Inside the emperor's private chamber, silence hung like silk. With a glance toward the gilded wall, the emperor reached for a carved phoenix figurine perched upon a display shelf. He tilted its head sideways—click—and the sound of shifting stone followed.
A hidden panel in the wall slid open with a whisper. Without a word, he stepped through, the stone closing behind him like the mouth of a secret. His boots echoed along the narrow, spiraling staircase that descended into shadow.
At the bottom, he paused.
With a swift, practiced motion of his arm, he swept it through the air—and at once, the torches lining the walls burst into flame, one by one. A golden trail of light lit the chamber in a ripple, casting soft glows upon ancient walls and timeworn stone.
The room revealed itself slowly.
A vast, secret chamber untouched by time.
Cabinets of jade and ebony stood tall, their locks dulled with age. Ornamental swords lined the walls, silent sentinels beside faded portraits draped in shadow. Shelves bowed beneath the weight of silk-wrapped boxes, sealed letters, scrolls tied with golden twine, and glass vials of dried petals of once-living flowers, their color now memory.
The emperor walked toward a long, lacquered table that stood like a solemn altar near the far end of the chamber. His steps were slow, measured—almost reluctant. He reached for a shallow drawer beneath the table, and as he pulled, the wood groaned faintly, aged hinges creaking in protest, as if disturbed from sleep.
Inside rested a wooden box—its surface darkened with time, but still polished with care. A faded engraving marked its center: a single peony flower, its petals curled with age.
He lifted it with both hands. His fingers hesitated, brushing across the lid with a tenderness that had no place in a war-hardened man. Then he slowly opened it.
Inside lay two items, resting in the cradle of dark velvet. A small glass vial, delicate and clouded by time, holding the dried blue petals of the long-extinct nightbloom orchid—its color, though faded, still whispered of mystery.
And beside it, a gold bracelet with a single, gleaming blue diamond that caught the light like a drop of frozen sky.
He held it gently, almost afraid it would shatter if he breathed too hard. His eyes seemed to reflect the diamond's hue as he stared into it.
He turned, slowly, toward the far wall where a faded portrait rested beneath a veil of dust. Forgotten by all but him.
He approached it in silence.
One hand reached out—hesitant, trembling—and brushed across the surface. The dust came away like ash, and the woman beneath was revealed.
Her gaze was soft, painted with a serenity that tugged at the heart. She held a nightbloom orchid in her hands, its vivid blue once matching the petals in the vial. Her smile, faint and knowing, seemed almost alive in the flickering torchlight.
The emperor stood there, unmoving. As if by looking too long, he might fall into the past.
He didn't speak. But in the stillness of that hidden chamber, something broke quietly behind his eyes. Not a tear, not a word. Just a silence deeper than grief.
He stood there, the bracelet in one hand, the other resting gently against the portrait's edge, his gaze fixed on the face of a woman time had not managed to erase from his soul.
"…My Beloved," he murmured, voice low, almost reverent. "How have you been… all this while?"
His words trembled, soft against the hum of silence.
"Forgive me," he said, eyes flickering downward. "I… couldn't bring myself to come here. Not until now."He paused, jaw tightening. "My Heart's Light faded… the moment the Peony of the Palace left me behind." His fingers curled gently around the bracelet. "And it took thirteen years for me to finally gather the strength to stand before you again." He lowered his gaze, shoulders heavy.
"I, the Emperor, the voice of this empire… was lost the day you became the Lost Flower of the Empire." He exhaled shakily. "The day they lost their Empress." His eyes drifted back to the portrait, his voice barely above a whisper now.
"You… My beloved. The Lady of the Blue Orchid. Bearer of the Blue Bloom…"
He closed his eyes, and a tremor passed through him. His jaw clenched, his voice turning hoarse with the weight of unspoken years.
"That tragedy… it took everything from me. Everything." He exhaled, shaky. "Our once happy family, filled with laughter and warmth… reduced to shadows and silence."
His gaze dropped to the floor, fists slowly curling as grief gave way to rage. "I lost you. I lost our daughter. And I our—"
His voice broke off, cracking at the edge. He stood there, trembling, then gritted his teeth and forced the words out, "No… he is not our son. I won't accept he was. And he never will be."
A beat of stillness.
"I will never accept him as my blood," he whispered, venom laced in grief. "Because of him… because of what he brought… my entire world was reduced to ash."
The torches flickered, casting long, dancing shadows on the stone. He turned his back to the portrait, breathing heavy, voice bitter but brittle.
"Forgive me, my beloved. I couldn't protect you. Not then. Not ever since."
His gaze drifted back—drawn to her eyes, forever painted in the past, fixed gently on the blue orchid cradled in her delicate hands. There was a softness in her smile, a serenity time could not erase.
And then… A warmth welled behind his eyes before he could stop it.
A single ear escaped.
It slid down the curve of his cheek in silence, no sob, no cry just the pure, unspoken ache of a man shattered by love.
When it fell, it hit the stone floor with a soft chime.
Chk.
He blinked, looking down. A small glint caught the light. He knelt, fingers brushing against it.
…A diamond.
Pale blue, perfectly cut by fate itself.
He held it in his palm, letting the silence wrap around him again. A bitter smile ghosted across his lips.
He murmured, almost to himself, "Tear Diamonds…"
His voice dropped to a reverent hush.
"They say it's a gift from the heavens bestowed upon the men of our bloodline alone. That when a man sheds a tear for the woman he truly, deeply loves… that tear does not fall in vain. It crystalizes into a diamond. A Tear Diamond born not of sorrow, but of love so profound, so eternal, that even the gods dare not let it vanish into the earth."
His gaze drifted back to the portrait, "It is said such a gem holds the very heartbeat of the one who wept timeless, incorruptible. A fragment of devotion, shaped by grief, sealed by love… and untouched by time."
Slowly, he stepped forward, each footfall measured, reverent. Then, lowering himself to one knee beneath the faded portrait, he placed the diamond gently on the table before it.
"…Here," he whispered. "It's yours."
He remained there a moment longer, one hand resting on the wood as if it could somehow bridge the years, the silence, the absence.
"A single tear," he said softly, "for a lifetime of devotion. And still… it isn't enough."