The cold stone of the palace walls whispered secrets to those who dared to listen. Courtiers bustled through the narrow corridors with lowered gazes, their silken garments brushing against ancient murals that bore witness to centuries of bloodshed and power. The throne room, once a place of splendor and divine authority, now felt darker overshadowed by something unseen yet deeply felt.
In the heart of it sat Ratu Lian, her serene smile carved in porcelain. She listened to the noblemen and ministers who voiced concerns about the increasing unrest in the outer provinces, each trying to veil their fear behind carefully measured tones. Rumors of strange sightings had reached the palace gates of villagers reappearing days after their deaths, wild-eyed and ravenous, of entire hamlets swallowed by silence.
Yet Lian spoke little of these rumors. Her voice, when it came, was always calm.
"We must not let fear govern the court," she said, her fingers gently tapping the armrest of her throne. "Panic will spread faster than any illness. Focus on unity. On faith."
They bowed, though uncertainty hung thick in the air. Outside the throne room, Jian paced like a restless hound. He no longer trusted the stillness of the palace. It was too controlled, too calculated.
He had been spending more time among the people. What he had seen unnerved him, ash-gray corpses with no wounds yet drained of life, villagers sealing their doors with salt and talismans, priests claiming that the heavens had turned away from the kingdom.
He stepped into a dimly lit chamber beneath the eastern wing an abandoned wing of the palace said to house forgotten archives. There, Wei was waiting.
She wore commoner's garb now, her long hair tied back, a thin cut marring her left cheek. She had been slipping through back alleys, collecting whispers and forbidden documents old burial records, scrolls from the early dynasties, diagrams of herbal concoctions no longer in use.
"They're calling it a curse," Wei said, placing an old manuscript on the table. "But this... this is different. Look at this."
The manuscript was brittle, written in an older dialect. Jian squinted as he scanned the lines. Descriptions of a sickness. Eyes blackened. Flesh that refused to rot. A hunger that was not born of man.
"This... is centuries old," Jian said. "How is it possible?"
"It's not the first time this has happened." Wei's voice dropped to a whisper. "But it was erased from history. Covered up."
Jian stiffened. "By whom?"
Wei looked at him, and though she didn't say the name, the silence between them answered. Jian's jaw clenched.
Above them, in the grand hall of whispers, Ratu Lian stood before an ancient tapestry. It depicted the rise of the Jade Throne, the divine selection of a ruler by celestial beasts. Her fingers traced the golden threads.
A voice interrupted her thoughts. Chancellor Ren, the aging viper of the court.
"My Queen," he said, bowing deeply. "The foreign emissaries grow restless. They demand to see proof that the kingdom is stable. They whisper of invasion under the guise of aid."
Lian turned to him, her eyes unreadable. "Let them whisper. They only grow bold when they think we are weak. But we are not weak, Chancellor. We are simply... patient."
She stepped away, leaving Ren with unease coiling in his gut. That night, the Queen summoned her inner circle select individuals whose loyalty to her was unwavering, not to the throne, not to the court, but to her.
In a room lit only by red lanterns, Lian unfurled a scroll inked with complex symbols. A language lost to time. They spoke of sacrifice, of resurrection, of balance maintained not by the divine, but by force of will
She whispered, "The world does not bend to those who wait for destiny. It bends to those who create it."
Back in the archives, Jian's hands trembled as he turned the final page of the manuscript. A warning was etched in blood:
"The soil that drinks death shall birth it again. The crown that feeds on silence shall wear ruin."
Wei met his eyes. "There's more. The burial sites match the location of every new outbreak. And the recent feast did you notice the meat? The spices used? They masked the scent."
Jian's stomach turned.
"You think…" he began, but couldn't finish.
Wei nodded. "It's not just politics. It's deeper. Ritualistic. There's something ancient being awakened."
A sudden pounding on the archive door sent both of them into silence. Guards.
"Open in the name of Her Majesty!"
Wei looked at Jian. "We have to go. Now."
They slipped into the maze of service tunnels, the ancient palace stone guiding them through its forgotten veins. They didn't notice the pair of eyes watching from behind the shadows a servant, loyal to none but the Queen.
The next morning, a thick fog enveloped the capital. The people said it carried the voices of the dead.
And Ratu Lian? She stood on her balcony, gazing into the whiteness, her hands clasped in silent prayer. Her expression was tranquil, yet her lips curled ever so slightly.