
"The ministers are already preparing to reconvene," Li Yuan said. "They want explanations. They want answers I don't have."
Now Rui turned to face him. The emperor looked tired. Not just from the journey, but from something deeper—an exhaustion born of carrying an empire on uncertain shoulders. And Rui felt a sharp pang of guilt at the sight of him, though he didn't know why.
"They blame me," Rui said simply.
Li Yuan stepped closer. "They fear you. And what you represent."
"Then perhaps they are right to."
Li Yuan reached for him then, a subtle movement—a hand brushing against Rui's sleeve. Rui stiffened but didn't pull away.
"I don't regret choosing you," Li Yuan murmured. "Even if the world turns against me."
Rui swallowed, but his throat was dry. "Even if I turn against you?"
Li Yuan's hand froze.
The wind stirred between them, lifting the edge of Rui's robe, brushing silver strands of hair against his cheek. Li Yuan watched him, searching his expression as if trying to decipher a puzzle carved in moonlight.
"You're changing," Li Yuan said.
"Or remembering," Rui replied quietly.
Before Li Yuan could speak again, a palace servant arrived with an urgent scroll—stamped in crimson wax. A summons from the Grand Chancellor. Li Yuan's brows drew together as he broke the seal.
His expression darkened.
"What is it?"
"A border temple near Yue Pass. Destroyed in the night. No survivors. They found... symbols scorched into the stones. Ancient ones. Not from any known script."
Rui's heart skipped. "Show me."
When he looked at the sketch attached to the scroll, the world tilted. Symbols etched in the shape of an eye—surrounded by serpents.
Rui staggered back.
Li Yuan caught him. "What do you see?"
Rui clutched the paper, knuckles white. "This isn't from this world. It's... it's a warning."
That evening, the imperial court met under strained tension. The ministers, draped in silk and suspicion, took turns questioning the emperor's decision to shelter Rui, to parade him as an imperial consort when whispers of divine blood and omens followed in his shadow.
Minister Zhao stepped forward. "Your Majesty, this is no longer just court gossip. Temples are being desecrated. Crops are dying in the northern province. Priests say they feel 'unseen hands' in the wind."
"Are we to believe Rui is the cause?" Li Yuan asked, voice low and dangerous.
"He is the catalyst, if not the source," Zhao replied.
Rui stood then, drawing every eye.
"Perhaps you are right. But fear does not excuse cruelty. If I am what they say I am, then send me away. Spare your empire the risk."
Li Yuan's hand tightened around the jade armrest. "You are not leaving."
A tense silence followed.
And then—"Then let us prepare for war," said Minister Jiang. "Because whatever he carries in his blood will bring it to our gates."
That night, Rui sat in the Moonlit Hall alone. Shadows danced along the walls, flickering like silent watchers. He didn't move when Li Yuan entered, only whispered, "You should have let me go."
Li Yuan crossed the room and knelt before him, his eyes raw, open. "I can't. Even if I should. Even if it would save us all."
Rui looked at him finally. There was something desperate in his gaze—longing mixed with fear.
"Why? Why won't you let me go?"
"Because I'm falling in love with you," Li Yuan said, voice breaking.
Rui looked away, blinking fast.
But outside the walls of their sanctuary, another message arrived at the outer palace.
A celestial sigil burned onto the skin of a dead messenger.
The gods were waking.
And Rui's blood was calling them.