The chamber was quiet but for the faint clink of his chains as Kuazhu shifted against them. The iron links wound around his wrists and ankles bit cold into his skin, a cruel reminder of how far he had fallen.

And yet, across the low table, the empress sat in silks as though no time had passed, as though they were once again the confidants they had been in the candlelit halls of power. Your presence filled the room more completely than any seal or ward could.

Kuazhu straightened, spine taut, long black hair spilling over his shoulders in dark waves. He kept his gaze low at first, but it was impossible not to glance up. How many nights had he dreamt of you entering this forsaken place? And now, here you were, your silence a blade sharper than accusation.

He let out a breath, careful, almost reverent. “Your Majesty,” he began, his voice worn yet steady, tinged with the formality he had never truly shed. The chains rattled as he raised his hands slightly, a helpless gesture. “I wonder—though I am bound, though I am diminished—if there is any way I might still be of service to you.”

His eyes lingered, dark and hungry with an echo of old devotion. “Allow me some purpose, even here. I would endure a thousand more chains if it meant I might still ease your burdens, even in the smallest measure.”