Morning arrived in Chu like a held breath.
Mist clung to the tiled roofs and layered courtyards, softening the sharp lines of crimson walls and black stone. Lanterns flickered in the pale light, their red paper skins still faintly glowing from the long night. The Chu palace sat atop its hill like a crouched beast, roofs rising in receding tiers, banners hanging still.
In the inner training court, an eight-year-old boy moved through drills.
Bare feet touched the cold stone. Step. Turn. Breathe. His small hands shaped blocks, and strikes drilled into him since he could stand. The wooden practice spear in his grip hummed as he whipped it around his body in a tight circle.
Martial Muti stirred.
Aura did not flare brightly around him yet, not like the masters, but the air close to his skin thickened. Each thrust carried a weight it shouldn't. Each step landed with a soft echo, stone murmuring beneath his heel.
"Again."
The voice came from the colonnade, low and firm.
Master Huo stood there in a plain dark robe, broad shoulders half in shadow. Old scars tugged at the corner of his mouth and across one brow. His eyes never left the boy.
Elric Soryu did not answer. He drew the spear back, set his stance, and went through the form again.
This time, his tap widened just a little. Aura flowed faster through his limbs. The spear cracked the air in front of him with a sharp snap, the tip stopping an inch from the wooden post in the center of the yard.
A faint white ring rippled out from the impact point across the post, dust shaking loose from the grain.
From the edge of the yard, perched on a low stone lion, a girl clapped softly.
"You almost broke it that time," she said. "If you keep this up, they will have to give you real spears, Little Prince."
Elric dropped the spear butt to the flagstones and glared at her.
"I told you not to call me that," he muttered.
Silva swung her legs idly over the lion's back. She was a little older, maybe ten, with sun-browned skin that did not match the pale tones of most Chu nobles. Her black hair was tied in a simple tail with a piece of red cord, nothing like the elaborate pins of the court girls. Her eyes were sharp and amused.
"You are the son of the Emperor of Chu, Elric," she said. "If I cannot call you Little Prince, what should I call you?"
"Just Elric."
She hopped down from the lion and walked closer, wrapping her arms around herself against the morning chill. The simple grey robe they gave her marked her status as plainly as any chain.
Ward.
Hostage.
Taken.
Silva had been brought from her homeland across the sea as a "guest," a living promise that her people would honor treaties and pay tribute. Everyone in court spoke of her with careful words. No one ever quite met her eyes.
Elric always did.
He pushed a stray strand of hair from his face and lifted the spear again.
"Then call me Elric when I beat this form," he said. "Watch."
She smiled and nodded, stepping aside.
He shifted his stance. Left foot forward. Right foot turned slightly out. Knees bent. Breathe in. Martial Muti gathered. His small bucket was still shallow, his tap narrow, but he felt it, the way Master Huo had explained: do not force it, guide it.
He stepped.
The world narrowed to spear, breath, stone.
"Stone River Thrust!"
He did not shout the name so much as push it out with his breath. Aura rushed down his arms, into the wood. The spear shot forward, tip a blur.
The old training post shuddered.
A crack traced itself up the center of the wood with a low groan. Dust flared. Tiny splinters jumped.
Silva's eyes widened. Master Huo's brow lifted a hair.
Elric froze, panting, arms trembling around the shaft. The form collapsed. His aura guttered like a burned-out candle. The world flooded back in: the mist, the chill, the smell of wet stone.
"Too much in one breath," Huo said. "You opened your tap and emptied your bucket in one strike. Effective, but now you are done."
He walked closer, coarse straw sandals whispering over the stone.
"But the form was cleaner."
There was rare warmth in his tone.
Elric straightened, face flushing with pride and exhaustion.
Silva stepped up beside him and studied the cracked post. Her fingers brushed the rough edge.
"Just Elric," she said softly. "I saw it."
He looked at her, some of the tightness in his small shoulders loosening.
Before he could answer, drums rolled faintly somewhere deeper in the palace.
Three beats. A pause. Three beats again.
Elric's head snapped up.
"That is the morning court drum," Master Huo said. "Enough for now. The Emperor will want you at his side."
Huo's gaze slid to Silva for a fleeting second.
"And you, Lady Silva, should remember where you stand and what you are."
Silva's jaw tightened, but she bowed politely.
"A guest of Chu," she said. "I remember."
Huo did not comment. He turned and strode away.
Silva exhaled slowly, then glanced at Elric.
"Come," she said. "They will scold you if you are late. And if they scold you, they will scold me."
He nodded, still breathing a touch hard, and together they left the training yard, the cracked post standing behind them like a quiet omen.
The Hall of Vermilion Banners was already full when they arrived.
Columns painted deep red rose into shadow, carved dragons coiling around them in frozen motion. Above, a coffered ceiling disappeared into darkness, broken only by the glow of hanging lanterns. The air smelled of incense and old wood.
At the far end of the hall, on a raised dais beneath a great golden sun emblem, sat the Emperor of Chu.
Elric's father.
He wore layered robes of black and crimson, jade rings on his fingers, his hair bound in a high knot with a golden crown. His face was calm, but there were new lines at the corners of his eyes, and no softness in his mouth.
To his right sat the Empress.
Elric's mother.
Her robe was a cascade of white and red silk embroidered with cranes. Jewels glittered in her hair. Her smile was gentle and cool as winter light. When Elric and Silva stepped into the hall, her eyes found them immediately.
For a heartbeat, something unreadable flickered there.
Then it was gone.
Elric walked forward with the measured pace Huo had drilled into him for court. Silva followed a half step behind and to the side, as befitted a ward, hands folded, head inclined.
On either side of the hall stood rows of officials and generals. The civil ministers in long black robes, hands hidden in sleeves. The generals in scaled armor, helmets tucked under arms, sabers at their hips. Faces like masks. Eyes always watching.
Elric felt their stares.
Felt the weight of the banners hanging above them, each marked with the symbol of Chu: a coiled serpent around a rising sun.
"Come, my son," the Emperor said, voice carrying easily. "Stand by me."
Elric stepped up onto the first level of the dais and took his place at his father's side. Silva stopped at the base, as was proper.
The Emperor's hand rested briefly on Elric's shoulder. There was strength in that touch, and warmth, and worry.
"We have much to hear," he said.
One by one, officials stepped forward, voices rising and falling as reports were read. Bandits in the south. A bountiful harvest in the western rice fields. Rumors of unrest beyond the sea. Names and numbers, petitions and grievances.
Elric tried to listen. Master Huo said an Emperor's son must understand more than spears. But his eyes kept sliding to the rows of generals, the glint of armor, the set of jaws.
One man in particular drew his attention.
General Liang.
He stood on the Empress's side of the hall, armor lacquered black with white edges, a pale scar down the length of his cheek. Elric had seen him many times on the practice fields, drilling the palace guard with ruthless precision. Soldiers spoke his name with both respect and something like fear.
He was also there, Elric remembered, the day Silva arrived. His hand on the chain of her people's banner when it was lowered and folded and placed at the Emperor's feet.
When Liang's eyes met the Empress's now, there was the barest nod. Barely there. Gone in an instant.
No one else seemed to notice.
Silva's gaze flickered between them. Her hands tightened in her sleeves.
The Emperor's voice drew their attention back.
"We will address these reports in council," he said. "For now, let it be known: Chu stands. We are not blind. We are not deaf. We will not be moved by whispers or shadows. Court is dismissed."
There was a rustle of silk and armor as officials bowed and began to withdraw.
The Empress rose in one fluid motion.
"My lord," she said, voice soft but carrying. "Might I ask to host a small gathering tonight in the Hall of Autumn Light? Our allies from the north are still with us. With so many rumors, it would be wise to show them our harmony."
Her eyes slid briefly toward Elric. Then toward Silva.
The Emperor's jaw worked, some thought passing behind his eyes.
"At such a time," he began.
"Precisely at such a time," she said gently. "Let our enemies play at shadows. We will dine in the light."
General Liang inclined his head slightly.
"The Empress speaks with wisdom, Majesty. A show of ease will calm those who doubt."
Silence stretched. The Emperor's fingers tapped once on the arm of his seat.
"So be it," he said at last. "A small gathering. No more."
The Empress smiled.
"As you command."
That night, the Hall of Autumn Light glowed with lanterns.
Low tables were set with simple dishes: steaming bowls of rice, clear fish broth, pickled greens, and grilled river fish laid out on wooden platters. Nothing extravagant, nothing to make an enemy think they feasted while the people starved. Yet, the way the dishes were arranged, the fine porcelain, the silk cushions on the floor, all spoke of an empire still sure of itself.
Elric sat between his parents, small in his formal robe, hands folded neatly. Silva sat lower, with the other "guests" and minor nobles, not quite of the imperial family, not quite apart.
Music played softly from a recessed alcove. The scent of grilled fish and sesame oil mingled with incense.
On the surface, it was exactly what the Empress had promised.
Harmony.
But Elric had lived his whole life in this palace. He knew its moods. Tonight, the laughter was just a little too sharp. The smiles a little too stiff. Some generals drank more than usual. Some drank less. Eyes slid to General Liang more often than chance.
Master Huo was not present.
That bothered Elric more than he wanted to admit.
He picked at his rice, appetite dulled, ears tuned not to the music but to the small noises beneath it. The shuffle of sandals in corridors. The stop and start of distant footfalls.
Silva caught his eye from across the room.
She mouthed a single word.
Careful.
The Empress raised her cup.
"To Chu," she said, voice warm. "To peace. To the days our children will inherit, brighter than these."
The Emperor lifted his own cup, but only a little.
Before he could drink, a gong rang.
Not the clear tone of ceremony. A low, heavy sound that vibrated in the stone.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The music faltered. Conversations died.
The Emperor set his cup down.
"That is not a scheduled—"
The far doors of the hall slammed open.
Soldiers poured in.
They wore Chu armor, but their formation was wrong. No herald. No captain calling their entry. Their sabers were already drawn.
At their head walked General Liang.
His helm was on now, dragon crest catching the lantern light. His scar looked darker in the red glow.
Elric's Martial Muti stirred on its own, a cold rush up his spine.
The Emperor rose, robes spilling around him.
"General Liang," he said, voice like iron. "You enter my hall with drawn blades and without leave. Explain yourself this instant or—"
"Your hall?" The Empress's voice cut across his like silk over steel.
She stood in one smooth motion, moving to the edge of the dais. Her white and red robe rippled.
"This hall, this palace, this empire, my lord husband," she said, "belongs to Chu. Not to a single man born with the right surname."
Elric looked at her, not understanding.
The way she looked back at him, just for a heartbeat, hurt more than any shout.
It was not hatred. It was not regret.
It was calculation.
"Seize him," she said.
The word fell like a stone into a still pond.
For a moment, nothing moved.
Then soldiers lunged forward.
Everything broke at once.
Some of the Emperor's personal guard snapped to ready without thinking, sabers leaving their scabbards with a hiss. Others hesitated, eyes flicking between Emperor and Empress.
All their training, all their loyalty, torn between two thrones.
General Liang stepped aside, letting his men surge past him. His aura flared, a dark, heavy pressure that made the lantern flames shudder.
Martial Muti, honed and merciless.
The Emperor did not retreat. He stepped down from the dais, hand flashing to the saber at his side, drawing it in a smooth, practiced motion.
Elric had never seen him wield a weapon before.
Aura roared off him like a storm. His bucket was deep, his tap wide from a lifetime of war long before Elric was born.
He met the first line of soldiers halfway.
Steel rang.
The clash of sabers and the crack of aura echoes filled the hall. The Emperor's blade moved with terrifying simplicity. No wasted motion. Every cut broke a guard, tore a weapon from a hand, sent a man crashing to the floor.
"Protect the Prince!" someone shouted.
Hands grabbed Elric from behind, shoving him back up the dais.
"No!" he yelled, struggling. "Father!"
On the floor below, Silva ducked under a flailing arm as panicked nobles tried to flee. A soldier reached for her, hand closing on her sleeve.
She twisted, small but fast, and sank her teeth into his wrist. He cursed and yanked his arm back. She staggered, nearly falling beneath trampling feet.
Elric's heart lurched.
"Silva!"
Martial Muti flared, fear turning his aura sharp. He wrenches free from the guard holding him, small elbow slamming back into ribs with more force than it should have. The man gasped, grip loosening.
Elric dropped, rolled, and tumbled off the side of the dais, landing hard but not breaking anything. His palms stung. His legs shook.
He pushed up anyway and ran, weaving through overturned cushions and broken dishes.
A soldier loomed in front of him, saber half drawn.
Elric did not think.
Feet planted.
Knees bent.
Breathe in.
"Stone River Thrust!"
He drove his small fist, not a spear, straight into the man's thigh.
Aura shot down his arm, raw and unrefined but real. The impact hit like a hammer. Bone did not break, but the leg buckled. The soldier crashed sideways with a shout, saber skittering across the floor.
Elric's arm went numb to the shoulder. His fingers didn't want to unclench.
He stumbled past the falling man, legs pumping, and reached Silva as she scrambled to her feet.
"Come on," he gasped. "We have to go."
She looked back.
On the other side of the hall, the Emperor fought like a man who had already accepted his death but refused to accept its price. Three bodies lay at his feet. Blood streaked the polished floor. His aura shook the very air with every strike.
"Liang!" he shouted. "Is this what you call loyalty?"
General Liang stepped forward at last, his own saber singing free.
"To Chu," he said.
His Martial Muti surged, smooth and cold, filling the hall with a suffocating weight. His bucket was not as deep as the Emperor's, but his control was ruthless, his tap efficient.
Their blades met.
The impact cracked several lanterns. Flame sputtered. Shadows leapt.
Empress watched, eyes bright, lips parted slightly. She did not look away when steel bit flesh. She did not look away when blood sprayed the banners.
"Silva!" Elric said again, voice breaking. "Please."
She tore her gaze from the dais and grabbed his hand.
"Where?" she demanded.
"The old archive," he said. "Master Huo told me: if anything ever happens, I go there. Below it there is a passage."
Her brows drew down.
"Your father expected this?"
"No," Elric said, throat tight. "He expected enemies. Not...this."
Behind them, the hall roared with fighting. A lantern fell, oil spilling fire across the polished wood. Someone screamed. The air filled with the stench of smoke and blood and fear.
They ran.
Guards were too busy killing each other to stop two children slipping along the edge of the hall, ducking behind pillars, moving through smoke. At the side door, a single soldier turned, eyes widening.
Silva stepped in front of Elric without thinking.
"Do not!" she shouted, voice cracking. "If Chu falls because you killed the Prince, your whole family—"
The man's eyes flicked to the chaos behind them. To the Empress's white robe, already splashed red. To General Liang's black armor. To the Emperor, now on one knee, still swinging.
He hesitated.
Elric's aura flared again. He dropped into a low stance, ready to throw another desperate punch.
The soldier swore under his breath.
"Go," he snarled. "Quickly."
He stepped aside.
Silva did not waste time with thanks. She dragged Elric through the doorway into the cooler darkness of the corridor beyond.
They ran past carved screens and shuttered windows, past courtyards that only hours ago had felt like the entire world. The palace groaned around them as shouts and the clash of steel echoed through the stone.
At the old archive, Master Huo was waiting.
He stood alone in the shadow of the great doors, a simple travel cloak over his robe, a single pack at his feet. A few rolled scrolls were visible inside, wrapped in cloth.
His eyes took them in with one sweep.
"You are late," he said.
Elric's chest heaved. His face was streaked with sweat and smoke.
"Father—"
"I know," Huo said. His voice was flat, but there was something raw beneath it. "There is no time."
He looked at Silva.
"You come too, girl of the far shores," he said. "You have already been taken once. You know now what kind of safety palaces offer."
Silva swallowed, jaw clenched, and nodded.
Huo turned. His palm pressed against a particular stone in the wall beside the archive doors.
Aura trickled out, controlled and precise. There was a faint grinding sound. A narrow panel slid open, revealing stairs dropping into darkness.
"The documents of the Soryu line. The proof of his blood," Huo said. "Even if they call him a traitor and a bastard, the truth will stay. As long as he does."
He looked down at Elric, eyes suddenly fierce.
"Listen to me. Your name is Elric Soryu of Chu. They may burn the banners and call this land something different in the future. They may erase your father from the walls and chisel new faces. It does not matter. You will live. You will grow. You will choose what kind of man you become when the wars end."
"The wars?" Silva whispered.
Huo's mouth twisted.
"This is how they begin," he said. "Not with drums at the border, but with whispers in halls and blood on polished floors. The Silent Wars have started."
A roar shook the corridor. Somewhere, a tower bell began to ring in panicked, uneven strokes. Smoke began to snake along the ceiling.
"Down," Huo said. "Now."
Elric's small hand found Silva's again in the dim.
They descended into the dark passage, the stone cool under their bare feet, the sounds of the dying palace muffled above.
Behind them, Master Huo pressed the panel closed.
For a moment, in the narrow stair, with only their breathing and the faint drip of water for company, it seemed as if the world held its breath again.
Elric squeezed his fist, feeling the dull ache where he had struck the soldier.
Martial Muti still hummed in his bones, restless.
Silva's shoulder brushed his in the dark.
"We will survive," she said, as if daring the world to say otherwise.
In the silence that followed, the wars that would one day shape nations took their first real breath.