The northern wind swept low over the cliffs, carrying dust and old whispers across the imperial courtyard as Rui pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. The sun hadn't yet risen, and the capital still slept. Only the quiet footsteps of guards and horses broke the stillness.
Li Yuan approached, dressed not in imperial robes, but in a dark riding cloak, his hair tied back, eyes sharpened by focus.
"A three-day journey," he said quietly. "To the ruins beneath the Yuangu Mountains. The priest said it was once a temple to a god who vanished when the dynasties first rose. The scroll hinted your ancestors guarded it."
Rui's voice was cool, steady. "And you think we'll find answers there?"
Li Yuan studied him. "I think we'll find something. Even if it's only the truth between us."
They rode side by side in silence, the world shifting from stone paths to winding trails carved through wild forest and frozen riverbanks. Rui refused to sit behind him, to cling as he once had. Pride still shielded his spine. But Li Yuan didn't ask again.
Instead, they rode in parallel—two men bound by fate but divided by fear.
Night One: Fires and Distance
They made camp in a hollow beside a frozen stream. Their guards kept a respectful distance, but Rui noticed Li Yuan had dismissed half of them before departing the capital. A subtle choice. One of trust.
Or vulnerability.
Li Yuan stoked the fire while Rui unpacked the scrolls they'd brought. The map was ancient—drawn in the old script of Rui's bloodline. Symbols shimmered faintly under firelight.
"It responds to you," Li Yuan said.
Rui didn't reply at first. Then, slowly, "My mother said I was born during a red eclipse. The priests came to the palace in secret. They said I carried the spark of a lost god. That my fate would change empires."
Li Yuan's gaze didn't falter. "She believed it?"
"She feared it." Rui looked up. "She tried to hide me from it."
"And now?"
"I don't know what I believe anymore."
Li Yuan moved closer, letting the silence settle.
Finally, Rui spoke again, softer. "Why are you doing this?"
Li Yuan tilted his head. "Doing what?"
"Chasing something you might never understand. Risking your crown for someone who barely trusts you."
There was no hesitation in the emperor's reply. "Because I've never wanted anything with the clarity that I want you. And not just for the prophecy. Not for power. For you, Rui."
The words lodged in Rui's chest like an arrow—not painful, but too precise.
He turned back to the scroll. "We leave at dawn."
Day Two: The Storm and the Shelter
By midday, clouds bruised the sky and snow began to fall. The mountain trail narrowed into jagged rock paths, half-eroded with time. The guards warned of a cave nearby, one used long ago by hunters and monks.
They reached it as the storm broke, ice lashing the cliffs behind them.
Inside, the cave walls glittered faintly with mineral veins. Li Yuan moved to start another fire, hands steady despite the chill.
Rui paced, cloak damp, hair tangled.
"It's like something's calling to me," he muttered. "Every step we take closer—my blood sings louder."
Li Yuan watched him from the fire. "Maybe it's not calling you. Maybe it's remembering you."
Rui stopped, surprised.
"What do you mean?"
"You said your bloodline guarded the temple. What if the power never left? What if it's waiting for its guardian to return?"
The idea unsettled Rui. Waiting? For him?
He turned his back to the emperor, but the warmth from the fire wasn't enough to shield him from the weight of that question.
And then he heard footsteps behind him. Felt a presence. Not forceful. Just... present.
Li Yuan didn't speak. He only reached out, hesitantly, and brushed snow from Rui's shoulder.
A simple gesture.
But Rui froze.
He didn't pull away.
He couldn't.
Something unspoken passed between them—longing wrapped in ache. Regret bound by something deeper than words.
And then Li Yuan whispered, "May I hold you?"
The storm howled outside. Rui's breath fogged the air. And after a heartbeat that felt like a lifetime, he whispered back,
"…Just for tonight."
Night Two: Bound Without Chains
They lay side by side near the fire, cloaks wrapped tight. Not touching at first. Then Li Yuan's arm slid slowly, carefully, around Rui's waist.
It wasn't lust.
It was grief. Frustration. Hope.
Their bodies fit like puzzle pieces forged by fate, Rui's back against Li Yuan's chest.
"You're shaking," Li Yuan whispered.
"I'm not cold," Rui replied.
His voice was raw. Vulnerable.
Li Yuan said nothing. Just held him closer.
No kisses. No fire. Just silence and heartbeat.
And yet, Rui's heart betrayed him—softening, straining against the chains he'd wrapped around it.
Because in Li Yuan's arms, for the first time in weeks, he didn't feel like a weapon. Or a prophecy. Or a prince.
He felt like a person.
Day Three: The Forgotten Temple
By dawn, the storm had passed. Rui woke with Li Yuan's arms still around him, their breath mingled in the early cold. For a moment, he allowed himself to stay there. Still. Safe.
But only for a moment.
He pulled away silently, leaving the warmth behind.
They reached the ruins by midday—half-buried beneath time and roots. The entrance was carved with celestial symbols. Rui touched them, and light flickered across the stone.
"It knows you," Li Yuan said.
The temple opened with a groan, and inside, the air was warm.
Not from fire.
From power.
Glowing vines curled along the ceiling. Pools of liquid light shimmered in the cracks. And at the heart of the ruin stood an altar, carved with Rui's family crest.
And beneath it, a new scroll.
Rui stepped forward, hands trembling. He touched the parchment.
"When the blood of moonfire binds willingly to the heart of conquest, the gods shall awaken, and the world shall burn or be reborn."
Li Yuan came to stand beside him.
They said nothing.
But Rui turned, slowly, and looked into the emperor's eyes.
"Do you still want me," he asked, voice barely audible, "knowing what I might become?"
Li Yuan reached out. Took his hand.
"Yes," he said. "Even if it ends me."