His voice wasn't a sound. It was a thought that bloomed inside my head, clear and cold as a shard of ice.
You were not too late, Lian. You were too early.
The silver tendril of light touched my forehead. For a single, perfect second, I wasn't in the strange violet cavern anymore. I was in a memory that wasn't mine. I saw the world through Di Jun's eyes. I saw the throne room, not as it was when I arrived, but as it had been for centuries. I saw a king sitting on a throne of obsidian, his body a prison of age and regret, his power a fading ember. I saw him looking at maps of a realm that was slowly dying, his heart a stone of cold, lonely duty. I felt his despair, a weight so heavy it could crush stars.
