Morning arrived quietly, but fear arrived faster.
Before the sun had fully risen above the palace roofs, hurried footsteps echoed through the Dowager Empress's courtyard. Servants whispered nervously, bowls of medicinal soup clinked, and the scent of strong herbs hung heavy in the air.
The Dowager Empress lay on her bed, face flushed unnaturally red, lips dry, hair damp with sweat. Her breath came unevenly, and her fingers clutched the silk sheets as though they were the only thing anchoring her to this world.
The Emperor arrived in haste, his robes barely straightened, followed closely by the imperial healer.
"Mother," he said, voice low but tense. "What happened?"
The Dowager's eyes snapped open at the sound of his voice. Fear—raw, unmistakable fear—filled them.
"Shadow…" she whispered hoarsely. "I saw shadows last night."
The healer paused mid-bow.
The Emperor's spine stiffened.
"Shadows?" he repeated.
