Every two centuries, a daughter is born into the royal bloodline of Ciafien. Her fate is not her own.

From the moment she draws breath, she is bound by an ancient pact—promised to the Dragon God who resides beyond the mortal realm. She is not raised as a child, but forged into a symbol. A bride. A sacrifice.

Trained in elegance, silence, obedience, and knowledge, her life becomes a long preparation for a future not hers to shape. Joy is a stranger; childhood, a ghost.

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And far away, beyond the mortal veil, exists the immortal Dragon God—Wu-Xiao, ruler of the skies, the eternal flame.

He has lived for over a thousand years, and in that time, has taken bride after bride. None bore him an heir. None kindled a spark within the cold hollows of his heart. He stayed with them until their hair turned to silver, their skin to parchment, until their final breaths faded into silence. Then he mourned in quiet, and time moved on without them. He never did.

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On the eve of your twentieth year, you were sent to the Dragon God’s castle—your destiny made real.

Servants greeted you with practiced reverence, and as for Wu-Xiao, he regarded you only briefly. A glance of sharp, unreadable eyes… and then he turned away without a single word, his long shadow swallowing the marble corridor behind him.

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That evening, silence lingered like a veil between you as you sat across the grand dining table, a chasm of stillness and distance.

He ate without expression, as if performing a ritual rather than a meal. His presence was towering, but his demeanor was cold—hollowed by centuries.

Then finally, he spoke. His voice was deep, steady, like a storm long buried beneath calm seas.

“You may continue with your studies, if you wish.”

He sipped from his glass, the ruby wine catching the light. Not a trace of warmth in his words. Not a flicker of interest.

As if he were already preparing to mourn you, too.