The journey of twenty days had felt like a single, beautiful breath. The journey from the final outpost to the capital gates felt like a lifetime.
The air began to change first. The crisp, clean scent of pine and open water that had been the perfume of their adventure slowly thickened, soured. It gained the weight of dust kicked up from a hundred thousand footsteps, the tang of sweat from over-crowded markets, the distant, ever-present smell of forge fires and politics. It was the smell of the cage.
The grand, imposing gates of the capital loomed before them, a stark, grey slash across the vibrant green landscape. They were no longer a symbol of homecoming, but the jaws of a beast waiting to swallow them whole.
"Finally, we are in the capital," Lusi said. Her voice was light, but Feng heard the subtle strain underneath, the forced cheer of someone trying to convince themselves.
"Yeah," he replied, the word heavy as stone on his tongue. "Finally."
He wasn't missing the trip; he was mourning it. He was a ghost watching his own life recede into the distance. The feeling of Lusi's hand in his, the sound of Luo Yin's laughter from the ship, the taste of foreign spices—these were real. The man he was returning to was the ghost.
They walked through the bustling market, a chaotic symphony of hawkers' cries, clattering carts, and the press of bodies. It was a world away from the quiet rhythm of the sea or the open roads. Feng felt himself shrinking, the confident merchant and traveler sloughing away like old skin, leaving the prince exposed and vulnerable.
And then it happened.
A unit of Imperial Guards, their polished armor gleaming dully under the sun, patrolled the market square. Their captain's eyes, sharp and perpetually scanning for threat, swept over the crowd. They passed over Feng, then snapped back. The man's face, once stern, paled with recognition.
His sharp whistle cut through the market din. The unit's formation broke with military precision. They moved as one, surrounding Feng, and dropped to one knee in a synchronized motion of clattering steel and unwavering deference.
The world seemed to slow, the noise of the market fading into a dull roar. A circle of silence expanded around them.
Lusi froze mid-step. Her hand, which had been loosely holding his sleeve, went slack.
"Er?" The sound was a faint breath of air, barely audible. Her eyes, usually so bright with curiosity and wit, were wide with a dawning, horrifying comprehension.
She looked from the bowed heads of the guards to him. Feng watched it happen in real time—the warm, trusting light that had lived in her gaze since the riverbank flickered, fractured, and died. It was replaced by a cold, distant shock. A wall of ice slammed down between them, so sudden and absolute he could almost feel its chill.
He saw himself reflected in her eyes: not Feng, her travel buddy, but a stranger. A title. A lie.
Desperate, he grabbed her hand, his grip tight, pleading. "Lusi, I will give you a proper explanation. Wait for me. I will come to you. But I have to go now."
Lusi said nothing. Her face was a pale, beautiful mask. She just nodded, a short, jerky motion. And then, with a finality that lanced through his heart, she softened her hand in his until his grip loosened, and she softly, deliberately, brushed her fingers out of his.
The small, casual touch that had been her language of friendship, comfort, and partnership was gone. Extinguished.
The guards stood, forming a phalanx around him, escorting him not as a man, but as property. As he was led away, he glanced back one last time.
She was still standing there, alone in the middle of the bustling crowd, watching the prince being taken away. Her friend Feng was gone.
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