The palace had gone to sleep, but Sky had not.
High above, stars stretched across the black velvet of the sky like scattered
memories—fragments of time frozen in place. Below, in the quiet corner of
the west courtyard, Sky stood perched on the balcony railing, his feathers
trembling softly in the breeze.
He didn't chirp. He didn't call. He simply looked up.
Behind him, Ju Xian leaned against the carved wooden post of the balcony
door, wrapped in a silk robe. Her hair was loose for once, brushing her
shoulders like in the old days. She had followed him here, barefoot and
silent.
> "You remember this sky, don't you?" she asked quietly.
Sky turned his head. His eyes, dimmer than they once were, still held the
weight of decades.
> "I used to lie under it after training. Ren would hum to himself, and I'd
count stars instead of bruises."
Her voice cracked.
> "We were children. And somehow, we became legends."
Taotao appeared then, arms crossed, yawning as he leaned beside her.
> "Some legends die. Others get reincarnated and trapped into royal drama
against their will."
> "Still bitter about the marriage proposal?" she smirked.
> "Princesses should come with warning signs," he muttered.
They stood in silence a moment longer, gazing upward.
The constellations hadn't changed. That was the cruelest comfort.
Ju Xian knelt beside Sky and touched his feathers gently. He pressed against
her hand, blinking slowly.
> "You waited," she whispered. "You watched the sky for us."
Sky closed his eyes and made a soft, low trill — a sound so full of ache it
silenced even Taotao.
Ju Xian looked at him and then to the stars again.
> "The night sky remembers… even when we forget."
And above them, a breeze stirred — carrying petals from a plum tree far
across the courtyard, like the passing of time made visible.