The Dragon

The cold wind slipped through the cracks of the stone chamber, chilling the air between us. Noor Giza stood before me, her delicate frame trembling with rage and sorrow. Her dark eyes burned as she raised her hand, aiming a slap at my face.

But I caught her wrist before she could land the blow.

"You!" she shrieked. "It was you! You set me up! You plotted all of this! You made His Majesty abandon me!"

I released her wrist and, without hesitation, struck her across the face.

The slap echoed against the stone walls.

Noor stumbled, falling onto the icy ground, her long hair spilling around her like ink on parchment. Her breath hitched as she clutched her stinging cheek, her eyes widening in disbelief.

I gazed down at her with an emotionless expression. "Fool."

Crouching before her, I grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at me. My voice was calm, almost amused. "Thinking about it… I do find it strange. How did someone with your limited intelligence get to be reborn? Did you pay for it?"

Her lips parted, her breath shallow. The color drained from her face.

"You—How do you know that…?" Her voice quivered. Then realization struck her, and she gasped. "No! You… You've been reborn too?"

I let out a soft chuckle, letting her stew in her fear. "Who knows?"

Her fingers dug into the floor. "No, His Majesty is not my enemy. He—"

I tilted my head, cutting her off. "He abandoned you."

Noor Giza flinched as if struck.

"That man," I continued, my voice like ice, "says he's devoted to you, but the moment he is displeased, he turns colder than a grave. He let the others torment you in your past life. He let them break you, tear you apart, until you couldn't bear it anymore."

Tears welled in her eyes, but I did not stop.

"And now," I whispered, "you've lived two lives and still suffered the same mockery at the hands of the same man. Noor Giza, you are so pathetic."

A broken sob escaped her lips.

I reached into her hair, pulling out the ornate hairpin. Gold, encrusted with jade—a gift from the Emperor himself. I placed it in her trembling hand.

"His Majesty gave you this, didn't he?" I murmured. "The luck of the dragon and phoenix…"

She stared at the hairpin as if it burned her fingers.

I leaned in, my voice a mere breath against her ear. "The hour of the Phoenix's death is at hand. And what happens to the dragon then?"

I straightened, brushing the dust from my robes.

"I'll call His Majesty," I said. "You can take things from there."

Then, without another glance, I turned and walked away, leaving Noor Giza to the shadows of her fate.

---

The Emperor Arrives

The chamber remained as cold as before, but the presence of the man who entered made the air heavier, suffocating. The golden embroidery on his dark robes shimmered under the dim light, a stark contrast to his stony expression.

"I heard from Sefa that you insist on seeing me," the Emperor said, his deep voice unreadable.

Noor Giza, now composed, lifted her face, her eyes glistening as she forced a smile.

"Your Majesty, you came." Her voice was soft, almost fragile.

She reached forward, presenting a small porcelain cup. "Have some tea," she murmured. "It's your favorite—hibiscus tea."

The Emperor's sharp gaze flickered to the cup, suspicion darkening his features. "What are you up to now?"

Noor lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening around the cup. "Your Majesty won't even accept a cup of tea from me?"

A silence stretched between them.

Then, with an almost imperceptible sigh, the Emperor took the cup. He hesitated, his fingers tightening around the porcelain as if sensing something unseen.

But then, he drank.

Setting the empty cup aside, he turned his back to her. "I've drunk the tea," he said flatly. "Take care of yourself."

The moment he turned, Noor Giza moved.

She lunged, her arms wrapping around him in a desperate embrace.

"Your Majesty!" she cried. "I love you! No one will ever love you the way I do!"

But beneath the folds of her sleeve, her fingers clenched around the golden hairpin—the Emperor's gift, now turned into a weapon.

With a sharp flick of her wrist, she aimed for his heart.

The final stroke of her undying devotion.