The vaulted dome of the Sanctum of Flame and Memory had grown hoarse with argument. Hours of shouting, accusation, and ceremonial posturing had drained the High Celestial Court of its fire.
Even the Hollow Sun, pulsing faintly at the center of the dais, seemed to flicker in exhaustion. No resolution had been reached. No strategy agreed upon. Only the echo of pride and grief remained.
Imperial Lord Thaurion was the first to rise. He did not speak or address the court. He simply turned, his cloak trailing embers, and exited the sanctum with the silence of a blade sheathed in shadow.
The five princes followed behind him their expressions stern. Jian Rui being the youngest of them all walked last, his steps quiet and his expression unreadable.
They entered the secluded chamber reserved for intimate counsel.Thaurion sat upon the throne.
His aura unfurled like a storm of black silk, coiling through the hall with slow, deliberate menace. The chamber breathed heat like a living thing. The golden light dimmed around him, as if ashamed to touch his skin.
His dark eyes flecked with violet flame scanned the gathered princes with the patience of a predator. They knelt trembling like leaves. One tried to speak. His voice cracked, then failed entirely.
Another clutched his chest, gasping as the pressure of the lord's aura pressed down like a mountain of ash.
Thaurion tilted his head, just slightly. "Your blood sings of ambition," he said, voice low and cold. "But it forgets the melody of obedience."
The throne pulsed beneath him. A ripple of psychic force swept the hall.
The princes collapsed fully, foreheads to marble, breath stolen by the weight of his will. Thaurion rose from the throne, his steps slow and deliberate like judgment walking.
The golden light of the hall, once radiant, now cast long, trembling shadows behind them like fading dreams haunted by fear.
The air was thick, heavy with heat and psychic pressure, as if the chamber itself held its breath.
All they could see were the imperial lord's boots, black, polished obsidian, each step echoing like a verdict handed down by the stars. The flame pillars lining the chamber bent inward, their fire dimming, and the runes etched into the walls flickered like dying stars, unable to withstand the storm of his presence.
As he passed each prince, he paused. Just long enough for the weight of his gaze to settle on their backs like a brand. They didn't dare look up. They didn't even dare breathe too loudly lest they draw attention to themselves.
Then he stopped in front of Jian Rui. He was not only the youngest but the quietest and most obedient of the five.
"I hear your mothers have been busy," the imperial lord said, his voice like cooled steel dragged across bone. "Forming factions... discussing alliances... stirring the ash."
He raised his boot, the tip pressing beneath Jian Rui's chin, lifting it with cruel precision.
Jian Rui's eyes met his father's wide, submissive and afraid. The dark gaze that met his was flecked with violet flame, unreadable and merciless.
"I heard you all have designs on my throne," the lord sneered, his lips curling with disdain. "Except you. You don't have a mother. But you certainly don't have her courage."
The chamber held its silence but Jian Rui did not look away.
It took everything in him not to fight back or collapse beneath the pressure. His bones felt like glass, brittle and trembling and his lungs like paper, crumpling with each breath. The psychic weight of his father's Esper aura pressed down with merciless intent, a storm without wind, a silence that screamed.
Then the imperial lord's eyes darkened and the air snapped.
Invisible tendrils of power lashed out, coiling around Jian Rui's throat. He was lifted from the ground, limbs flailing, boots scraping against the marble in a desperate, useless dance. His veins throbbed, temples pulsing, face flushed crimson as the force tightened, choking the breath from his body.
The imperial lord leaned in, eyes gleaming with a manic light.
"Yes," he whispered, grinning with wicked delight. "Fight back. Show me your true colours, Little Rui."
Jian Rui gasped, voice barely a thread. "Fa… father… please…"
The lord's grin widened, twisted, almost feral. The tendrils slithered tighter, crackling with raw energy, dancing like serpents drunk on cruelty. Jian Rui's vision blurred. Stars burst behind his eyes. Then suddenly he stopped.
The madness in Thaurion's eyes flickered. The tendrils recoiled like startled beasts. Jian Rui dropped to the floor like a broken marionette, coughing violently, his breath ragged and wet. The other princes dared not move lest their father's anger turned on them.
The room was silent, save for the echo of Jian Rui's painful cough. The imperial lord turned away, his cloak sweeping behind him like a shadow fleeing the sun.
"How pathetic," he said, voice cold and distant.
***
Jian Rui walked toward his spacecraft, the collar of his coat pulled high to conceal the scorched marks along his neck, faint, but unmistakable. They glowed with residual psychic burn, a cruel reminder of his father's wrath.
Yet his face bore the same gentle smile, his aura docile, almost serene. Courtiers and officers bowed as he passed, murmuring greetings. Jian Rui responded with warmth, nodding kindly, his voice smooth and untroubled.
He was the sixth prince, firstborn of late Lady Seraphyne but unlike his mother's cold intensity, he radiated a soft, almost naive charm. Most people found it ironic how the son of a war goddess could be so gentle. He entered the spacecraft and the hatch sealed.
Jian Rui suddenly changed. His friendly demeanor vanished, replaced by a cold, oppressive aura that flooded the cabin like a rising tide. The mercenary posing as his bodyguard stiffened, his breath caught in his throat. He dared not move.
Jian Rui yanked at his collar, exposing the raw skin beneath. His chest heaved. Psychic energy surged around him, crackling like a storm barely contained. His eyes burned not with tears, but fury.
For years, ever since his mother's death, he had buried the urge to tear his father apart. How did he know that his father had something to do with this?
It was because ever since his father laid eyes on his mother, her life had been hell.
He had coveted her from the moment she was elected to lead the Crown Blade Vanguard. Seraphyne, an S-rank Esper, had commanded legions, fought without question and bled for the Empire.
But what did she get in return? Imperial Lord Thaurion was so obsessed with her that he poisoned her with a biomedical serum so insidious it unraveled her from within.
In this era, Espers were revered and feared. Their psychic auras were storms wrapped in flesh, volatile and divine. A Guide and an Esper could form a perfect match, their energies harmonizing in a dance of resonance and control.
But an Esper paired with another Esper? That was chaos incarnate. Their auras clashed like rival tempests, each trying to dominate the other.
The stronger the Esper, the more violently their field repelled others. In close proximity, such collisions could cause migraines, emotional instability, even psychic hemorrhage.