Far from the chaos that raged across the western sands, a full day's journey away, the Shrine of Eternal Ember stood with solemn majesty. It rose from the mountain's edge like the crown of a slumbering god, its highest spire reaching into the clear blue sky where clouds rarely wandered. The shrine had no golden roof, no painted tiles. Instead, it was carved entirely from ash-grey stone, each slab etched with sacred glyphs that glowed faintly beneath the sun's gaze. Its design was stark, severe, and beautiful.
The outer courtyard was wide and open, surrounded by thick stone pillars that bore carvings of dragons and phoenixes wrapped in fire. There were no gates. Pilgrims walked through the entrance freely, heads bowed, voices hushed. On either side of the shrine, stone stairways curved upward toward two tall towers, their bells ringing softly with the wind. In the center stood the great hall.
The Hall of Devotion, where prayers were spoken and incense burned, was the heart of the temple. Inside, arches soared like wings. Windows without glass opened the space to the sky, the sun pouring in through vast curved shapes in the walls. The hall was lit by hundreds of candles pressed into grooves along the stone. Lanterns hung in rows from the high ceiling, swinging gently with the breeze. Their warm light gave the shrine its breath, as though the god within still lived and watched.
At the center of the room stood the statue.
The Fire God Houshen, carved from ancient black stone veined with amber, towered above the kneeling floor. He wore the crown of flame, and his eyes, wide and wrathful, burned with fury frozen in time. One hand held a blade wreathed in curling fire. The other was lifted toward the sky, open-palmed, as if to seize the sun itself. Around his feet, carvings of fire lilies bloomed in stone, each petal sharp and lifelike. Even without true flames, the statue glowed faintly from the trapped sunlight, catching the red hues of the stone like living embers.
Two priests knelt before him in deep prayer. Their knees rested on the smooth pavement. Their arms were crossed outwards, hands open in offering, eyes closed. Their robes were crimson, layered with ash-grey silk. Each bore three red stones set into the center of his brow, a symbol of senior rank in the temple. The younger one was named Priest Haiyun, and the elder beside him was Priest Daoming.
"The envoy should be arriving tomorrow," Haiyun said quietly.
Daoming nodded, rising from the floor with some effort. His knees ached from years of kneeling. "Everything must go well."
As soon as he finished speaking, a sudden gust of wind howled through the open arches. It swept through the shrine with unnatural speed. Every single candle flickered, then vanished, leaving behind rising wisps of smoke.
Darkness settled over the hall.
Both priests turned, eyes wide. Daoming's face lost all color.
"This cannot be," he whispered.
Haiyun stumbled back to his feet. "They are all out. Every one of them."
The candles of the shrine had burned without fail for generations. They were sacred, drawn from the blessed flame that had never once gone cold, no matter how hard the wind blew. Their light was a promise. That the Fire God watched. That prayers were heard. That warmth would remain through drought, through storm, through blood.
Now they were gone.
The only light in the hall was the sun's soft spill through the tall window arches. It was pale, no longer enough to warm the stone.
Their thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps echoing down the corridor. The temple doors opened with a groan.
A boy no older than twelve burst into the hall, his bare feet dark with sand. He wore the simple red robes of a novice, and his head was shaved clean. A single red stone marked his forehead, round and small.
"I saw them!" he shouted, out of breath. "I saw the royal envoy coming from the path below. Horses. Banners. Soldiers. They are almost here!"
Haiyun turned to Daoming in confusion.
"But they are due tomorrow," he said.
The older priest stepped forward. "Something is not right. Hurry. Fetch the head priest. Gather all senior clergy. We must meet them at the gate."
The boy nodded once and turned on his heel, running down the darkened corridor.
"Hurry," Daoming said. "Help me relight the shrine. We may not restore the whole flame in time, but this room must shine."
Haiyun answered with a silent nod.
They knelt once more, each raising a hand. A soft chant rose from their throats, an old language known only to those who had lived their lives within the temple walls. A flicker of light danced at their fingertips. Small, trembling, but alive.
The candles began to catch fire once again.
One by one.
As the flames returned to life within the prayer hall, a group of robed figures moved quickly through the winding halls of the shrine. Senior priests, called from their chambers, joined the Head Priest who now walked in solemn pace toward the entrance. Their faces were grim. The sky should have been clear. The day should have been calm.
But the Fire God had gone quiet.
And the envoy had arrived too soon.
By the time the royal envoy reached the gates of the Shrine of Eternal Ember, the sun had already begun its descent. Orange light cast long shadows across the courtyard as the temple's senior priests lined up outside in full ceremonial robes. The wind carried with it the weight of a coming storm, though the sky remained painfully blue.
The priests observed the approaching caravan with measured calm. At first glance, it seemed smaller than previous years, a lean procession of dust-covered horses and worn carriages. Whispers passed between the clergy, some remarking that the court had perhaps embraced humility. Others were not so easily comforted.
The lead rider was General Wei Longxu himself, though his once proud bearing now sagged with exhaustion. His armor was dirtied, his eyes sunken. Sweat stained the collar of his tunic. As the procession halted, the Head Priest stepped forward.
His name was Master Qianzhen.
He was a man of great age, with a long silver beard that reached past his chest and a face carved by years of firelight and meditation. His head was bald, polished like river stone, and a crown of red jewels circled his scalp, set into the skin like ancient stars.
"Greetings, General," he began, voice strong despite his age.
Wei Longxu ignored the greeting. He dismounted with a grunt and barked over his shoulder, "Prepare a birthing room. And bring every healer you have."
Master Qianzhen blinked, but before he could respond, his eyes caught movement from the last carriage. A group of guards carefully carried a woman down its steps.
It was Lady Xuelian.
She was limp in their arms, her face pale and wet with sweat. Her dress, once vibrant red silk, was now soaked with blood and ash. Her legs were scorched, wrapped hastily in bandages. Madam Chen walked beside her, dabbing her forehead with a damp cloth, murmuring words of comfort that did little to soothe.
"Hurry," the general repeated. "A birthing room. Now."
Master Qianzhen turned and struck the back of his disciple, who had frozen in place at the sight. "Move, fool!"
"How many healers do we send?" the boy stammered.
"All of them, you idiot!" the priest shouted.
The boy scrambled off with stumbling feet.
Behind them, more carriages arrived. From one, two women stepped out with the help of maids. Concubine Xiuying fanned herself, her hair slightly undone.
"Goodness, I am exhausted," she muttered. "We had to fit a two-day journey into one. My back will never forgive me."
Lady Meiyin stepped down beside her and adjusted the shawl around her shoulders. Yanmei stood at her side, eyes scanning the temple with concern.
"Have some sympathy, Concubine Xiuying. A life hangs in the balance."
Xiuying rolled her eyes. "She thinks she is above us just because her father swings a sword," she muttered under her breath.
Inside the temple, hours passed. The moon began to climb the sky. But it brought no peace.
In the inner chambers, where they had prepared a room for the birth, there was only confusion and blood. Healers and midwives moved around like fish in a net. Candles flickered despite no wind. The air was heavy and strange.
Lady Xuelian faded in and out of consciousness. Her head lolled. Her hands twitched. Every time she cried out, a great gust of wind swept through the halls. The shrine trembled. Thunder rolled across the heavens.
She pushed.
And the sky cracked open.
Elsewhere across the empire, Shrines to the gods reported strange occurrences. Flames danced on sacred altars where there should have been none. Statues bled ash. Bells rang without wind. In the icebound north, rivers boiled beneath frozen bridges. In the dark south, crops withered overnight.
But in the Shrine of Eternal Ember, chaos ruled.
"She is not dilating!" cried one healer.
"Push again, My Lady, you must!"
Lady Xuelian gave a raw, broken scream and pushed. The very walls shook. The floor beneath the altar cracked.
Master Qianzhen stood in the hall just beyond, watching through a narrow opening. His hands were clasped in prayer, but his lips did not move.
The birth dragged on into the night. Hours passed. The moon reached its peak.
And then, at last, the child came.
There was no cry.
The priest nearest the mother reached out to catch the infant, hands slick with blood. But as he looked at the child, his eyes widened in horror.
He screamed.
The child slipped from his hands.
A wet thud followed.
But Madam Chen lunged forward and caught the infant just before it struck the ground. Her hands trembled. She turned to shout at the careless priest, ready to scold him, but the words died in her throat as her eyes met the child's face.
She gasped.
The room fell silent.
The baby's skin was dark with blood and mucus, but something else clung to him. Scales. Green and copper. His back was hunched unnaturally, twisted as though the bones had been molded wrong. His arms were thin and long, ending in sharp nails. One leg hung limp, bent in the wrong direction. His eyes opened.
One was clouded white.
The other burned red.
Whispers spread across the chamber.
"The child... is cursed," someone muttered.
"The Fire God has turned his face..."
Thunder rolled once more, but this time it faded. The wind calmed. The storm outside began to die.
Lady Xuelian stirred.
"My child," she said weakly. "Let me see him."
Madam Chen hesitated, but brought the child forward.
Lady Xuelian looked.
And she screamed.
"Take it away! Take it away from me!"
Two guards took the child from her arms. At that moment, Master Qianzhen stepped inside the room. His gaze fell upon the creature in their arms.
All color drained from his face.
He raised his voice for all to hear.
"This child bears the mark of disaster. The heavens have spoken. The fire has gone out. The signs are clear. This child must not live."
Gasps echoed across the chamber.
"You cannot!" shouted a voice.
Lady Meiyin stepped into the light, her posture tall, her eyes like steel.
"You are a priest, not a king. The life of a royal child is not yours to judge."
She stepped closer, looking at the deformed infant, then back at the head priest.
"If the gods have something to say, let the Emperor hear it. Send a letter. Call a council. Let the rulers of the Empire decide. Not you."
Master Qianzhen stood silent.
His mouth twitched.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
"So be it."