Ashborn Empire

In the hours before dawn, I lay awake. The palace outside was still — only the slow footfalls of guards on patrol, the faint clatter of bronze chimes. But inside me, the cold thing was restless. It uncurled through my chest, probing each rib, tasting the marrow like a dog sniffs bones before choosing which to crack.

I closed my eyes. For a moment, it felt as if I floated — not upon the lacquered couch, but in some vast dark hall filled with whispering. Shapes moved there, immense and slow, their voices slithering against the floor like the tails of dragons.

I tried to speak, to demand what they wanted of me. No sound emerged. Only a raw tremor in my throat, as if something else had tried to speak first.

When a servant knocked to summon me, I rose with stiff limbs. Shen Yue stood by the door, one hand on her sword's guard, watching me too closely.

"You're pale," she whispered.

I didn't answer. Because I couldn't quite tell if it was my own breath fogging in the cold air, or something older, darker, seeping from my mouth.

The hall to which I was led was smaller than the throne court, yet somehow heavier. Its pillars were dark wood, polished to black mirrors that showed our reflections twisted and long. Red lanterns burned low, as if they feared to truly light this place.

At the far end sat my father — the Lord Protector, in robes of undyed silk that only made him look sterner. Wu Kang stood to his right, arms folded. Wu Ling lounged in her chair, a faint smirk toying with the corner of her mouth.

The Emperor sat quiet and small on his cushioned bench, hands folded like a child at prayers. Wu Jin was nearby, silent, eyes half-shuttered, forever the weary onlooker.

When I knelt, my father's gaze swept over each of us. It was not the look of a father. It was the look of a general surveying a field littered with corpses, deciding where best to build the next rampart.

"Do you think I am blind to the games my children play?" he asked softly. The whisper of his voice crawled through the room like smoke. "Wu Kang — you would dance on your brother's grave before the earth closed over it. Wu Ling — Empress you may be, but I know how your palace stinks of foreign monks and secrets bought in blood."

Wu Kang stiffened. Wu Ling only tilted her head, her smile tightening.

"And you." His eyes locked on me. "I sent you south with armies to reclaim Bù Zhèng — not to hang skins from gates like a butcher's stall."

He let the silence claw at us all. I felt sweat chill at my temples, but under my ribs the cold thing stretched and yawned — unconcerned, almost amused.

The Emperor shifted. His lips parted, but no words came. Wu Jin did not speak either. He only watched, soft-eyed, fingers tapping an absent rhythm against his sleeve.

Finally my father stood. Even the rustle of his robe seemed to cut the air.

"This ends now. Before it cracks the spine of Liang entirely. Before the people in the streets cease whispering of glory and begin to whisper of civil war."

He looked to me first.

"Fourth Prince. For your victories at Bù Zhèng, this court acknowledges your service. But for the excesses — the horrors even your allies testified to — you are stripped of your military titles. You will be granted a civil ministry in the coming weeks. You will rebuild roads, canals, and balance ledgers with the same cold fervor you once spent on blood."

A slow breath shivered through the hall. Some ministers who had come to watch this private council's judgment bowed, faint relief on their faces. It was punishment, yes — but not execution. Not a total purging. It meant the empire could steady, at least for now.

My father turned to Wu Kang.

"You leveled charges of cruelty — yet sat in your own camps ordering rice seized from peasant stores, sending your spies to sabotage your brother's flank. Do not pretend to me that war is ever clean. You will hold your tongue of these matters henceforth, or I will have it cut from your mouth."

Wu Kang's jaw worked. His eyes glinted with hate — at me, at the Father who refused to hand him my corpse.

Then to Wu Ling.

"And you. Remember your place, wife of the Emperor or not. Keep your monks and your silk-shadow schemes confined to prayer halls. If I smell rebellion in your incense, I will burn your entire palace to cleanse it."

Wu Ling's lashes fluttered. She gave a tiny bow, lips parting in a breath that might have been laughter.

At last my father spoke of the generals.

"As for the traitors whose oaths you betrayed, Wu An — you have submitted ample ledgers of their bribery, their attempts to sell southern campaign secrets to your rivals. They will be executed at dawn. Their families will keep stipends and titles, as mercy for past loyalty. We spill only the traitors' blood, not that of their houses."

Silence swallowed the hall. I felt something inside me quiver — a slow, coiling satisfaction that did not quite belong to me. Because though my armies were gone, I was not dead. I was not even banished. I remained here, in the black heart of Ling An, where shadows grew thickest.

The Emperor finally stirred. His voice was very soft, thin as spider silk.

"Then… let it be so."

And like that, the verdict was sealed. Not by his breath — but by the iron weight of my father's will.

As we filed from the hall, Wu Kang stalked ahead without a word, his shoulders rigid. Wu Ling drifted past me, her perfume sharp as bruised lilies. She paused just long enough to brush my sleeve with her fingertips.

"Congratulations," she murmured. "The empire learns again why monsters make such fine ornaments — until someone tires of their snarling."

Then she was gone, laughter trailing behind her like incense smoke.

Wu Jin fell in step beside me. He did not smile.

"You're still alive. And they will fear you more for this cage they've built around you. The day it cracks, they'll wish it had been your head upon the block instead."

I said nothing. Because under my ribs, the cold thing was already humming — delighted, eager, as if it had learned how sweet the taste of patient chains could be.

That night I walked alone through the palace colonnades. Lanterns swayed overhead, painting the stones in restless gold. Somewhere a distant bell tolled — not for victory, not for mourning, only the steady breath of a city that did not yet know how close it stood to something hungry.

I had been judged.

I had been bound in new silks.

And under my skin, something old and patient was already whispering how easily silk tore when sharpened teeth found it.