The amphitheatre platform, raw and functional, hung suspended, lower than the ornate platforms housing the imperial court. Its sole purpose – the grim ritual of magic aptitude testing – was now about to be fulfilled. The intricate testing machine at its centre seemed to hum with anticipation. Below, a sea of faces strained upwards, a murmur of disbelief rippling through the crowd. Null Affinity. The words themselves were a death knell, a sentence whispered in hushed tones. For ten-year-old Crown Prince Ying Xiong, it was a fate seemingly sealed.
Empress Mei Lin, her face a mask of anguish, clutched at the Emperor’s sleeve. “TeanDei, I beg you! He is our son!” Her voice, though strained, carried across the platform. Beside her, Princess Ying XiuLan, her elder daughter, stood rigid, her knuckles white as she gripped the railing. The Empress’s plea was a desperate litany – a mother’s heart breaking against the weight of tradition, a desperate search for a loophole, a reason, any reason, to spare her son. But the ancient laws were clear. Null Affinity threatened the purity of the bloodline, a contamination that could not be allowed.
The nobles, a tapestry of silks and jade, murmured amongst themselves. Their faces, etched with a mixture of apprehension and grim satisfaction, reflected the complex politics of the court. Lord Kai, head of the House of Shadows, a powerful family whose influence was waning, saw an opportunity. He leaned towards Lord Theron, head of the House of Stone, a rival faction. "This is an unfortunate turn of events," Kai purred, his voice laced with a hint of satisfaction. "But perhaps it presents a certain… advantage." Theron, a man of few words, merely nodded, his eyes gleaming with a cold ambition.
Lady Anya, from the House of Dawn, a staunch supporter of the Emperor, frowned. "This is a tragedy, not an advantage. The boy is innocent." Lord Kai dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "Sentimentality has no place in matters of state, Lady Anya. The bloodline must be protected, even if it means… sacrifices." He gestured subtly towards the swirling mass of nobles, where whispers and furtive glances were exchanged. The House of Shadows, with its network of spies and assassins, was already weaving a web of intrigue, using the Prince's misfortune to advance their own power.
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Emperor TeanDei, his face a study in stoic pain, surveyed the scene. His heart, he knew, was breaking. Ying Xiong, his son, his heir, was about to be cast adrift, his life hanging by a thread of fate. The law demanded it. Even if the boy survived the fall, he could never return to the court, never claim his birthright. Exile, should he live, was his only future. But the Emperor could not show weakness, could not appear to favour his own flesh and blood. He was the upholder of tradition, the guardian of the realm. His decision, though it tore at his soul, had to be decisive.
“Let the sentence be carried out,” he declared, his voice resonating across the amphitheatre.
A hush fell over the crowd as two guards, their faces impassive, lifted the boy. Ying Xiong, pale but composed, offered no resistance. He was a prince facing his destiny. The guards approached the edge of the platform, and with a swift, brutal motion, tossed him into the void.
In that split second, as Ying Xiong plummeted towards the unseen ground below, a desperate cry echoed across the platform. Ying XiuLan, her face contorted in a mixture of terror and determination, thrust her hands forward. “Feng!” she screamed, the word a raw burst of sound. A swirling vortex of wind erupted from her outstretched hands, a spell she had never successfully cast before, a desperate, last-ditch attempt at a miracle. The crowd gasped. All eyes were on Ying Xiong, falling, falling… and the unpredictable gust of wind that might just be his salvation, or his final doom.
In the shadows, Lord Kai exchanged a knowing glance with Lord Theron. The game had just begun.