In the Obsidian Palace of 10,000 Suns, deep in the high skies of the Ninth Realm, an emperor sat in stillness — back straight, crown crooked, a scroll of jade shattered at his feet.
"I warned you," the blind prophet whispered.
The emperor didn't speak. His hands trembled slightly, though no wind stirred in the throne room.
"Lucien has returned," the prophet said again. "You felt it, didn't you? When the stars blinked."
The emperor finally moved, reaching for the wine at his side — only to find it frozen solid.
"I killed him," the emperor muttered. "I buried him beneath seven seals. My soulstone shattered upon his death."
"No," the prophet said, voice hollow. "Your faith in the seals shattered. Not his soul."
Another figure entered the chamber — cloaked in purple and gold, bearing a blade that sang softly in fear. "Should we rally the Grand Legions, your Majesty?"
The emperor stood, robes pooling like smoke. His eyes stared past this realm, past memory, into a place he could no longer dream of.
"Rally no one," he said hoarsely. "You do not hunt a being like Lucien. You delay him. You pray he forgets your name."
"And what of his?" the general asked, voice tight.
The blind prophet answered for them all.
"They call him now… The Sovereign Buried in Silence.
The King Who Never Knelt.
The One Who Descends While All Others Climb.
The Monarch Below All Heavens."
The general flinched.
The emperor whispered, "And he remembers us?"
The prophet gave a slow, agonizing nod. "He remembers everything."