The colonnade had been built for kings to show their victories, not for prisoners to stand inside its frame. Each column was a monument to stone's patience, each arch a reminder that some structures lasted longer than the men who claimed them.
Gu Tang stood where she had been left. The ache in her wrists mapped itself into her bones. The bruises along her shoulders hummed with pain whenever she shifted. But her spine remained unbroken. She had learned how to make pain into posture.
Below, the city spilled its noises upward. Hooves clattered. A bell told time in a story too slow for palaces. Somewhere a kettle hissed, angrier than any soldier. She breathed them in and told herself: The world still moves. Even when they put me in cages, the world keeps moving.
The guards flanked her like statues. One leaned against a column, tapping his finger against the hilt of his sword. Another pretended to be invested in the sky. They were meant to be invisible, but fear made them visible anyway.
"You think the city cares about you?" the first guard asked. His voice was low, testing, like a man kicking at a dog's ribs. "They'll forget you by morning."
Gu Tang turned her head, slow, deliberate. "Then their memory isn't worth carrying."
The guard sneered. "Still proud. Pride doesn't keep you alive in here."
She smiled faintly, cracked lips making the expression sharper. "Neither does fear."
He looked away first. Another small victory. She was learning to count them.
Dusk arrived like a thief, stealing color from the air. Torches bloomed along the colonnade, bending shadows into thicker shapes. The marble floor warmed under the firelight, but the air itself cooled with expectation.
The overlord returned.
No fanfare. No trumpet. Just the rhythm of boots against stone, deliberate enough that even silence obeyed. The guards stiffened, their spines turning into weapons.
Gu Tang did not move. Her heart stumbled once, then steadied.
He stepped into the torchlight, black leather catching none of the flame's affection. His face seemed cut sharper at night, his eyes a darker abyss with embers buried deep inside.
"Three days," he said. His voice was soft, carrying anyway. "That is the measure I gave you. But I dislike waiting."
He came close enough that she felt the shift in the air. He studied her wrists, raw and red. He studied her posture, still upright despite exhaustion. Then his gaze climbed to her eyes.
"Kneeling was lesson one. You refused. Lesson two begins now."
"And what is the subject?" she asked.
His smile was thin, dangerous. "Pain."
He gestured. The guards moved quickly, dragging forward a brazier heavy with glowing coals. The heat rolled out, greedy and alive, reaching for skin to devour.
"Fire speaks faster than iron," he murmured. "Place your hand above it. Long enough, you pass. Withdraw too soon—then I will know your spine is only theater."
Gu Tang's jaw tightened. "And if I refuse?"
"Then the flames will still teach," he said simply.
The guards shoved her closer. She didn't stumble. She stood over the brazier, heat clawing up her arm, licking her skin before the fire even touched her.
Her hand hovered. Pain bit instantly, climbing through her veins, making her bones sing with threat.
The overlord watched with rapture disguised as stillness. "Do you endure because of me, or despite me?"
"Neither," she hissed. "I endure because I am not yours."
Her palm trembled. Fire surged higher, hungry. Her muscles screamed to recoil. She stayed. Blood filled her mouth where she bit her lip.
Seconds lengthened into centuries.
At last he lifted his hand. "Enough."
The guards dragged the brazier away. The air cooled, but her skin burned, red and furious. She lowered her hand slowly, deliberately. It was her choice, not his.
The overlord's lips curved. "Not broken. Sharper."
Night deepened. The guards shifted uneasily, as if fire had bitten them too. The overlord lingered, leaning against the rail, watching her.
"You know why I don't kill you?" he asked.
"Because you need a mirror," she said. Her voice rasped. "One that still spits in your face."
He chuckled, low and dark. "No. Because dead things teach nothing. Every refusal you give is a lesson. Every thorn you keep is a promise."
Silence stretched. She held it like a weapon.
He pushed off the rail, stepping close again. His shadow ate hers. "Rest. Tomorrow is lesson three."
Then he left, boots striking rhythm into stone, leaving her with fire still singing in her skin.
Alone again, she leaned against the column. The pain in her arm pulsed with every heartbeat, a rhythm she refused to call weakness. Above her, the night opened its sky, stars faint but stubborn.
"Three days," she whispered, lips cracking, voice raw. "Three lessons. He thinks he measures me. But I'll teach him too."
She smiled, thin and sharp. "Let's see who bleeds first."