The next day,
The news spread faster than the fire.
By dawn, the capital no longer spoke first of the plague, the strange resurrection that had shaken the Dynasty, or even the Emperor's failing health.
They spoke of the throne.
In teahouses that still had roofs, in alleys thick with smoke, and in half-collapsed courtyards where servants huddled with officials' wives, the same words passed from mouth to mouth.
The Emperor would not name the Crown Prince as the next Emperor.
Instead, he had declared that the strong and capable would take the dragon throne.
"Have you heard?"
A merchant wiped the dirt from his face and leaned closer to the man beside him.
"His Majesty is dying, and instead of properly passing the throne to one of his sons, he wants to throw it open to everyone."
"Throw it open?" the other man hissed. "That is not succession. That is a… war."
A third voice came from behind a cracked pillar.
"Then who do you think can take it?"
No one answered immediately.
