The palace trembled—not from divine wrath, but from within.
Alarms had not yet sounded, but tension thickened the air like smoke. Rui stood at the edge of the council hall, his silver hair unbound, the edge of his robe damp with stormwater. Outside, the sky still bore the scars of battle. Inside, something colder brewed.
The court was in disarray. Ministers argued beneath breath. Scrolls were rewritten mid-sentence. And at the center of it all stood Zhang Tai—the emperor's most trusted advisor.
Or so he was believed to be.
"He's delayed the western reinforcements again," Lady Qin hissed under her breath. "Three times now. It's no longer incompetence—it's sabotage."
Li Yuan remained silent, jaw clenched. His gaze hadn't left Zhang for over a minute.
"And yet," Rui said softly, "he still commands the room."
At that moment, Zhang raised his voice. "We must consider negotiation. The gods have given us a path to peace—why must we throw men into the fire when we could—"
"Enough." Li Yuan's voice cut through the hall like steel. "You speak of surrender as if it's strategy. You speak of peace as if it were possible."
Zhang turned, face perfectly composed. "I speak of survival."
"You speak of treason," Rui said.
Gasps echoed across the chamber. Several ministers stepped back.
Zhang's mask slipped—for the briefest moment. "You dare accuse me?"
Rui stepped forward. "The altar in Xiyang didn't fall by divine power. It fell because the defense formation was never activated. Because someone gave the location of the hidden seals to the enemy."
Zhang scoffed. "You have no proof."
"No," said a new voice—low, commanding. "But I do."
The great doors of the chamber burst open.
And there he stood.
General Xie.
Dust clung to his armor. His shoulder was torn and bloodied, his blade half-sheathed and still smoking from a divine strike. He walked forward with the steadiness of a man who had stared into the eyes of gods and not bowed.
"General Xie," Li Yuan breathed.
"You're late," Rui muttered—but his voice shook slightly, more from relief than anger.
Xie dropped a scroll onto the floor between them. "Intercepted communication. Encoded in the dialect used only by the late eastern court. You remember who taught it to them, don't you, Minister Zhang?"
Zhang's face paled.
"Every divine attack," Xie continued, "was predicted in these letters. Locations, altar defenses, troop formations. And your signature is etched in blood."
The hall erupted. Swords were drawn. Zhang took a step back.
Then another.
Then turned.
But Xie was faster.
In a blur of motion, the general slammed him against the stone pillar, blade pressed against his throat. "You sold the empire for what? A promise of divine mercy? Or a seat in their new world?"
Zhang choked out, "I did what was necessary."
Rui walked forward slowly. "You did what was cowardly. And because of that, thousands have already died."
Li Yuan raised a hand. "Take him to the Iron Tower. Let the gods know we judge our own."
As the guards dragged Zhang away, the room exhaled at last.
Later that night, in the war chamber, General Xie stood beside the great map of the empire. A long scar now ran down the side of his neck.
"The gods are spreading faster than we feared," he said. "The Pale Prince has gathered followers in the north. The Warden of Binding has enslaved three sects. And the boy-god who cracked the southern shrine… he's building something. A gate, I think."
Rui studied the map. "They're not just attacking. They're converging."
Xie nodded. "They're preparing for something larger."
Li Yuan leaned over the table, face grave. "What are we missing?"
"A traitor can collapse a city," Xie said. "But faith can rebuild it. We need the people. We need to show them that even gods can bleed."
"Then we start with a victory," Rui said. "We strike back."
"And where do we begin?" Xie asked.
Rui looked to Li Yuan.
Then answered, "Where it all started. The northern ruins. The first altar."
Xie's eyes narrowed. "You'll need an army."
"I'll bring one," Li Yuan said.
Rui placed a hand over the altar symbol on the map. "And I'll bring the fire."
Outside, the wind carried ashes through the courtyard.
And for the first time since the sky cracked, the empire began to breathe again.