"Start the fire."
With those three words, her destiny shattered and ignited all at once. Simple—cruelly so. And yet they carried the weight of centuries. Perhaps, if humanity had ever grasped the gravity of judgment, wars wouldn't stain the skies with ash. Perhaps peace was never designed to dwell among mortals.
On a moonless canvas above, red light bled slowly into the sky. The stillness broke—first with silence, then with a scream. Gu Ming Yue's voice tore through the night like lightning through velvet, wild and desperate, echoing across the rusted bones of the abandoned warehouse.
"Heed me, Heaven! I curse you all! Even if my flesh turns to ash, you will never smother the embers of my rage. I will rise again—as the red phoenix incarnate—and burn this rotten world to its knees! You damn B*stards!"
Tears carved tracks through soot-stained cheeks. Her wrists and ankles bled beneath twisted metal wires that bound her to the upright stake. The fire flared hungrily below her feet, a slow, cruel burn—too deliberate to be random.
She had often wondered: was the beginning of her pain the night she was kidnapped, or the moment the Gu family chose her from the traffickers like cattle? Now she saw that pain didn't need a beginning. It merely waited.
"She will burn—not in punishment, but in passage..."
A line from a faded scroll flickered in her mind. Like a prophecy it burned louder than the flames licking at her heels.
Gu Ming Yue was never granted safety, never offered warmth. Not even a lie disguised as love. Her memories—fragmented—offered only shadows: a lullaby from a faceless woman and a fire-shaped mark that pulsed beneath her collarbone each time she cried.
She smiled bitterly, tasting defeat.
"So, this is it," she whispered. "My grand finale. Fire as curtain call. Fate as playwright."
The flames whispered back in crackles, almost as if they remembered her. Smoke curled like wings around her shoulders. She closed her eyes—not in surrender, but in search. The elders once said that in death, your life flashes before you. She saw not victories, but regrets; not love, but a single glimpse of a woman she never truly knew.
Still, with clenched teeth, she choked out one final vow.
"If heaven orchestrated this farce, then let heaven pay the debt. If I'm to return… I will never forgive."
The fire roared, swallowing her whole—body, voice, promise.
And yet, in that last scream, in the eerie silence that followed, something trembled. Not just the air. Not just the earth. But something deeper—older. A ripple of heat surged upward as if aiming not for destruction, but for ascension.
Outside, the night stood still.
No cicadas.
No owls.
No breath.
Just the wind, shivering with anticipation.
They say when a red phoenix dies, the skies hold their breath—and magma weeps from heaven.
Sky Palace — Heavenly Realm
"Commander Su," Roan's voice was low as he approached the young general, his armor whispering of wars survived and tribulations endured.
Commander Su didn't turn. His gaze was locked on the lone dancer in the courtyard—Princess Yue, bathed in silver moonlight, surrounded by swirling cherry blossoms.
Her movements flowed like fire remembered: the ceremonial branch in her hand sliced the air with grace, as if sparring with ghosts. Petals danced like embers caught in an invisible flame.
Roan hesitated.
"It's time. The ritual ends soon. You know… this isn't goodbye for good. She means much to all of us. But her wheel of fate was forged in flame."
Commander Su's jaw tensed. No words could ease the ache that clenched his heart. She was not just a comrade, not just a vessel of prophecy. She was the single ember that had made him believe again.
"It is her tribulation," Su finally said, his voice fraying at the edges. "But why must mine burn alongside hers?"
Above, music hummed from the skies—slow and mournful. The ritual neared its final beat. Princess Yue's steps faltered into stillness. Her eyes opened.
And met his.
For a moment, time bowed.
A memory flickered on Commander Su's mind—of a young princess adorned in white sprawled in a field of daisies. The young princess had followed the young commander to a secret mission. Being found out by the nanny of her disappearance, the King had ordered a 3-day confinement for reflection of the palace rules. The first thing after completing her reflection period, she had dragged the young commander to the field of daisies.
"You have a temper like a phoenix," Commander Su teased. "Always flaring up, always ready to fight fate."
To that, the young princess playfully stuck out her tongue and the place filled with innocent laughter of adolescence.
That memory with her was perhaps one of the many he held close to his heart.
'Temper like a phoenix', 'Phoenix fate' – The signs were always there and now with the ceremony finishing, it all made sense.
Her lashes fluttered like a final message. Her gaze spoke of love, loss, lifetimes. A silver light enfolded her, pulsing gently like moonlight drawn to its source.
Her form began to fade—first in shimmer, then in smoke.
She didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
Four words carved themselves into the silence, etched in the wind like a prayer:
"I will miss you."