The chamber had emptied after the matron's departure, but the silence did not feel like solitude. Anaya sat rigid on the edge of the bed, her fingers curled tight in the embroidered quilt. The three figures lingered where shadow pooled, their gazes fixed on her with the patience of those who had waited lifetimes.
Her pulse raced. She had accepted strange truths before—science, probability, chance—but nothing prepared her for this: to see the dead, to hear their voices threading through the quiet like wind through hollow bamboo.
The scholar was the first to step forward. His outline wavered, yet his eyes remained sharp, glinting with the clarity of intellect unquenched even by death. He pressed his hands together in a scholar's bow, precise and restrained. "You have taken the place of the Queen Consort, whether by fate or Heaven's whim. It is only just you know whose company you now keep. My name is Li Shen. Once, I was Examiner of Rites."
The name brushed against the edge of memory that wasn't hers. The body's knowledge supplied fragments—Li Shen, a court official whispered of for his honesty, his downfall abrupt and brutal. Anaya's mouth went dry. "What happened to you?"
His eyes lowered, sorrow shadowing his thin features. "I sought to cleanse corruption from the registry of officials. But gold flowed swifter than truth in this palace. They called my petitions slander. My scrolls were burned, my tongue branded with lies. They said I took bribes—me, who had nothing but books." He raised a sleeve to his lips as if remembering smoke. "I died alone in a cell, with only ink stains left on my hands. My body was discarded beyond the city wall."
The weight of his story pressed on her chest. She wanted to reach for him, to give comfort, but her hand would meet only air. Still, she whispered, "I see you." His gaze flicked up, startled by the words, and in that moment, the scholar bowed deeper, as if gratitude could bleed even from a ghost.
The second figure edged closer—a girl small enough she could have been mistaken for a child. Her plait trailed down her back, neat even in death, but her throat bore the faint outline of strangling fingers. She kept her eyes low, and her voice, when it came, was a trembling thread. "I am Fen Yu. I served in the laundry court."
Anaya's throat tightened. She already feared the story that must come. "Fen Yu," she said gently, "how did you…"
The maid's lips trembled. "I found silk stained with blood. I was afraid to deliver it. Afraid someone had been harmed. So I told the matron, thinking she would protect me. That night, they sent me to the river with baskets heavier than usual. No guards, no witnesses. I knew too late what it meant." She touched her bruised neck, eyes wide with the memory. "Hands found me in the dark. They said I was careless. That careless girls do not live long."
Her voice broke. She knelt, as if habit drove her bones even now. "I never wished to betray anyone. I only wanted to serve well enough to send rice to my mother. Now she believes I ran away, dishonored. She will never know."
Tears stung Anaya's eyes. She bent forward, her silks whispering. "I will remember you, Fen Yu. And if I can, I will learn the truth of what happened. I promise."
The girl's ghost shuddered as if some burden lifted. She bowed so low her forehead nearly brushed the ground, though it passed through the carpet.
The third figure had held back, standing tall near the window where dawn painted the sky with pale strokes. His armor was fractured, the breastplate dented, his helm split. Yet he carried himself with soldierly precision, chin lifted, eyes scanning the chamber as if enemies could burst in at any moment.
When he spoke, his voice was gravel and iron. "Wei Rong. Once General of the Western Gate."
Anaya steadied herself. "And you?"
"I died as men do in war. But not by an enemy's blade." He touched the crack in his chest plate. "The order came to abandon the gate. Reinforcements were promised. None came. My men and I stood three nights and days until arrows blackened the sky. When I fell, I saw the banners of the capital still intact, whole, untouched. They let us die. Betrayal, dressed in silk." His jaw clenched. "The Emperor's court declared me reckless. Said I had disobeyed orders. They erased my name from the rolls. My family lives in disgrace."
The bitterness in his voice burned like oil. Anaya shivered. "So you remain because—"
"Because justice does not sleep." His eyes burned, fierce even in death. "If you are to wear the Queen's robes, then know: this palace is not merely a prison of silk. It is a battlefield where truth is slaughtered quietly. You cannot walk blind here. If you do, you will join us sooner than you wish."
Anaya pressed her palms to her knees, grounding herself against the tremor of fear. Li Shen with his branded honor. Fen Yu with her silenced innocence. Wei Rong with his betrayed valor. Each had been swallowed by the same palace that now held her captive.
The ghosts closed in, not menacing but protective. Li Shen's voice softened. "You are not the woman they expect, but perhaps that is fortune's design. You can see us. Hear us. With you, our truths may yet breathe."
Fen Yu touched her sleeve, her presence a fleeting chill. "Please, Consort. Do not let me vanish forgotten."
Wei Rong crossed his arms, nodding once. "Stand tall. If you cannot fight with steel, then fight with cunning. We will stand with you."
Anaya looked from one to the other, her chest heavy with sorrow, her mind blazing with questions. Why her? Why now? But as dawn's light spilled further into the chamber, she understood one thing: she had not awoken into luxury, but into a war that wore the mask of splendor.
The Queen Consort they had known was gone. Anaya remained, with ghosts at her side. And perhaps—just perhaps—together they could carve a path through the palace of shadows.