Crash!
Zhāo Han froze as his father's head—the mighty King of Qīngliǔ—was severed cleanly and rolled to his feet.
The young crown prince stood paralyzed, unable to scream, unable to breathe. The messenger from a foreign empire—an envoy they themselves had invited to his coronation—had just murdered the King in front of the entire court.
Not a soul dared to blink.
The envoy turned, blood-soaked sword in hand, and pointed it at Zhāo.
"Look outside the palace," he sneered. "A gift awaits you."
Then, without warning, the man drove the blade into his own heart. He collapsed instantly, leaving two lifeless bodies sprawled before the podium.
Boom!
A deafening explosion shook the hall. Chaos erupted as the nobles bolted for the doors in blind terror. But the moment they poured outside, a volley of cannon fire shredded them to pieces. Blood, flesh, and ash rained down.
"Greetings from Xuánhǔ!" a voice thundered from the hilltop. At his side stood five cannons, fully loaded and aimed at the capital. "Let the festivities begin! Soldiers, storm the kingdom of Qīngliǔ! Slaughter every last one of them!"
"Zhāo! Zhāo!" His mother, Queen Wei Lan Han, shook him back to his senses. The fifteen-year-old crown prince's face was pale, his eyes hollow with shock. "We must go. Follow me!"
He looked back. Hundreds of soldiers were pouring through the gates, setting fire to homes, cutting down men, women, and children alike. His mother pulled him through a hidden passage, but even there, the sounds of screams and collapsing stone chased them.
Qīngliǔ Palace crumbled under the relentless rain of cannon fire. Corpses littered the ground, mangled beyond recognition.
They ran—mother and son—through the storm of fire and stone. Today should have been Zhāo's proudest day, his coronation as heir to the throne. Instead, it was the day everything he loved was torn away.
His father. His kingdom. His people.
Only his mother and his betrothed, Ruò Yún Han, remained.
"Ruò Yún!" Zhāo cried out as her hand slipped from his. The girl stumbled, collapsing onto the blood-soaked ground. "Mother, stop! Ruò Yún fell behind!"
"Wait—what?" The Queen turned in horror. Ruò Yún was far, too far.
Zhāo sprinted back just as a soldier in green armor reached her first, spear gleaming under the firelight. With desperation, Zhāo snatched up a heavy branch and smashed it against the soldier's skull. The man staggered, cursing.
"Ruò Yún, get up! We must run!" He grabbed her hand, pulling her up.
"Heh… so you're the pampered crown prince?" the soldier sneered, already back on his feet. His blade dragged across the stone as he advanced. "Abandoning your people to save your own skin? Pathetic."
He raised his sword high. "Die!"
"Argh!" Zhāo stumbled forward as searing pain slashed across his back. He fell, blood soaking his robe. The soldier towered over him, grinning with triumph.
"The crown prince's head belongs to me—"
Clang!
No pain. Only warm blood splattered across Zhāo's face. His eyes flew open. A hand—bloodied, trembling—was stopping the blade.
"Run!" his mother roared, gripping the steel with her bare hand.
"I—Mother! Your hand—"
Before he could move, the soldier's second sword plunged into her abdomen, ripping through her back. Zhāo's world shattered.
"I… go… now…" Wei Lan Han gasped, blood pouring from her lips.
"No!" Zhāo screamed, his voice breaking, tears burning down his cheeks. He reached for her, only for Ruò Yún to drag him back.
"Zhāo Han, we can't stay! We must run!" she cried, pulling him away.
"Let me go! Can't you see she's—"
Boom!
A cannonball struck. In an instant, his mother and the soldier vanished in a fiery explosion. Flesh and ash rained down.
Zhāo's scream tore through the night.
"Mother!"
What remained of the Queen scattered across the ground, her final smile etched in his memory.
His kingdom destroyed. His parents gone.
In one day, he lost everything.
"Zhāo! We have to go!" Ruò Yún's tears streamed, but her grip was unyielding. She would not let his mother's sacrifice be in vain.
Zhāo clenched his teeth, dragging Ruò Yún with him. "We will survive," he swore, though blood still poured from his wound.
Together, battered and broken, they fled into the mountains. At last, they stumbled into a cavern glowing faintly with strange green stone.
Zhāo collapsed, his vision blurring. Ruò Yún lay unconscious at his side. He stared blankly at the cobwebbed ceiling above.
"Maybe… we can hide here for a while—"
Step. Step.
Footsteps echoed from the darkness. Zhāo's body tensed. With what little strength remained, he sat upright.
"Who's there!?" His ragged breath echoed through the cavern.
From the shadows emerged a group of red-skinned men in tattered clothes, their hands clutching curved blades of black steel.
"You…" Zhāo's voice faltered.
And then, darkness claimed him.