A full week had passed since the birth of Baishen Qigai, and with it the chaos that followed. The flames had long died out in the desert. Yet, the smoke of uncertainty still hung heavily over the Shrine of Eternal Ember. In the highest sanctum of the temple, a room had been prepared for judgement. Wide and circular, the chamber was carved entirely of deep red stone, veined with darker streaks like molten trails captured mid-flow. Ten platforms stood arranged like the petals of a lotus, each one towering above the central floor. They were shaped from the mountain itself, etched with the symbols of the ten gods. Tall burning torches flanked each dais, casting long shadows across the marble floor.
On each platform sat the chosen representatives of the kingdoms. They wore robes and garments tailored to the culture of their people, their presence commanding, their stares unwavering. Every kingdom had answered the emperor's summons, though only one throne remained empty, the one at the center. It was clearly meant for the emperor, but neither he nor his representative had yet taken the seat. Instead, the man stood beside it in silence.
The great doors creaked open, and a priest entered, holding a swaddled bundle in his arms. The cloth draped over the child's face fluttered slightly with each breath, hiding the infant who had brought gods and kings to their feet. Behind the priest stood the high priest of the shrine not the head, his beard long and silver like smoke rising from coals. His scalp was smooth and polished, adorned with a crown of red stones arranged in rings that glowed faintly in the firelight. This was High Priest Rengui, the eldest flame keeper of the temple.
"We gather under the eyes of the gods," Rengui said as he stepped forward, his voice steady and resonant, "to fulfill the emperor's command. A child was born beneath thunder and fire. With his first cry, the shrines of the ten gods were shaken. The skies raged. The ground cracked. You have all received the signs. Today, we decide his fate."
The priest beside him removed the cloth covering the child's face.
Gasps rose like a sudden tide. The representatives and even the King of Yanhuang, the only king that was there as it was his Kingdom's matter, recoiled. Some turned their faces away. One even gagged.
The child's skin was twisted and malformed. His face appeared half-fused, as though sculpted from melting wax and hardened too soon. His right eye drooped and wept constantly. Where his left ear should have been was only a knotted mass. Scales peppered his neck and shoulders, shimmering faintly with a sickly green hue. His back was hunched unnaturally, and one of his legs hung limp and bent.
"What creature is that?" spat the representative of Leiting, a woman clad in storm-blue robes and bearing the crest of a silver mountain split by lightning. "You dare bring this abomination before the gods?"
"He is a child," replied the priest who carried him.
"Is he?" asked the representative from Riguang, her golden robes gleaming even in the torchlight. "Even the sun did not rise properly the day he was born. We had fog at dawn. In Riguang. That has not happened in over four hundred years."
"In Yueyin," spoke a man in silver and gray, his mask hiding his face save for his sharp black eyes, "our spirits refused their offerings. Not one answered the moon call. A curse walks with that boy."
"In Diyuan," said the earthy-toned elder of House Muyan, "the roots of the great temple tree cracked. A tree that has stood for nine centuries."
"Let him be put to death," said the representative of Yamikaze. "Do not argue with omens. Kill it while it is small."
"And yet," said the woman from Shuihua, robes flowing like water around her, "his cries stilled the storm. There is no denying the child brought disaster. But death would only shame the gods. He is still Baishen blood."
Four hands raised then. Yamikaze. Leiting. Yueyin. Riguang. Each voted for death.
Another four rose soon after. Shuihua. Diyuan. Kitsuhana. Fengliu. They voted for life, not from pity, but because they saw something deeper. Power often wore ugly masks.
The room grew silent as the priest turned to the last to speak.
On the platform bearing the symbol of a frozen lotus stood a child no older than five. His long hair was bound behind him in a thick braid. He wore robes of white and blue, etched with frost patterns. His eyes were pale, nearly colorless, and on each cheek were three slanted silver marks, signs of royalty in Binglan. He stood alone, save for the attendant behind him.
High Priest Rengui looked to him. "Prince Yulian of House Xueyao," he said solemnly, "what is your vote?"
The boy stepped forward, unshaken. "In Binglan, we do not kill children," he said, his voice soft yet clear. "House Xueyao votes for the boy to live."
A collective murmur stirred the chamber. Five for death. Five for life.
Rengui looked to the emperor's seat, his eyes narrowing. The attendant of the throne stepped forward at last, his expression unreadable.
"In the event of a tie," he announced, "the child shall be permitted to live. He will remain within the Shrine of Eternal Ember until his fifteenth year. Then, and only then, shall he undergo the Churning. If the god of fire accepts him and grants him flame, he will live as a son of Baishen. If not, then the god has spoken. He will be burned, as the cursed must be."
The decision was final. The council bowed their heads. The priest who held the child stepped back, and the infant's weak cries echoed through the chamber. A fragile sound, but one that would be remembered by all present.
Later, as the meeting dispersed, the boy prince of Binglan walked quietly through the temple halls. His attendant trailed behind him.
"Why did you speak for the child?" the attendant asked gently.
The boy looked out toward the sky. A blanket of dull clouds hung low over the shrine. "His own father voted for his death," he said softly. "I just pitied him. He reminds me of me."
The attendant's eyes softened. "You will return home one day, Your Highness. You will see your mother again."
But the boy only gave a faint smile. "We both know the queen will never allow that. My mother is probably already dead."
He turned from the window and continued down the corridor, the sound of his small footsteps swallowed by the vastness of the stone shrine.