The Veil Falls
The palace had not slept since the fall of the Generals. Ministers bickered until their throats were raw, sect elders debated which side would endure, and the common people whispered that the throne itself might topple.
And then, silence.
The Empress rose from her jade throne, crimson veil falling from her face. For the first time in a generation, her visage was revealed — flawless, ageless, radiant with the authority of heaven itself. When she stepped down, even the floor shuddered.
Yan Yiren trailed behind, her expression serene, but her fingers clenched tightly in her sleeves.
"This is no longer the empire's war," the Empress said softly, her voice carrying like thunder across the chamber. "It is mine."
The March of the Throne
No drums, no armies. Only one woman walking. Yet with every step she took toward the northern plains, temples cracked, rivers stilled, and stars dimmed. Her presence bent heaven and earth alike.
