Sam was dreaming.
He stood in the middle of a massive palace.
Pillars the size of ancient trees surrounded him, their surfaces smooth and cold.
A crimson carpet ran in a dead-straight line across the floor, disappearing into a distant point.
Its appearance looked completely wrong, making the place feel unreal, like some painting that defied logic.
Above, crystal chandeliers hung in perfect silence.
Each one was a web of glass and light, reflecting a glow with no clear source.
The sharp, clean brightness made the hall feel both dazzling and sterile.
"Hm…?"
Sam tilted his head, trying to make sense of it. There was no sound, or movement, just the oppressive stillness of the vast space.
Then, a swirling fog began to pour into the room.
It was grey and formless, creeping from unseen cracks in the walls and floor. It soon swallowed the light, plunging him into a thick, chilly gloom.
Voices drifted from within the fog. Some were soft and soothing. Others were harsh and angry.
Then came the third kind. These voices were loving and warm. They stirred a deep, forgotten feeling of connection in his chest.
A familiar female voice spoke, rich with pride.
"Just look at my handsome baby boy. I'll name him after his father."
A male voice followed, gentle and awed.
"He looks just like his mother… look at those beautiful eyes."
Another voice, this one amused. " The young master's walking? At his age? Is that kid some kind of genius?"
The loving voices echoed for a moment, a brief pocket of comfort. Then their tone twisted, warping into something ugly.
The harsh voices surged back, louder.
"How dare you take another wife! I will not stand for such disrespect!"
"Mark my words, Alexander—someone will bleed for this!"
The tension in the palace became a physical force. The pillars trembled, their surfaces cracking slightly under the strain.
The angry voices grew, overlapping and merging into a single, horrifying noise. The sound was overwhelming, brutal, and utterly chaotic.
Then it snapped. The scene shattered into nothing, the fragments of the dream dissolving into darkness.
...
Sam gasped.
His consciousness was ripped from the dream and shoved back into his body. He woke with a start, his face tight and his heart pounding.
Warm sweat had soaked through his thin tunic, making it cling uncomfortably to his skin. His breath came in ragged bursts as he tried to steady himself.
"This dream again," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. His voice was hoarse from sleep. "What's wrong with me?"
He looked down. His fingers were clenched around the jade pendant on his neck, his knuckles white from the force of his grip. He had no memory of grabbing it.
The pendant was a gift from his parents. He had worn it for as long as he could remember.
It was a strange thing, really. His parents had been simple merchants, barely scraping by.
How they could have afforded such a treasure was a mystery he'd never solved. He wasn't a greedy man; if he were, he would have sold it years ago to keep his failing business afloat.
The jade was smooth and perpetually cool.
An intricate rune was etched into its surface, and it caught the thin sunlight slipping through the carriage window, glinting faintly.
A low hum vibrated against his palm, so subtle he might have imagined it.
This was a pattern. He would sleep, dream of the voices, and wake up clutching the pendant, as if the two were tied together by some invisible thread.
The carriage jolted, rolling along the uneven road toward the Crystal Dynasty.
It was part of a small merchant convoy. Sam's cart was near the back, its wood dark and weathered, scarred by years of use.
The other carts were much the same, their surfaces patched and repaired in places. They moved in a slow, steady line, their axles creaking under the weight of the cargo.
Outside, the road was lined with vibrant flowers, their colors bright against the dull, dusty path.
The scent of blossoms and dry earth filled the air, a sharp contrast to the musty, hay-filled smell inside the carriage. He pushed the canvas flap aside to check their progress.
A conversation from two merchants walking beside the wheels carried to him.
"You have to be joking," Lue said, his tone skeptical. He was young, with a perpetually doubtful expression. "A disease that turns skin to stone? That's a rumor for scaring children."
Tirus, the head merchant, shook his head. His face was weathered by years of sun and wind, his eyes sharp and calculating.
"Then explain why the Empress opened the trade routes to us. Why let slum merchants into the city now? There's no other reason."
He leaned in, his voice lowering. "When we get there, people will be desperate. They'll pay anything."
Lue raised an eyebrow, but Tirus continued. "I thought it was a story, too. But the blue berries that grow like weeds in our gutters are the only cure. It's insane. We're about to be rich."
Sam listened. Tirus's excitement was a sharp reminder of their situation. He had inherited a failing trade business from his parents.
They had worked hard their whole lives, but it was always a struggle.
When they passed, he had tried to keep things going, but as a sixteen year old it felt like pushing a boulder uphill.
Then the rumors started. A plague was spreading across the land, turning people's skin to cracked, lifeless stone before killing them. The only known cure was the common blue berry that grew wild and neglected in the slums.
So, he had packed his cart until the axles groaned and joined the first merchant group headed for the Crystal Dynasty.
The convoy reached the crest of a steep hill.
Below, the Crystal Dynasty sprawled across the valley. It was not a city of simple stone. Its structures were crystalline, faceted and clear, scattering light in all directions.
Towers rose like shards of glass, their surfaces catching the sunlight and throwing rainbows across the land. Even from a distance, Sam could see the city was packed.
A long, slow-moving line of people and carts snaked toward the main gate, their progress sluggish under the watchful eyes of imperial guards.
He gripped his jade pendant. The stone felt warmer than usual, a subtle heat against his skin. He wondered, not for the first time, if the answers to his dreams were hidden inside those crystalline walls.
Little did he know, he would run from the answer when he finally got it.
Lue broke the silence as they began the descent to join the long line of visitors.
"To have so much power and so many problems… I pity the Empress. First her family fights off a war, then her grandson disappeared. Now this disease?...Everything is falling apart."
Tirus smacked the back of Lue's head.
"Fool. She sits at the peak of cultivation. You pitying her is like a mouse pitying a hawk. One of these guards will cut your tongue out for less."
Sam let out a short chuckle at their bickering. The sound died in his throat as Tirus turned on him.
"And you!" Tirus snapped. "Tuck that pendant away. It keeps falling out. Are you trying to get us all killed? Flaunting a valuable thing like that here?"
The reprimand was sharp. Sam quickly shoved the pendant back inside his grimy tunic. He made a note to be more careful. Still, he thought their caution was excessive. With imperial guards stationed every twenty paces, who would be stupid enough to cause trouble?
"This isn't the slums," he muttered under his breath, a flush of irritation warming his skin. He was so focused on the merchants and his own thoughts that he didn't notice the guard stepping into his path.
He walked straight into the man.
[Oufff!]
The impact was solid. Sam staggered back, his feet slipping out from under him. He landed hard on the packed dirt, the jolt rattling his teeth. A dull pain throbbed in his tailbone.
"Hey! Watch where you're going, peasant!" the guard barked.
Sam looked up. The guard was a mountain of polished steel. He bent over, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized Sam. His armor was flawless, reflecting the sunlight in sharp, bright flashes.
Sam's own clothes were ragged and stained with weeks of travel. His hair was greasy, his face smudged with dirt. Only his eyes were clear, fixed on the guard with a mix of apprehension and stubbornness.
"Eugh. What a pitiful sight," the guard said, his voice dripping with contempt.
Onve he realized Sam was slum scum, the guard lifted his heavy boot. He was going to stomp on Sam's chest.
The action was slow, deliberate. He was demonstrating his absolute control.
Life and death at the city gates were his to dispense. If he decided to crush the boy's ribs, it would be just another incident. No one would dare question him.
But his boot froze in mid-air.
His expression shifted from boredom to shock.
He had seen it.
Around the boy's neck, a jade pendant had slipped free.
It was not a common trinket. The markings etched into its surface were specific and rare. They were the secret sigils of the Voss family, the royal bloodline that ruled the Crystal Dynasty. The Empress's own symbol.
His mind raced, trying to fit the pieces together. The ragged clothes, the dirt, the pendant that should not exist outside the palace walls.
Who was this kid? Could it be?
Was he the one who had vanished years ago? The Empress's grandson,
Alexander Yen Voss.