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Chapter 4 - Cracks in the Flame

The sound of frantic footsteps echoed down the rows of noble tents. Yanmei burst through the folds of silk and satin with breath caught in her throat and fear in her eyes.

"Madam! Wake up! Please wake up!"

Lady Baishen Meiyin stirred, her brow furrowing before her eyes opened in slow irritation. Her dark hair spilled across her pillow like ink and her robe of violet silk clung to her legs beneath the blanket. She rose onto her elbow, her voice sharp and cold in the half-lit tent.

"Yanmei, if this is another false alarm, I swear I will have you reassigned to the kitchens."

Yanmei dropped to her knees beside the bed, her hands trembling. "There is chaos outside, my lady. Screaming. Screaming from the first wife's pavilion."

Meiyin froze.

Another scream rang through the night, louder now, shrill and raw.

Meiyin threw the blanket aside and rose from her bed with sudden urgency. She slipped her feet into embroidered slippers while Yanmei rushed to fetch her shawl. The fabric was thick and warm, deep red with gold thread running like lightning across its seams. As soon as it settled across her shoulders, Meiyin pushed past the curtain that marked the tent's entrance.

Outside, the desert night had been torn apart.

Torches blazed. Guards stood in tense clusters. Servants ran to and from the central pavilion with wide eyes and blood-soaked basins. The scent of copper hung thick in the air. Cries of pain and shouting orders tangled into a single dissonant storm.

Meiyin narrowed her eyes. "Where is the physician?"

"He is in the outer convoy. The sands slowed his cart," Yanmei replied behind her, trying to match her lady's pace.

Another basin passed by them. Red splashed over the edge. The servant carrying it looked half-mad from terror. Meiyin's gaze snapped to the entrance of the first wife's tent, where women were rushing in and out like a swarm. A terrible scream pierced the camp again.

It was her voice.

Lady Xuelian.

A small figure stood just to the side of the chaos, nearly hidden behind a collapsed water jug and the flickering shadow of the tent. It was the little princess. Baishen Huali. Her tiny hands clutched the frame of the pavilion and her body trembled. Her wide eyes shimmered with horror. Somewhere nearby, the old nursemaid shouted her name again and again, still searching through the crowd.

Meiyin hesitated. For a breath, something in her hardened expression flickered. Then she turned back to the tent entrance.

"Stay close," she told Yanmei.

They passed the guards, who stepped aside at once.

The world inside was no calmer than the one outside.

The air was hot and thick. Blood was everywhere. On the floor mats, on the hands of the maids, smeared across the silk lining of the tent's walls. Lanterns swung in their holders, casting wild shadows across the scene.

Lady Xuelian lay on a narrow birthing bed, her face pale with effort, her body drenched in sweat. Her thick hair clung to her cheeks in wet strands. Her legs were open, knees bent, as another wave of pain overtook her. She screamed, her fingers clawing at the fabric of the mattress.

Madam Chen knelt at the base of the bed, her robes stained dark red. Her arms were bare to the elbows, covered in blood, her face locked in grim focus. She did not look up as Meiyin entered. One maid stood beside her, fanning her desperately to cool her skin. Another knelt at Xuelian's side, wiping her brow with a soaked cloth that was already filthy with blood and sweat.

"Push, my lady!" the maid cried, voice cracking.

"I am pushing!" Xuelian screamed.

Another contraction came. Her face contorted with pain, but again, nothing followed. No cries of a newborn. No sign of progress.

Yanmei shrank back. Meiyin said nothing. She stood near the side of the tent, watching.

Madam Chen cursed under her breath and wiped her hands on a nearby cloth. Her eyes flickered toward the entrance as one of the maids returned with another basin.

"We are running out of water," the maid whispered, setting it down.

Madam Chen gave a tight nod and returned to her position between Xuelian's legs.

Blood spilled again as Xuelian writhed in pain. Her chest heaved. Her lips were cracked. She moaned softly this time, the scream barely escaping.

Something was wrong.

This was not a normal birth. Not even a difficult one. This was unnatural.

Madam Chen knew it. She had helped bring noble sons and daughters into the world since her youth. She had seen breech births, tangled cords, and broken labors. But this was different.

The child did not descend. The body did not move. It was as if something invisible held it back.

As if the womb itself refused to release it.

Madam Chen pressed her hands gently to Xuelian's belly. She felt the child still alive, still shifting, but trapped. Trapped in a place between life and breath.

"She is bleeding too much," one of the maids whispered. Her voice shook.

Madam Chen said nothing.

The water had nearly run dry. The last basin trembled on the edge of the mat. Blood stained the tent deeper than before.

"If this continues," Madam Chen whispered, more to herself than to anyone else, "she will die."

Lady Meiyin remained silent. Her eyes were fixed on the broken woman before her. The woman who had once been a noble priestess, first of the wives, most honored in the eyes of the court. Her body, once so graceful, now strained and broken beneath the weight of the child she could not deliver. She and Yanmei, then left the tent.

Outside the tent, the air had grown thick with sand and heat. Wind began to shift strangely, not in waves as it often did in the desert, but in sudden sharp turns that stirred loose grains into whirls. The camp, chaotic only moments ago, moved like a great beast with severed limbs. Maids ran between pavilions. Guards barked orders. Buckets were hauled from the reserve wells.

And then it happened.

Thunder.

It cracked open the sky.

A sound like the tear of the heavens themselves ripped through the night, so loud and violent that every man, woman, and beast froze where they stood. The guards dropped their stances. The maids halted mid-run, buckets trembling in their hands. Even the horses tethered to the camp poles neighed and reared back in panic.

General Wei Longxu turned his head to the dark horizon, his armor catching the distant glow of the torches. His hand instinctively reached for the sword at his waist.

There was nothing in the sky at first. Just the emptiness of stars. And then clouds began to gather. Fast. Faster than any desert storm should. They spun into a vortex of deep black and electric blue. The scent of rain did not follow, nor wind.

Just power.

Raw, ancient power.

A flash.

Lightning tore across the heavens and struck the desert floor not far from the camp's edge. Flames exploded where it touched, crackling orange and hungry. The dry sands gave no resistance. Fire spread with impossible speed, leaping from the dunes toward the camp's outer line.

"Form lines!" the general roared. "Get the water! Protect the central tents!"

Soldiers scrambled. Buckets were dropped. Bows were drawn for nothing. They could not strike lightning from the sky. All they could do was shield the camp from the storm.

Another bolt came down, this time closer. It struck the ground beside the weapon racks, splintering them into burning fragments.

Then another.

And another.

The thunder rolled again, deeper now. So deep it seemed to shake the earth. The flames had reached the foot of the cookhouse. Screaming rose as fire licked the outer fabric and caught hold. Guards tried to beat the flames down with cloaks and buckets, but the fire moved like it had breath of its own. It danced. It lunged. It devoured.

Yanmei had fallen to her knees near the second wife's tent. Meiyin stood still, her shawl billowing behind her, eyes turned toward the sky.

Above them, lightning split the heavens once more.

But this time, it held.

A long fork of pure white light stayed in place like a spear, stabbing downward without touching the earth. The clouds surrounding it churned like a great eye turning in slow motion. Some guards swore they saw something in the clouds. A pair of eyes. Not human. Not beast. Not of this world. The kind of eyes that did not blink.

They stared.

They watched.

They judged.

And the eye of their judgment turned toward the center of the camp.

Toward the tent of Lady Baishen Xuelian.

Before anyone could scream, the light fell.

It struck the pavilion with a blinding crack. The tent, woven from the finest silks and reinforced with enchanted lining, burst open as if it were paper. Flames soared. The screams that followed were unlike the others. Not of fear, but disbelief.

The first wife's tent was ablaze.

And the fire was not stopping.

It rose high, beyond the ropes, beyond the fabric. A pillar of flame surrounded the area, devouring shadows and pouring smoke into the sky. Lanterns shattered. The gold inlay on the pavilion frame melted in strips. The royal crest above the tent burned, the mark of House Lenghua curling into ash.

The guards tried to move, but the heat drove them back.

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