[🎐] a thousand ceaseless dreams

x. emperor

The carriage now creaked a little as it wheeled over the ground, and it'd jolt a little more violently whenever it ran over a bump or a rock. Yet all the emperor could feel inside was himself sinking.

The world wasn't as quiet as it had been the night before, yet the lack of conversation was still heavy in the air like a dense fog. Everyone's footsteps outside were slow and solemn, like a funeral march. And he hated it. He hated thinking about what happened to Heiyaoshi, but he knew that ignoring what had happened wasn't how he was supposed to move on.

Maybe it was his fault. He rarely ever let Heiyaoshi outside, after all, and all those history lessons he required him to attend must've terrified the poor boy into never leaving the palace walls. The emperor nor his fathers received the Mandate of Heaven by sitting on their thrones all day, after all — and he was foolish enough to think that sheltering Heiyaoshi within these walls was the best way to protect him from the same fate as his mother's.

Heiyaoshi was smart, at least. Hopefully he was smart enough to keep himself alive. Hopefully he wasn't too afraid —

But he was alone. He was alone and terrified and no one was there to tell him he was safe, no one was there to shield him from danger, he had no advisors to tell him what he should do — this was the first time in his life he really was in danger, and neither he nor the emperor had prepared him for how ruthless the world could really be.

The emperor was too worried about Heiyaoshi to think about himself. The pain in his right shoulder was unbearable, even after the arrow had been taken out; it was like it had been covered in tiny little thorns that had been wedged deep in his skin when the arrow impaled him, sending pain through his blood vessels all the way down his arm and up his throat. It pulled the inside of his throat into a tight knot, forcing him to cough in an attempt to wrench it loose, cough until his eyes were full of tears and he could hardly catch his breath.

He'd been given a cloth to soak up all the blood that came out of his mouth, but it did little to help. No amount of medicinal tea helped, either — in fact, it seemed to make it worse, subtly burning his throat every time he took a sip.

He knew it was about time he had to join his ancestors above. He was growing old, and Heiyaoshi was old and smart enough to run Zhuimeng. He had everything planned out; his will, who would take care of Heiyaoshi, who would mentor him, maybe even his future wife, if he could not find one in time — but he knew for sure that this was the worst time to come home, when Fenghuolun had Heiyaoshi and Zhuimeng was most vulnerable.

If only he hadn't thought of this peace treaty. Maybe everyone was right; all Fenghuolun wanted was rule over the entire Yuelian Peninsula, and it really was just a suicide mission.

The troop arrived back in Zhuimeng a few hours after the sun was its highest in the sky. The city was beautiful at dusk, when the mountains' shadows would land upon the many houses, their silhouettes lined with a vibrant shade of orange-pink.

Heiyaoshi loved this time of day.

Thankfully, the city seemed perfectly fine when they came back. Everyone crowded around the gates when they arrived, and the soldiers had to create a sort of wall around the carriage so they could pass through. They arrived at the palace shortly, and two soldiers immediately ran off to call for a doctor, while the rest helped the emperor inside and helped him sit upon his throne, where he was given a cup to cough into.

General Tsukuyomi arrived in the throne room not long after, but it took the emperor a while to notice him. General Tsukuyomi almost never spoke, and his footsteps were like a thin stream weaving carefully between smooth, stone pebbles.

"What happened?" General Tsukuyomi mumbled.

"Fenghuolun, sir," a soldier answered, helping pry away the torn fabric at the emperor's shoulder, "they attacked us at night. They took the prince."