In the Imperial Palace, silence was survival.
Servants walked with lowered heads, careful steps, and empty expressions. Those who lived long learned one rule early:
Be unseen.
Be unheard.
Be nothing.
Lian had survived by following that rule.
She was a palace maid. No family. No backing. No importance. She moved through corridors like mist and left no trace behind.
Until the day fire entered the palace.
The southern gates opened at noon.
Black-armored soldiers marched in first, their armor etched with flame sigils. The air itself grew warmer as they passed. Nobles stopped speaking. Officials lowered their heads.
Then he entered.
The Fire Lord.
He walked, not rode. As if the earth itself should feel his steps.
Tall. Straight-backed. Dressed in dark robes edged in red like dying embers. His expression was calm to the point of indifference, but the heat around him made the air waver.
This was a man the empire had tried to kill as a child.
They poisoned him — he lived.
They stabbed him — the blades melted.
They sent assassins — they burned.
So they stopped trying.
Now they feared him instead.
He ruled the southern territories with a temper that could empty cities. He killed without hesitation when angered. He spared no one when crossed.
A man of flame.
A man of ruin.
A man no one dared approach.
Lian didn't see him.
She turned a corner quickly, carrying a wooden bucket of water meant for the inner hall.
And walked straight into him.
The bucket slipped from her hands.
Water crashed across the stone floor, splashing over the hem of his robes and boots.
Silence.
Cold, suffocating silence.
Lian dropped to her knees instantly.
"I—I'm sorry, my lord. Forgive me. Forgive me."
Her forehead hit the wet floor as she scrambled to gather the spilled cloths, trying to wipe the water from his boots. Her hands shook violently.
He did not move.
He did not help.
He did not even look angry.
He simply looked down at her with complete indifference.
A servant had bumped into him.
That was all.
As she hurriedly wiped the water from the edge of his robe, her fingers accidentally brushed the back of his hand.
Just a touch.
A single, brief contact.
He paused.
The heat around him flickered.
For the first time in years, he felt something unfamiliar.
Cool.
Not weakness.
Not pain.
Just… cool.
Like standing beneath snowfall.
His gaze shifted slightly toward her.
She kept her head lowered, still apologizing quietly, still trying to dry the water.
He pulled his hand away.
"Move," he said.
His voice was calm. Flat. Cold.
Lian immediately dragged the bucket aside and pressed herself to the floor, making space.
He stepped past her and continued walking without another glance.
The guards followed.
Within seconds, he was gone.
The corridor warmed again, but something lingered in his mind.
He did not look back.
Three nights later, the palace issued a silent execution order.
The government feared those chosen by gods.
Chosen ones could not be controlled.
And what could not be controlled… was destroyed.
They always killed them early.
Before their power matured.
Before they became untouchable.
That was the empire's law.
Lian never saw it coming.
They came in the middle of the night. Covered her mouth. Bound her wrists. Dragged her into the outer courtyard where no one would hear.
Moonlight fell across the stones.
A sword was raised.
She didn't scream.
Didn't beg.
Didn't trust anyone enough to hope.
This was how people like her died.
Quietly.
At their weakest.
Far away in the guest palace, the Fire Lord stood alone on a terrace.
He rarely slept.
Flames responded to his mood, and tonight they were restless.
Then he felt it.
A faint ripple in the air.
Cold.
Weak. New. But unmistakable.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"…So that's it."
In the next breath, he was gone.
The sword began to fall.
Then stopped.
Heat slammed into the courtyard like a storm.
Fire erupted across the ground, forcing the soldiers back. The blade in the executioner's hand melted into liquid metal before it could touch her skin.
Flames rose.
From within them, he stepped forward.
The Fire Lord.
The soldiers dropped to their knees instantly.
"My lord!"
He ignored them.
His gaze landed on Lian, bound on the ground, eyes wide but silent. Even now, she didn't cry out.
On her wrist, faint beneath the rope, a mark glowed.
Water.
Ice.
Calm.
The opposite of him.
He understood immediately.
"So," he said quietly, "they found one."
The captain stammered, "My lord, the court ordered her execution. Chosen ones cannot be controlled—"
"I know."
His voice cut through the air like a blade.
Silence followed.
He stepped closer to her and sliced the ropes at her wrists with a flick of heat.
She didn't move.
Didn't thank him.
Didn't speak.
Good.
He disliked noise.
He turned and began walking toward the gate.
After a few steps, he stopped.
Without looking back, he said only:
"Follow me."
No explanation.
No reassurance.
No warmth.
Just an order.
Lian hesitated for one breath.
Then slowly stood.
She didn't trust him.
Didn't understand him.
Didn't believe she was safe.
But she knew one truth:
Everyone here feared him more than death.
So she followed.
The palace gates opened slowly.
No one dared stop him.
No one dared question him.
Flames bent away from his steps as he walked forward, expression unchanged, as if taking a chosen one from the imperial palace was the most ordinary thing in the world.
Behind him, Lian followed at a careful distance.
She did not speak.
Did not ask questions.
Did not trust him.
But she walked.
The night air outside the palace was cool. For the first time in her life, she stepped beyond those walls with no idea where she was going.
After several moments, he stopped.
She halted immediately.
He didn't turn around.
"From now on," he said calmly, "you stay alive."
That was all.
Not comfort.
Not protection.
Just a statement.
As if her survival was a simple matter of decision.
Lian's fingers tightened slightly at her sides. She looked at his back — tall, distant, untouchable. A man feared across kingdoms.
The same man who had just taken her from death.
She didn't thank him.
He didn't expect it.
After a moment, he continued walking.
"Follow," he said.
So she did.
Fire walked ahead.
Ice followed behind.
Neither trusted the other.
Neither spoke.
But fate had already placed them on the same path.