Great Ming Empire, Year of Fire, Birth of the Undying Summer
"When the world was wounded by the shattering of the heavens, and Chaos was seduced by the Void, the Eternal Winter was born to punish and imprison. It did not come alone.With it came the Calamities."—Excerpt from the Sacred Codex of the Exorcists
The Jade Palace slept beneath a purple sky, veiled by unmoving clouds and a sickly moon too afraid to reach its zenith. Not even the wind dared pass through its golden pillars carved with sacred script, nor birds cross its curved rooftops. Stillness here was no peace. It was dominion. A power so absolute, it hurt to name it.
In the Hall of the Celestial Throne, lantern flames trembled—not from wind, but from fear. Even the fire seemed to bow before the figure seated at the far end of the chamber, high upon a black dais, behind curtains of scarlet brocade.
The Emperor of Great Ming did not speak. He merely watched, with the patience of a dragon who had seen all things. And when he did speak, it was as if the bones of those nearby turned to ash.
"Enter," he commanded, his voice so low it seemed to rise from the pillars themselves.
A man crossed the threshold. He wore a white robe marked with the inverted lotus of the exorcists, now blackened by the dried blood of slain spirits. His shadow did not follow him.
The Jìng Xū Jiàng[1] of the southern forces knelt. His face was pale, his eyes sunken and lined with bluish streaks that formed a very particular pattern.
"I have returned from Joseon, Celestial Majesty," he said, never raising his gaze. "The Great Spirits have chosen the new heir. The cycle has restarted. And tonight, on the longest night of the year... the Tenth Calamity has been born."
A murmur rippled through the hall, as if even the stones themselves lamented.
The Emperor tilted his head slightly. His eyes—narrow and golden like ancient coins—showed no surprise. Only a shadow deeper than the darkness of the Void.
"Where?"
"In the heart of Joseon. Spring has died, leaving its petals frozen by the cold now spreading across the kingdom. The calamity... has taken human form."
"And?"
"He is the crown prince," said the general, worry lacing his voice. "A child with one white eye."
Silence. Long and warm.
Then, a soft laugh—barely a whisper.
"How ironic..." murmured the Emperor. "The Great Spirits have chosen a prince who will rise to the throne, only to be sacrificed for the sake of the worlds. Interesting."
The general lifted his eyes slightly, thinking: I cannot read his intentions. Instead, he said,"This could be dangerous, Your Majesty..."
"There is nothing more dangerous than a broken cycle," replied the Emperor, cutting him off. "The White Eye shall reign if that is the will of the Great Spirits. A hundred years have passed since she wielded the power of ice. This time, General Lín Wují, I will ensure that the bearer's cold does not spread beyond the Celestial Wall. Winter will not touch my soul again."
The exorcist swallowed hard. In Ming, there was a tale—one that said this very Emperor had once been defied by a bearer of the White Eye. A girl who, according to historians, had tried to claim the Jade Throne and cast Eternal Winter upon the Empire. Of course, many versions of the story existed. But he, as the right hand of Heaven's Governor, was permitted to hear only what served the Empire.
"Do you wish me to return?" he offered after a pause.
"That might have been useful... if I didn't already have an agent within the Central Court of Joseon," the Emperor muttered with boredom. "No. Not yet, Jìng Xū Jiàng. Let him grow. Let him remain unaware of what awaits him. Let him learn to love. To hate. Let him come to know the kingdom he will one day inherit. Only then will he understand what must be lost when the time comes."
The exorcist bowed low, his forehead brushing the polished floor."And if he loses control?"
"Then you will go in my name and remind him of reason," said the Emperor, and his eyes glowed inhumanly bright—like embers beneath the mask of his human face. "For now, the Order of the Keepers will watch over him."
"Yes, Your Celestial Majesty."
And with a flick of his fingers, the entire hall was plunged into darkness. No fire remained. No lamps burned. Not even a shadow followed.
The gates of the Jade Palace opened with a slow, resonant groan, as if the heavens themselves protested the weight the Great Spirits had just placed on the shoulders of a prince.
Lín Wují, imperial exorcist, descended the marble steps with one hand resting on the hilt across his back, his eyes hardened by decades of spiritual war and ruthless training. Behind him lingered the Emperor's words, like frost that does not melt even under the midday sun.
The wind struck him the moment he crossed the threshold—cold, as if it already blew from that land of eternal winter no one dared to look at directly on a map.
Strapped to his back, sheathed in a scabbard black as lunar obsidian, rested Xúnyè, the thinking sword that had been at his side since sealing his first spirit in the Valley of Scars.
And then, as the murmur of the palace was drowned by the pleading cries of chained demons in the imperial gardens, the deep voice of the sword echoed in his mind—no words needed.
"You know what must be done."
Lín Wují did not answer.Yes. He knew.
"Joseon is your homeland."
He nodded slowly, and something within his chest turned to stone—stone submerged in pure ice. The Tenth Calamity had taken form. But it would not be the Emperor who shaped its fate.
It would be him.
[1] T: Warden of the Silent Void