The corridor stretched long before me, flanked by columns of deep vermillion lacquer. Gold dragons curled up their bases, their eyes dull in the filtered light. The red-tiled roof above was supported by exposed beams, each carved with clouds and beasts, and beneath my feet — the stone was worn smooth by generations of royal steps. The Inner Palace was silent, save for the distant clink of spear hafts against the tiled floor. Soldiers stood in watchful rows — their eyes forward, hands resting on weapons both ancient and modern: spears with mirrored blades, curved sabres, rifles strapped to their backs. They did not move as I passed, only stood like statues, hollow with discipline. Through the open gates, I stepped into the Grand Courtyard — a broad stretch of pale stone, bordered by flowering trees and low walls carved with cranes and swirling waters. Smoke from hidden censers curled into the air, scented with sandalwood and something older, bitter.
At the far end, the Hall of Harmony waited — raised above the courtyard by three wide steps, its roofline flaring like wings. Heavy doors of dark wood stood open. Within, shadow and light danced across columns thick enough to embrace. Inside, the air was heavy. The scent of incense stronger now, almost cloying.
To the right — the young. Lords, princes, and sons of the court. Their robes were more brilliant, with crimson linings, green jade clasps, golden tassels — ambition in fabric form. They shifted now and then, too practiced to fidget, but not yet masters of stillness. At the head of their number stood one in gold. Tall, sculpted, chin lifted just slightly above the rest. His robe was edged in flames and dragons. He exhaled like a man used to being obeyed. Beside him, a leaner figure in dark grey, hands folded at the small of his back, eyes razor-sharp. Watching everyone, weighing them. A man who spoke little — because he didn't need to. Further down, a third figure lounged near a pillar, laughing softly with one of the court scribes. His robe was carelessly draped, one collar half-loose — a deliberate mess. His voice curled like smoke, charming and dangerous. And closest to me, a boy — maybe fifteen — dressed in court silk that didn't yet suit his frame. His hands twitched occasionally as he tried to keep pace with the silence around him. His eyes flicked across the room like a sparrow trapped in a temple.
Then — without warning, something cracked inside me. A soundless flash behind my eyes. Like the shattering of ice.
I remembered.
The boy was my youngest brother.
The laughing one — my third brother, slippery and smiling.
The one in grey — the calculating second.
And the one in gold…
My elder brother.
The first.
The heir.
And I — I am not just another shadow among them.
I am Wu An.
The one sent away.
The one buried in quiet.
The one who was meant to be forgotten — but was not.
His voice, sharp as ever, cut through the air: "Still dragging your feet, little brother? You look as if you've seen a ghost."
The second spoke, voice low, dry as paper. "Perhaps he has. This court is full of them."
Their eyes were on me now, but I had already slipped back into my mask.
"I wasn't well," I said. "The summons came quickly."
"Everything comes quickly now," said the third with a sly grin. "Especially trouble."
Before more could be said, the drums began.
Deep, slow.
Four strikes.
Then the horns.
A eunuch stepped forward. Robed in teal and black, his face painted white and red like an ancestral mask. His voice was clear but distant, as if spoken through smoke:
"His Supreme Radiance, the Sovereign Ruler of the Realm."
Everyone dropped to their knees in perfect unison.
From behind the screen of gauze and gold, the emperor emerged — tall and robed in deepest black, trimmed in threads of burning gold. His crown gleamed beneath the skylight, and his steps made no sound as he ascended to the dragon throne at the far end of the hall.
He sat.
But before anyone could rise — the eunuch's voice rang out once more.
"And His Excellency, the Lord Protector of the Realm."
This time, no fanfare.
Just… stillness.
Then footsteps. Heavy. Measured.
A figure crossed the threshold.
Tall, broad, cloaked in black so dark it drank the light. His robe was layered, stiff-shouldered, embroidered with coiling beasts in black-on-black thread. A thick sword hung at his side, its hilt wrapped in cords of red. His beard was neatly trimmed, his expression unreadable. But his eyes — his eyes silenced the room.
He gave the emperor a bow. Shallow. Barely enough.
Then turned, and sat on the throne below — but not beneath — the sovereign's own.
And still no one moved. The hall was frozen under his presence.
Then, as one, the voices of court echoed:
"Long live the Sovereign for ten thousand years.
Long live the Lord Protector for one hundred thousand."
I lowered my eyes like the rest. But something had changed.
In my chest, something stirred.
A quiet defiance. A whisper in the blood.
This is my father.
These are my brothers.
And this is the court that cast me into shadow.
I must outshine them all — or be swallowed whole.