Yong Cytan Nao woke to the crying of a babe. He was alone in his room. The goose feathers that filled his blankets were like lead against his feverish skin. When he stepped barefoot onto the granite floors, the ground seemed to sway beneath him. He threw open his balcony doors in a frenzy, desperate for fresh air.

The glistening sands of the Sapphire Plains colored the moonlit sky lavender. The sight sickened him. With shaking hands he pushed back his sweat-soaked hair. Soon he would have to meet his mother, and he would need to look presentable.

It was the same dream tonight except for the people. The people were different each time. Sometimes it was his family members, sometimes strangers, sometimes beings so strange he would struggle to call them human. No matter. They all shared the same fate.

When Cytan closed his eyes, he could see it. The skies black and pregnant with rain. The air tense and dry as though waiting for a command.

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And the command would always come.

Cytan could never forget that voice. It was the voice of truth. The voice of power. The voice of the Heavens. It was undeniable, as immutable as the flow of qi through the universe. With a single word, the world disappeared in a blaze of blinding light. The earth was scorched barren. And the people…

Cytan folded his hands before him. Even grasped tightly together, they shivered uncontrollably. That would not do. He could show no weakness here.

When the sun finally crested the horizon, Cytan’s heart finally began to slow. The Imperial City glittered like a polished gem in the morning light. It was a treasure, costing the lives of thousands. Its streets were lined with luminescent jade, and its buildings were fortified by ingenious artifacts. All of it priceless. This city was a testament to the strength of the Emperor. He was a man that could level mountains, vaporize lakes, and rain fire onto the earth. He was the closest being to heaven, but Cytan knew he would not be enough.

He had seen it, in his dreams. The end of the world.