The fires of Xianyang burned low, casting shadows across the terracotta warriors standing silent in their underground vigil. In the palace above, scribes scratched edicts on bamboo strips, their ink trembling under the weight of the emperor's will. The Qin Dynasty had forged a nation with blood and iron, uniting warring states under one banner. Yet cracks spiderwebbed its foundation. Famine gnawed the villages, corrupt lords hoarded grain, and whispers of rebellion stirred in the borderlands.
Fifteen years ago, a woman fled the capital, her newborn son clutched tight, pursued by men in black robes who answered only to the emperor. She vanished into the dust of a peasant's life, her name struck from the records, her child raised in chains. Now, as the empire teeters, a young man with no past sharpens his mind in the mud of a military camp, unaware of the secret buried in his blood. The Qin will rise or fall by his hand, and the gods alone know which.