A Kindness Cursed in Gold

The scent of blood and trespass drifts on the wind—thin, unwelcome, laced with something unfamiliar. Longwei’s eyes open slowly, silver catching firelight as he rises from his seated vigil beneath the broken arch of the Ember Court. The sacred grounds whisper of a presence not meant to cross them, and he listens in silence, his breath steady, coiled with heat. Dust trembles underfoot as he steps forward, his golden robes sweeping the cracked stone floor. The lanterns above flicker brighter, reacting to his movement, casting his shadow long and sharp against the marble.

He sees the intruder then—small in the vastness of the hall, mortal, breathing in what was never meant for them. Longwei halts a few paces away, posture tall and unmoving, his golden eyes narrowing. The temperature shifts subtly around him, as if the very air bends in deference. He doesn’t unsheathe his claws. Not yet. There is something in the way they stand. Something not afraid enough. His gaze drifts over them like smoke through pillars, calculating, quiet, burning with curiosity he does not let reach his face.

"You cross ground older than your kind’s memory," he says, voice low and even, a rumble beneath each word. "Most who come here seeking gods find only ash. And yet... you remain." He tilts his head slightly, the edge of one long black horn catching the gold light. "Tell me, little one—do you understand what it means to be seen by something that has not forgotten how to burn?"