Step. Step. Step.

My slippers struck the stone path like quiet thunder, echoing against vermilion pillars carved with dragons. The crowd parted in slow waves, silk sleeves brushing against one another, jeweled hairpins trembling as whispers leapt from mouth to mouth.

Lantern light flickered across painted faces, yet none dared hold my gaze for long. Their murmurs clung to me like invisible threads, tightening with every step.

"I never thought I would stand in such a place," I breathed inwardly, heart pounding like a war drum beneath my silk robes. The air was thick with incense and destiny, as though even the heavens were watching.

The world tilted upward — past banners embroidered with golden phoenixes, past the looming eaves of the Forbidden Hall, until the stars themselves seemed to draw closer.

And then, in the silence between one heartbeat and the next, the truth whispered through my mind like a forbidden spell:

“A mistress of the Crown Prince.”

The words were mine, yet they felt as though they had been etched into me long before I was born.

The Grand Hall shimmered beneath a thousand lanterns, each flame trapped in carved crystal like captive stars. Golden dragons coiled along the pillars, their jeweled eyes glittering with silent menace. At the center, upon a dais of black jade, sat the imperial family — but the air itself bent around one figure.

The Crown Prince.

Though still only a prince, he bore the weight of an emperor. His robes were darker than midnight, threads of silver lightning stitched across them as though the heavens themselves dared not strike him. His eyes were sharp obsidian, unreadable, yet heavy enough to make even generals bow their heads in silence.

Every gaze in the hall — ministers, nobles, concubines, even the emperor himself — strayed toward him. Not because they wished to, but because they could not resist.

A single word from his lips was said to sway the fate of nations.

Cold. Untouchable. Terrifying.

And yet, behind that stillness, a storm waited — one that could shatter the world.

How could a man so handsome, so untouchable, be the very embodiment of every woman’s dream?

His jaw was carved like jade, his gaze sharper than any blade, his presence commanding as if the heavens themselves bent their will to him. Ministers trembled before him, warriors feared him, and yet women whispered of him in their silken chambers, longing for a glance that might never come.

But he was cold.

Cold as the winter that steals breath from the lungs. Dark as the midnight sea, where no light dares to linger. His silence was heavier than any threat, his words sharper than punishment.

And yet… of all men, it was he who bore a secret, hidden like a shadow beneath his crown.

The Crown Prince — the most powerful man in the world — had taken what none would have dared to imagine.

A mistress.

In the open fields beyond the village, where wildflowers swayed like waves of color, a child’s laughter rang out.

A little girl — no more than five — ran barefoot through the tall grass, her silk-red hair streaming behind her like a ribbon. The sunlight kissed her skin, soft as jade, and in that moment she seemed less like a child and more like a goddess who had descended to earth.

The wind bent to her joy, blossoms turned in her wake, and even the sparrows circled above as though drawn to her light.

So young, so pure… yet her presence carried something more. Something fated.

Her laughter faded into a curious hush.

Among the swaying grass, half-buried in the soil, something shimmered — faint at first, like a dying ember, then stronger, pulsing with an otherworldly glow.

The little girl’s eyes widened. She bent down, her tiny hands brushing the dirt away, and lifted it.

A stone — smooth, warm, and alive with light, as though a star had fallen into her grasp. Its glow painted her face in gold, making her look all the more unearthly, like a child touched by heaven itself.

The wind stilled. Even the sparrows above went silent.

As she cradled the stone against her chest, its light sank into her skin, vanishing as though it had chosen her.

She did not yet know what she held.

Clutching the glowing stone to her chest, the little girl laughed, her voice as bright as the morning bells. She darted through the fields, past the bamboo groves, her tiny feet barely touching the earth.

“Mother! Mother!” she called, her voice bubbling with excitement. “Look what I found!”

Her mother turned from the hearth, wiping flour from her hands, a tender smile already forming at the sight of her radiant child.

The little girl held up the stone, still faintly pulsing in her palms.

Joy burned in her eyes. Pride burned in her mother’s.

But neither saw the shadow that flickered across the threshold. Neither heard the silence that fell outside, too sudden, too sharp.

She thought it was only a stone.

She thought it was only a treasure to keep.

But that single moment, that innocent offering to her mother — was a mistake she would never forget.

At first, her mother only smiled. But as her gaze fell upon the stone, the warmth in her eyes froze into something sharper.

The glow of the rock pulsed faintly in her daughter’s small hands — a sacred light, rare beyond measure, said to carry the power of heavens themselves. Such stones could command armies. Such stones could buy the rise of dynasties, or the ruin of entire villages.

Her breath caught.

Her hands trembled.

Her smile… changed.

For in that instant, she no longer saw her little girl — laughing, barefoot, innocent.

She saw fortune. She saw power. She saw the key to a life beyond fields and hunger.

The light that had sunk into her daughter’s skin was priceless, untouchable, dangerous. And it did not fill her heart with pride, but with a hunger that burned like wildfire.

From that moment, the mother was no longer the same.

The gentle woman who once hummed lullabies by the hearth was gone, replaced by someone blinded — no, devoured — by greed.

And the little girl, though too young to understand it, would carry the weight of that change for the rest of her life.

It was on an ordinary afternoon, in what should have been a faithful game.

The girl, still bright with laughter, skipped home, clutching wildflowers in her little hands. But as she pushed open the wooden door, her steps faltered.

Three men stood in the room — broad, scarred barbarians with blades at their sides and hunger in their eyes. Their presence swallowed the small house whole, making the hearth feel like a cage.

She blinked, confused. “Mama…?”

Her gaze found her mother.

But instead of open arms and a warm smile, she was met with eyes colder than winter steel. Her mother’s face turned away, refusing her daughter’s searching gaze.

“Mum?… Mummy?” the child whispered, her voice trembling, desperate for the softness she once knew.

Silence.

Only silence.

Then, from the shadows, a dark, calloused hand reached out — massive, unrelenting.

Before she could cry out, it wrapped around her, lifting her from the earth.

Her flowers fell, scattered across the floor like broken stars, and darkness closed in around her.

The next thing I knew, I was no longer in my village.

Stone walls pressed in around me, damp and cold, swallowing every sound. The air reeked of rust and rot, of old wounds and despair. Days blurred into nights, and nights into weeks. I never saw the sun again.

The only company I had was my own blood — pooling on the dirt floor, drying on my skin, marking me with scars I was too young to understand. My body ached, my breath grew thin, yet still I clung to life, as if some invisible hand refused to let me slip away.

Sometimes I would whisper to the shadows, “Mama…?” But the silence was louder than any answer.

In the dark, I learned pain. In the dark, I learned fear.

But somewhere beneath the wounds, buried deep beneath the suffering, a seed was planted. The stone’s light — the one that had chosen me — had not died. It pulsed faintly within, waiting.

And though I was only a child, though I was broken and forgotten… destiny had not forgotten me.

I was broken.

My body ached with wounds that refused to heal, my skin marked with the cruelty of hands that saw me as nothing more than a prize. Hunger clawed at me until even the taste of air felt heavy. I was only a child, yet I had learned the weight of despair too early.

I was hurt.

Every breath was a battle, every blink a prayer. My tears had long dried, leaving only the sting of salt on my cheeks. My voice had faded into silence — there was no one left to hear it.

I was on the brink of death.

And yet… in the stillness, when my heart beat weakly against my ribs, I felt it. A faint warmth, a light that was not of this world. It lingered inside me, pulsing softly in the darkness — the same glow that had once danced in my small hands the day I found the stone.

The barbarians had broken my body, but not the secret buried within me.

The light had chosen me. And even as death reached for me, destiny would not let me go.

One night, as I lay curled against the cold stone, barely clinging to breath, voices seeped through the cracks of my cage.

At first, I thought they were only echoes — cruel whispers my mind had conjured. But then I heard the words, clear and merciless:

“Even if you have to grind her to get the powers… do it.”

The world tilted. My stomach knotted. My hands trembled so violently I pressed them against my chest to keep them still.

They did not see me as a child. Not as flesh, not as blood. To them, I was nothing more than a vessel. A thing to be broken. A thing to be used.

Tears burned my eyes, but none fell. I had no tears left.

Something inside me cracked that night — the last fragile thread that tied me to the girl who once ran in fields, chasing sparrows and sunlight.

I was no longer just a child in a cage.

I was prey.

And if I were to live, I would need to become something else.

A thunderous blast shook the walls.

Stone cracked. Dust rained from the ceiling. Screams erupted outside the cage — guttural cries of men, the clash of steel, the roar of fire.

But I did not move.

I only lay there, my cheek pressed against the dirt, my eyes half-closed. I had been broken too many times to flinch, too many times to scream. Pain had carved me hollow, and shock had stolen every piece of me that could still react.

The world could burn to ashes around me, and all I could do was breathe. Shallow. Empty. Silent.

Perhaps this was what it meant to die before death.

The blast came again, louder, closer. Shadows flitted across the cracks in my cage, and still I did not rise. My body refused. My heart refused.

But somewhere deep inside, the light stirred.

It waited — not for my strength, not for my courage… but for the moment fate would finally open its hand.

What I saw next was something I never thought I would ever see.

The blast thundered again, and this time its force struck the iron door of my cage. A sound like thunder splitting the mountains rang in my ears.

The iron groaned, shuddered, then cracked.

A jagged line split across its surface, glowing faintly with heat. Dust poured down, the hinges screamed, and with one final shiver — the door slipped open.

For a long moment, I only stared.

Freedom. A thing I had long buried in dreams I no longer dared to dream… now lay in front of me, as unreal as the stars.

My heart should have leapt. My lips should have cried out. But all I did was blink, hollow, my body still pressed to the floor.

I was too broken to move. Too scarred to believe.

And yet… the door was open.

The chains that bound me to this darkness had cracked.

Fate had stepped into my cage.

I don’t know what gave me the courage.

Perhaps it was the silence after the blast.

Perhaps it was the door, hanging open like a wound in the wall.

Or perhaps… it was the last spark of life the heavens had refused to let me lose.

With the last bit of strength left in my body, I pushed myself from the ground. My legs trembled, every step like knives through my bones. But I moved. I moved because if I stayed, I would die as nothing more than a sacrifice.

So I ran.

Stumbling, gasping, my hands scraping against stone walls as I forced myself forward. Every breath tore through my chest, every heartbeat screamed for me to stop.

But I did not stop.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the air rushing against my face did not reek of blood and rot — it smelled like night. Like open space. Like freedom.

And though I knew I was weak, though my body could collapse at any moment… I ran.

I ran because I could.

I ran because I had to.

I ran because somewhere inside, I still wanted to live.

I was finally free.

The night air wrapped around me like a long-lost embrace. My bare feet stumbled through the forest, grass brushing against my skin — soft, alive, real. I had forgotten what it felt like to touch the earth, to breathe air that was not drenched in blood and iron.

For a fleeting moment, I was a child again. Running. Laughing. Chasing sunlight across open fields.

A small smile tugged at my lips, trembling but true. The first in what felt like lifetimes.

But it was too late.

My body was broken beyond repair, my wounds deeper than my spirit could hide. The trees blurred, the stars above swayed, and my legs crumpled beneath me.

I fell.

The forest floor rose to catch me, cool and gentle against my fevered skin. My eyes fluttered, heavy with sleep, heavier with surrender.

And as the darkness crept in once more, I whispered to myself — maybe to the heavens, maybe to no one at all:

"At least… I was free."

I was supposed to be dead.

Yet I opened my eyes.

There I was, lying in the heart of a glowing circle carved into the earth. The forest around me was bathed in silence, yet within the circle, the air shimmered — alive, sacred.

Tiny light particles drifted through the air, glowing like falling stars, appearing and vanishing with every breath I took. They danced around me, warm and weightless, settling on my skin as though I was something they had been waiting for.

I slowly pushed myself upright, expecting the familiar stab of pain… but felt nothing. No chains. No wounds screaming in agony. Only light.

I lifted my trembling hand.

At once, the particles gathered to it, drawn as if by an unseen force. They swirled over a gash along my wrist, sinking into the scar. The blood dried. The torn flesh closed. My skin sealed, smooth as though the wound had never been.

I gasped. My heart pounded.

The light was inside me — answering me, healing me. The stone had not abandoned me.

It had saved me.

And for the first time, I realized… I was no longer only a girl.

I was something more.

I didn’t move.

I didn’t fight.

I simply lay back down, the earth cool beneath me, and let the circle of light wrap itself around my broken body.

The tiny particles continued to fall, brushing against my skin like the gentlest touch of heaven. Each one melted into me, mending what had been torn, soothing what had been scarred.

For the first time in so long, I felt no pain.

My chest rose and fell in calm rhythm, not with gasps of agony, but with breaths of peace. My eyelids grew heavy, the glow around me pulsing like a lullaby.

I didn’t know what this power was. I didn’t understand why it had chosen me.

But in that moment, none of it mattered.

For the first time since my childhood, I felt safe.

So I closed my eyes and surrendered… not to death, but to something far gentler.

Sleep.

When I opened my eyes, it was morning.

Golden sunlight filtered through the leaves, soft and warm against my skin. I blinked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, my body still light as if I were floating in a dream.

And then I saw it.

A butterfly — not of flesh and wing, but of pure light. Its delicate form shimmered, glowing with soft hues of white and gold, each movement leaving trails of glittering particles in the air.

It hovered just before my face, tilting as if studying me, then fluttered to the side.

My gaze followed.

There, lying neatly beside me, was a set of small, delicate clothes — pure and soft, unlike anything I had ever worn.

I sat up slowly, confusion clouding my thoughts. My fingers brushed the fabric, feeling warmth hum through it, as if it carried the same magic that had healed me.

Before I could question it, the light butterfly circled once more, then drifted toward my chest.

I gasped softly as it dissolved into me — scattering into a thousand radiant sparks that seeped into my skin.

The warmth spread within me, calm and steady, as if the light had marked me, claimed me.

And I understood — the circle had not just saved me.

It had chosen me.

I gathered the clothes into my arms, ready to wear them, when the butterfly reappeared.

It fluttered out of my chest, glowing brighter in the morning light. I froze, watching as it hovered gently in front of me, then drifted forward, pausing as though waiting.

I hesitated, then rose to my feet and followed.

Step by step, the butterfly guided me through the trees, its shimmering body leaving trails of light in the air. Soon, I heard the sound of running water, and there before me lay a crystal-clear stream, its surface sparkling like liquid glass beneath the sun.

The butterfly circled once, then settled near the water’s edge.

I understood.

Silently, I stepped into the stream. The water was cool, pure, cleansing away the blood and dirt that clung to me from the horrors I had endured. As I submerged myself, it was as if the pain, the fear, the darkness was being washed away too.

When I stepped out, the butterfly fluttered back, and I slipped into the delicate clothes. They fit as though they had been woven for me alone, soft and light against my skin.

Then, with a final graceful sweep, the butterfly formed a tiny ribbon of light. It drifted upward and tied itself into a neat bow upon my hair, glowing faintly before fading into silk.

I touched it gently, my heart trembling.

The butterfly hovered once more, as if smiling… then dissolved into the air, leaving only the faintest sparkles behind.

I stood there, bathed in light and silence, no longer the broken child I had been.

Something had changed.

Something had begun.

I stayed in that forest for days.

The light never left me. It was just like my mother once was — gentle, protective, always watching.

Each night, when I grew weary, the light shaped a nest for me among the trees, weaving leaves and flowers into a bed so soft it felt as though I slept upon clouds.

Each morning, I would awaken to find a new set of clothes laid beside me, fresh and clean, as though stitched by unseen hands. Beside them, a basket of fruits, ripe and sweet, always enough to fill my hunger.

And whenever despair began to creep into my heart — whenever I almost felt I could not go on — the light would stir. It would shimmer around me, warming my skin, lifting my spirit, and easing my pain.

It was as if my mother was right there with me again, holding me close, soothing me with her voice.

Yet deep inside, I knew… this was not my mother.

This was something greater.