Naci marches down the wide corridor leading to the Western Bureau’s offices, her boots tapping a brisk staccato on the polished marble. Temej trails just behind, scanning the halls with wary eyes. Lanterns flicker overhead, casting swaying patterns on the walls—shadows that mirror Naci’s restless energy.

A guard steps into their path, brow furrowing. “State your business—”

Naci waves him off with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “Census records,” she says curtly, grabbing Temej’s elbow and pulling him around the guard before he can argue further.

They manage a few more paces when a second guard appears from a side nook, halberd raised. “Halt! Where are you—”

Naci points at Temej without missing a beat. “My cousin forgot his letter of recommendation. We’re retrieving it, urgent matter.” The guard, flummoxed, stammers something about regulations, but Naci breezes past him, Temej in tow, leaving the guard blinking in confusion.

A third set of guards stands before the final stretch of corridor, arms crossed over lacquered breastplates. “Who gave you clearance?” one demands, clearly suspicious.

Naci cocks an eyebrow. “We have direct orders from Eunuch Sima.” The lie flows smoothly, and Temej muffles a cough of surprise. “Check your rosters if you doubt me. I’m sure Sima won’t appreciate your interference.”

The guards exchange uncertain glances, then step aside. Naci steps forward with a small victorious smirk, Temej struggling to keep a straight face at her rapid-fire excuses.

At last, they reach the double doors leading into Sima’s domain. The Western Bureau’s antechamber is oddly quiet, only a couple of junior officials hunched over scrolls, evidently clocking in late hours. The pair glance up from behind tall stacks of parchment, eyes widening at Naci’s determined stride.

A young assistant leaps to his feet. “Forgive me—these offices are closed for the night. You must—”

But Naci’s gaze has already landed on the second, smaller door at the far side, presumably the entrance to Sima’s private office. Without hesitation, she strides over. The assistant yelps, “My lady, wait! He’s indisposed—”

Naci tries the handle. Locked. She huffs, eyes flaring with annoyance. “Sima can explain that himself,” she declares.

Temej opens his mouth to urge caution, but he’s too late—Naci draws back and delivers a swift, powerful kick to the door. Wood cracks under the impact, and the door swings inward, revealing a small office lit by only a couple of oil lamps.

At a broad desk stacked with ledgers sits Sima—his posture half-turned away—and pressed against him is a startled young eunuch assistant. The assistant squeaks, nearly tumbling off the desk, while Sima whirls with a face that blazes red.

“By the Emperor’s whiskers!” Sima sputters, eyes darting between Naci and Temej in horror. His usually immaculate robe is ruffled, and the eunuch’s broad sleeves are in disarray. “H-How dare you break into my private—!”

Naci plants her hands on her hips, flicking a stray splinter from her boot. “How dare you lock a door when I need answers,” she counters. “Don’t blame me; blame the craftsmanship. That lock was a joke.”

The young eunuch assistant clutches Sima’s arm. “Master Sima… should I—?”

“Liang! Zhang!” Sima barks toward two other aides who appear from behind a tall screen, evidently trying to hide. “All of you, out, out!”

But Naci darts sideways to block their path, arms spread wide with a wry grin. “Oh, no. I’d hate to deny them this enlightening conversation. And I do have some questions of my own.”

Sima, regaining some composure, smooths his robe and straightens his collar. “This is a—a private consultation.” His voice cracks. “You can’t just barge in—especially not at this hour.”

Naci crosses her arms, tilting her head. “You think I came for tea and biscuits? You locked me out. I locked you out of your dignity, seems fair.”

Temej, though stunned, can’t help a small chuckle at the sight of Sima’s mortified face. He steps to Naci’s side. “Sorry, but the Khan insists,” he says with a shrug that’s part apology, part mischievous triumph.

Naci cocks an eyebrow at the flustered assistant, then at Sima’s disheveled robe. A slow grin spreads across her face, bright with mischievous curiosity. “Huh. So, the rumors about eunuchs were true?” she says sweetly, voice dripping with mock innocence. “I’ve always heard they got creative.”

Sima stiffens, his cheeks burning. “D-Don’t spout nonsense,” he snaps. “We are merely—!”

“—‘Consulting,’ right?” Naci finishes, deadpan. She trades a glance with Temej, who covers his mouth to stifle a laugh. “I mean, from the look of your attire, your ‘consultation’ was quite… hands-on.”

Temej clears his throat, attempting gravity despite his smirk. “I guess you’re not the only one who appreciates a handsome face, huh, Sima?”

The assistant squeaks again, pulling his sleeves up in a frantic attempt to look composed. “We—this is entirely professional—! Master Sima and I—”

Naci holds up a finger. “Shh. No need to explain. I’m not judging. Actually, I understand perfectly. ‘Cause, you know”—she lowers her voice conspiratorially—“My Horohan is a lady. Between all of us in this room, it’s fine. Though I’m curious about the technicalities. I mean, you are a eunuch. Does that—?”

Sima’s eyes bulge, face so red it looks set to burst. “Stop!” he practically yelps, flinging a hand in protest. “Do not speak of such obscene details in my office!”

Naci presses on, ignoring his outburst. “I’ve read about how eunuchs are different, physically. Yet you two seem mighty close.” Her gaze slides to the assistant with a playful glint. “Don’t tell me it’s just hugs and kisses, or do we have deeper secrets here? You can share—I’m all ears.”

The assistant drops his gaze to his shoes, trembling with embarrassment, while Liang and Zhang flatten themselves against the wall, trying desperately to blend into the tapestries. Temej, biting his lip to keep from laughing outright, tries to salvage a shred of decorum. “Uh, Naci… maybe we should steer back to the official matters…”

Naci finally relents, pivoting to a more serious tone, though the smile lingers on her lips. “Fine, fine. As hilarious as it is to see you squirm, we’ll focus on the reason we came. However,” she adds, one brow arching, “never lock your door again when I’m around. I might get the wrong idea.”

The young assistant—his cheeks still flushed—musters a breath to speak. “Master Sima, can we—”

“No!” Sima interrupts, voice shaking. “Stand aside, remain quiet.” He shoots Naci a furious glare. “Now, speak your piece, Khan. Or leave me and my subordinates in peace.”

“Peace?” Naci tilts her head in mock sympathy. “After what I’ve seen, I’d say you’re far from ‘peace.’ But fine, we’ll try civility. I’ve spent half my day deciphering those endless documents you gave me, only to find half are worthless junk. The rest are tinted with… let’s call it subtle arrogance. I wonder how many you forged or ‘edited’ to shape my impression of the empire’s power.”

Sima’s indignation is immediate. “How dare you accuse me of forgery! My Bureau’s data is impeccably accurate—”

“—and impeccably curated,” Naci cuts in, arching a brow. “I want the full truth, not your filtered narrative.” Her eyes dart between Sima and the assistant. “You ready to have a real conversation about forging documents and messing with the archives? Or are we still dancing around that?”

Sima opens his mouth, then shuts it. Temej steps in, voice surprisingly gentle despite the grin he fights to suppress. “We want honest answers, Sima. No half-truths. If you’re cooperative, we’ll forget this… interesting scene.”

Sima runs a hand over his face, mortified. “I hate you,” he mutters under his breath, though the words hold more embarrassment than venom.

Naci snorts. “If it helps, I like you more now. Didn’t realize you had a soft spot for—” she gestures at the assistant. “Anyway, let’s talk official business. Then we can leave you to whatever you two do. Which is apparently… a lot more entertaining than I expected for a eunuch.”

Liang and Zhang exchange helpless glances. The assistant stares determinedly at the floor, hoping it might swallow him.

Sima inhales a shaky breath and straightens his robe once more. “Very well,” he says stiffly. “You will have your answers, but I swear by the Emperor’s name, if a word of—of this nonsense leaks—”

Naci just grins. “Cross my heart, Sima. It’ll be our little secret.”

Temej bites his tongue to keep from laughing. “Yes, we wouldn’t dare ruin your professional relationship.”

A brief flicker of panic crosses Sima’s face before his shoulders sag slightly. “Fine. We can… discuss your access. Once we’ve re-secured my office.”

Naci gestures magnanimously at the mangled doorway. “After you fix that door, I’ll pretend this was all just a hilarious misunderstanding. Meanwhile,” she points to Liang and Zhang, “I hope these two will be more forthcoming next time I have questions.”

Zhang holds up both hands in surrender. “I—I’m just here to copy letters, my lady. I promise, no secrets from me.”

Liang nods furiously in agreement, eyes darting from Sima to the broken lock on the floor. “No secrets, yes,” he echoes meekly.

Sima exhales, smoothing his robe again. “If that concludes this intrusion—”

Naci snorts. “For tonight, let’s say we’re done. Temej, let’s leave them to clean up their, ah… private matters.” She inclines her head toward Sima’s still-flustered young assistant. The assistant flushes anew, stepping back hastily.

Temej gives a small bow—half mocking, half courteous—and follows Naci out, carefully sidestepping the shards of wood. They walk off, echoing footsteps gradually fading.

Lanau sits at the edge of the bed, fiddling with the hem of her tunic. Candlelight drapes the room in a gentle glow, highlighting Lizi’s relaxed sprawl across the pillows. Lizi tilts her head to watch Lanau, a faint grin tugging at her lips.

“You know,” Lizi muses, kicking one foot lazily in the air, “I never thought I’d share a bedroom with Northern Barb—cool guys… in the imperial palace.”

Lanau snorts, rolling her eyes. “Did you almost insult us?”

Lizi arches a brow. “I would never… And I didn’t expect to feel so safe here! And such excellent company.” Her smile widens. “Although, I was expecting a bit more… conversation?”

Lanau flicks her gaze away. “We’ve been talking all week.”

Lizi leans in, eyes dancing with playful curiosity. “Talking about boring stuff! But I’d prefer to discuss… oh, your thoughts on romance?”

Lanau coughs, nearly choking on her own breath. “Romance? In a Moukopl palace? You do realize we’re basically hostages, right?”

Stolen story; please report.

“Not hostages. ‘Honored guests,’” Lizi corrects in an exaggeratedly noble voice. She giggles, leaning closer. “Come on, Lanau. You keep yourself so guarded. Maybe a few compliments wouldn’t kill you.”

Lanau crosses her arms, staring at the floor. “Compliments? Like ‘Your hair is so unkempt, it’s practically an aesthetic statement’?”

Lizi presses a hand to her heart in mock offense. “I thought it looked daring. Like a rebellious war heroine’s style.”

“That’s… oddly sweet,” Lanau murmurs, a reluctant smile forming. “But don’t get used to it.”

Lanau shifts on the bed, letting out a small sigh as she adjusts the creases in her tunic for the umpteenth time. Lizi, still lounging with the same insouciant grace, catches the subtle twitch of Lanau’s brow and smiles knowingly.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Lanau asks, sounding half-curious, half-wary.

"Because I’m trying to read your mind," Lizi replies breezily, wiggling her toes in the air. "And it’s not cooperating."

Lanau snorts. "I’m not exactly an open book."

Lizi shrugs, grinning. "No, but you have chapters. Interesting ones, I suspect."

A beat of silence follows, the candle’s flicker dancing across the room. Lanau clears her throat. "Unfortunately for you, my book is as mundane as one can be… How about you? You never talk about before you met Shan Xi."

Lizi’s playful expression falters, just for a heartbeat. She forces a bright smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "Oh, you know, a place with houses and… roads. It had walls too, so truly a masterpiece of architecture," she quips, waving a hand in mock flourish.

Lanau narrows her eyes. "That’s... not really an answer."

"Right, sorry." Lizi chuckles, but the sound is thinner this time. She props herself up, legs crossed. "Let me try again. Picture a dusty village, all straw roofs and rickety fences. I spent my days—uh—helping an old merchant carry sacks of grain. Real exciting stuff."

Lanau snorts, almost laughing. "Why do I sense you’re skipping some vital details?"

"Because I am. But, hey, highlights only, right?" Lizi tries for another breezy grin, then rubs the back of her neck. "After that, I… well, let’s just say things got complicated. Met someone who offered me a chance to sail, so I ended up on Shan Xi’s ship. Boom, done. Easy story."

Lanau cocks her head. "That’s the part you never say. The ‘complicated’ part."

Lizi forces a laugh. "Yes, complicated can be comedic, right? Like, ‘Oh no, my own family sold m—’" She stops, lips parting as if to continue, but the words catch in her throat. Suddenly, she tries a grin that looks pasted on. "I mean… You know…"

She trails off, and for a moment, the only sound is the low hiss of the candle’s flame. Lanau waits, studying Lizi’s face.

"Sorry," Lizi murmurs, gaze dropping to her hands. "It’s not really funny. But I keep—" She exhales, breath quivering. "I keep thinking maybe if I treat it like a joke, it will eventually become funny?"

Lanau remains silent, her posture softening. The flicker of the candlelight reveals a hint of sympathy in her expression, though she says nothing.

Lizi continues, voice quieter. "I was… young, and there was a fire. Bandits, or maybe soldiers—I couldn’t really tell. Everything burned. No family left. I…" She lets out a shaky breath. "I am the one who blew him up."

For a moment, her attempt at comedic flair resurfaces: "So hey, moral of the story: what goes around comes around, I guess," she quips without mirth, forcing an empty laugh. "But yeah, not exactly the punchline I hoped for."

Lanau’s eyes soften, her jaw tense as she processes Lizi’s words. The hush in the room grows deeper, pressing around them. The comedic energy from earlier has seeped away, leaving a somber quiet.

Lizi rubs her arm absently, as if recalling an old wound. "I was cold and hungry, and I… I ended up with Shan Xi after some… some not-so-glamorous choices. She took me in—" Her voice catches. "I owe her a life, in a way."

Lanau stays silent, a heavy empathy lighting her gaze. Outside, a small gust rattles the shutters, the only interruption in the suffocating stillness.

"Sorry," Lizi blurts, eyes darting up to gauge Lanau’s reaction. "I must sound pathetic. I’m usually the jokester, you know? But you asked."

Lanau clears her throat softly, sliding closer on the bed. She places a careful hand on Lizi’s forearm, as if testing boundaries. "You don’t sound pathetic," she murmurs, voice low. "You sound like someone who lost a lot, found a way to keep going, and tried to make it bearable."

Lizi exhales, her shoulders sagging in relief at Lanau’s acceptance. "Thanks," she whispers, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. "I—I’m sorry I can’t keep it funny. I usually can handle it better."

"It’s fine," Lanau answers, voice gentle but steady. "Sometimes it isn’t funny."

A moment passes. Lizi leans in ever so slightly, drawn by the solace in Lanau’s eyes. The candle flickers, casting dancing shadows that make the room feel smaller and more intimate.

A faint rustling diverts their attention. Fol sits up from a pile of blankets by the far wall, rubbing his eyes. He blinks at the two women, half-dazed. “Where is… the Khan?” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

Lanau gestures vaguely toward the door. “She was shouting in the next room with Temej not too long ago.”

Lizi tilts her head, squinting. “But it’s quiet now. Maybe they settled down?”

Fol lets out a soft groan, climbs to his feet, and pads barefoot across the floor. He opens the door a crack, peering into the corridor, then pulls his head back inside. He returns, rummaging for his boots, the entire act causing Lizi to exchange a quizzical glance with Lanau.

Lanau folds her arms. “What are you doing? Are they gone?”

Fol’s words come out in an anxious rush, his voice trembling. “Yes… yes, they must be. Or at least the Khan’s not in her room. She might’ve gone somewhere else alone.”

Lizi props herself up on one elbow. “Can’t you just trust her not to, oh, I don’t know, die in the hallway? She’s pretty capable.”

Fol slams one boot on, fumbling with the laces. “I can’t rest. I have to find her. This is enemy territory; she could be attacked or—or captured. I’ve failed her once—no, so many times…” His voice cracks.

Lanau’s brow furrows, the tension creeping in. “Failed her? Fol, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

But Fol’s breath quickens, panic blooming across his features. “That was nothing, I— I can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t— She needed me, and I… I just close my eyes for a few seconds, and then I see that ship and I hear that scream—” His voice catches.

Lizi’s eyes soften. She kicks free of the blankets, crossing to Fol’s side. “Calm down,” she urges, reaching out to gently touch his shoulder. “Whatever happened, it’s over.”

Fol tries to steady his breathing, but the memories surge. The suffocating fear on the Blood Lotus vessel, the brutality he witnessed, the scene replaying in his mind. “I haven’t slept,” he confesses, voice quivering, “not one proper night since that—”

Lanau shoots a worried look at Lizi, then gently grasps Fol’s other arm. “We can see it in your eyes. You’re shaking, Fol. You need rest.”

He shakes his head violently, tears threatening to fall. “No rest— not while the Khan walks around alone, with people plotting— I can’t lose her, can’t lose this… mission, can’t—or she will kill me! I’ll be tortured, like that man!” He slams his boot down, half-laced, and tries to stand, but his balance sways under the weight of exhaustion.

Lanau and Lizi exchange a quick glance. “Fol,” Lizi says firmly, stepping in front of him so he can’t rush out, “you’re going to collapse if you keep this up. What good is that to the Khan?”

He jerks back, voice barely above a whisper, “But what if something happens and I’m not there? What if I’m too late?”

Lanau’s tone turns soft, calm but insistent. “No. Listen to me: you won’t be any use if you’re half-dead. Remember how you used to be the calmest of us all?”

Fol’s tears finally spill over, silent and shaking. “I was never calm.”

Lizi draws him into a hug, ignoring her own awkwardness. “Shh. We’ve got you. The Khan would want you to breathe, to rest. She’s strong, Fol.”

For a moment, Fol’s breathing hitches, and then he sags into Lizi’s embrace. Lanau watches, a pang of sympathy tugging at her heart. She steps closer, gently placing a hand on Fol’s back. “You’re not alone, okay? We’re all here, fighting the same fight.”

Tension hangs in the air, thick and grim, until at last Fol’s trembling eases. His sobs quiet to ragged breaths. He nods, still clinging to Lizi’s arm. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

Lanau clears her throat, sets a hand on Fol’s forearm, coaxing him toward the bed. “Sit. Just… breathe.”

He collapses onto the edge, burying his face in his hands. Lizi and Lanau exchange a solemn look.

After a moment, Lizi sits beside Fol, sliding an arm around him. “We’ll watch over the Khan together, okay? No one else is losing sleep alone.”

Lanau, standing beside them, nods, voice low with conviction. “You’re not alone. We fight for Tepr, for her, for ourselves. And we do it as a team.”

Fol manages a shaky exhale, pressing the back of his hand against his damp eyes.

Naci leads the way out of the Western Bureau’s corridor, her boots echoing on the polished stone floors as Temej trails behind, still reeling from the commotion in Sima’s office. Lanterns bob in the distance, guards passing by, their silhouettes flickering against the walls. Outside, a stiff breeze greets them—a night chill that sets the palace’s outer courtyards rustling with shadows.

They round a corner into a quieter precinct. The lamp posts here are spaced far apart; the darkness between them feels ominous. Temej’s hand hovers near his sword, scanning every patch of gloom.

“Could’ve sworn I heard footsteps,” Naci murmurs, her voice low.

Temej nods, eyes darting. “I heard them too. More than one set, maybe.”

Suddenly, a swift shape darts across their path—silent as a cat’s paw. Naci tenses, pivoting, but the figure melds into the shadows. Another flicker of movement at her left, then at Temej’s right. Almost at once, multiple forms lunge out from the darkness.

“Down!” Naci barks. She and Temej drop, the faint swoosh of blades slicing the air above them. Naci springs up, drawing her sword in a single fluid motion. The nearest attacker staggers back, cloak rustling, face concealed.

Temej blocks an incoming slash, metal clashing in a high-pitched scrape. “Who are these—?”

Before the skirmish can escalate further, a shrill cry rings out from somewhere beyond the lamplight. “Murder!” The voice belongs to a young maid, her silhouette wavering in the half-lit alley. She waves frantically, beckoning Naci and Temej to follow. “This way, quick! Hurry!”

They dart after the maid, who runs ahead, skirts swishing as she disappears around a narrow corner. Temej glances back once, verifying no immediate pursuers. Panting, he and Naci emerge into a different courtyard—one featuring an ornate archway. Two tall braziers burn on either side, giving the impression of a quiet temple rather than a public space.

The maid pauses at the arch, catching her breath. “This way,” she whispers, guiding them inside. The temple’s vaulted ceiling looms overhead, lanterns flickering along a row of statues. The door closes behind them with a heavy clang.

Temej, heart still pounding, bends over to catch his breath. “Thank you… you saved us.”

The girl dips her head, shy yet strangely calm. “I—”

Her words die in her throat. Naci’s hand snaps out, clamping around the maid’s slender neck, pinning her against a polished pillar. The maid gasps, wide-eyed in terror.

Temej staggers upright, alarmed. “Naci! What—? She helped us!”

Naci’s grip tightens, her face a mask of suspicion. “Yes, she did… but the timing is too perfect. We get ambushed, then she appears? No random maid just wanders about at this hour looking to rescue strangers.”

The maid sputters, fingers clawing at Naci’s wrist, her eyes bulging as she struggles for air. Tears bead at the corners of her eyes.

“Naci, stop!” Temej pleads. “Killing someone here is...”

Naci hisses. “Tell me, girl—who sent you?”

A strangled sound escapes the maid’s lips, but no coherent words. Naci’s hold remains iron-tight. Temej tries to pry Naci’s arm away, but she doesn’t budge.

“Speak,” Naci growls. The girl’s eyelids flutter, her face draining of color.

Out of the gloom at the temple’s rear, a figure materializes: Yile, his posture languid yet unmistakably poised, fan held gracefully in one hand. The lamplight reveals his impeccable robes, catching a glint of cunning in his eyes.

“Such keen senses, Khan of Tepr,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “You’re sharper than I gave you credit for.”

In one fluid movement, Naci releases the maid, letting her crumple to the floor. She gasps, gripping her throat. Yile extends his free hand down to her, a gesture oddly kind despite the ice in his gaze. The maid, still wheezing, clasps his hand, stands unsteadily, and flees into the shadows.

Temej, chest heaving, glares at Yile. “What is the meaning of this?”

Yile clicks his tongue softly. “My dear, must everything have such a linear meaning? Sometimes, events converge… no more, no less.”

Naci steps forward, sword pointed at Yile’s fan. “You set up an ambush?”

Yile presses a hand to his chest in feigned offense. “Oh, I assure you, I did nothing so blatant. Though I’m impressed with how swiftly you dispatched those outside. To orchestrate such a sloppy attack… not my style.”

Naci’s knuckles whiten. “Stop dancing around your words. Why did you call us here?”

He tilts his fan, tapping it lightly against his chin. “Perhaps I merely wanted to speak where no prying ears linger. Perhaps I enjoy your reactions to my… theatrical approach.”

Temej frowns. “We had enough theatrics. State your purpose or let us go.”

Yile takes a measured breath, eyes lingering on Naci. “Oh, I’m sure you noticed how precarious your position is. There are… factions within the empire who fear you, Khan. They’d rather see you gone than risk Tepr’s rise.” His fan snaps shut with a sharp click. “But I, on the other hand, see an opportunity.”

Naci’s gaze narrows. “Opportunity to use me, you mean.”

A flicker of admiration crosses Yile’s face. “We all seek to use or be used, do we not? From the emperor to the lowliest stable boy, everyone craves advantage.” He steps sideways, the lamplight revealing his expression—serpentine smile, dark curiosity. “Join with me… properly, and I might see Tepr’s independence given leniency in certain affairs.”

“Your help?” Naci spits, eyes blazing. “After that farce out there, you expect me to trust you?”

Yile’s lips curl at the edges, equal parts amusement and arrogance. “I expect you to weigh your options carefully. If not me, there are others—less subtle, more brutal. You wouldn’t enjoy their methods.”

Temej bristles, ready to retort, but Naci shoots him a warning glance. She squares her shoulders, facing Yile with renewed composure. “You think I’m so easily manipulated?”

“You’re cunning, strong-willed… but hardly invulnerable,” Yile counters softly. “Ask yourself, Khan: Who else in this city can guide you without burying a knife in your back? The traitorous Sima? Eunuchs who bicker among themselves?” He flicks open his fan again, as if to punctuate his point. “The difference is… I’m honest about my ambitions.”

Naci exhales a slow breath, her rage tempered by a shred of reason. “You want me as an ally—why?”

Yile’s fan stirs the still air, a whisper of silk. “Because your refusal to bow to nonsense might prove very useful. Together, we can tilt the balance of power. This is why I saved you, remember? You get what you came for: guaranteed safety for your people… and I get a foothold in the future empire you imagine.”

Naci’s fury has shifted to guarded calculation. “We’ll survive, with or without your meddling.”

Yile bows his head marginally, stepping back. “Oh, I don’t doubt you will try. But consider my words, Khan, and weigh them carefully. True power here isn’t about brute force alone.”

Silence falls, thick with tension, the temple’s dimness pressuring each heartbeat. Yile gives them a final, polite nod, then, in a graceful swirl of robe and fan, he glides into the darkness. His footsteps echo briefly, then vanish.