Shadow Over the Heavenly Throne-Chapter 43: She’s not just a girl

Shion collapsed in Calista's arms.

One moment she was a storm—tense, burning with pride and defiance—and the next, she simply flickered out. As if the life inside her had only ever been borrowed for the sake of the fight. There was no scream. No dramatic fall. Just silence... and her head resting gently against Calista's shoulder.

Calista's heart didn't falter.

But her hands never let go.

She tightened her grip on the girl's back, unmoving for a breathless moment. Then, without a word, she began walking through the palace corridors. Her own chambers were the closest. And only there... would no one be allowed to intrude.

***

Calista's room was spacious, but not ostentatious. A place designed for someone who valued solitude over company—and beauty that didn’t need to shine to be overwhelming. The walls were lined with deep violet silk, embroidered with the symbols of her lineage. Heavy navy drapes, trimmed in gold thread, hung beside tall windows. Low-burning oil lamps cast a soft, golden-crimson light, dancing lazily across every surface.

There was no ordinary carpet beneath their feet—only moss. Dark green, cool, and damp to the touch. She had brought it from the southern mountains. A plant that could survive anything—like her.

Along one wall stood a shelf of carefully arranged scrolls. A few swords—one cracked, one dulled, none ceremonial. A black jade tea set, an ornate jewelry box, and an embroidered fan completed the decor.

And in the center—the bed.

It didn’t match anything else. Massive. Luxurious. Silk pillows, a heavy blanket embroidered with dragons, and a sheer canopy that swayed gently in the air. It was the one place where she could pretend the world didn’t exist.

She laid Shion at its center and tucked her in. The girl sighed in her sleep. Unaware. Peaceful. For the first time, she looked... pure. Unburdened. Unafraid.

Calista sat on the windowsill, drawing her legs up.

The sunset painted the sky in colors too beautiful for the ghosts that stirred in her memory.

***

The orphanage had no scent. Only damp and dust. Metal beds and a cold that burrowed into bones. That was where she grew up. No one explained. No one embraced. She learned by watching—whoever cried, lost. Whoever ate too slowly, went hungry.

"I didn’t miss my family. I didn’t know what that meant. My mother... they said she was beautiful. She died giving birth to me. Left behind a name. I never heard her voice."

"Father? I have no idea. No one ever spoke of him. As if he didn’t exist. As if he’d been erased before I could understand anything. Sometimes I wonder if he was ever real."

She was six when her root awakened. She didn’t know what Qi was. But she felt it in her gut—heat, pressure, something that didn’t belong in her small body. Then they came. The royal family. Armor. Seals. Banners.

They called her a "noble-born orphan." Took her like a prize.

"I didn’t understand what was happening. I didn’t know what bloodline meant. But I felt it. That I was different. That they didn’t want me."

The children avoided her. The adults treated her like a complication. And she watched. Learned. In silence.

"I didn’t want to belong. I didn’t dream of friends. I wanted strength. So they’d shut up. So they’d look me in the eye... and fall silent."

***

Then she saw him.

He stood in the courtyard. A man with eyes the color of twilight. His hair long and bound at the back, shimmering like ice. Black tattoos danced across his face like living shadows. He looked at her as if he already knew everything.

Kaen.

He said he was her grandfather.

"And I... felt nothing. No joy. No hatred. Just emptiness. Because how can you miss someone you never knew?"

Her mother had been his daughter. Hidden from the world. Because the world he knew devoured everything he loved. So he cast her out... to keep her alive.

Now, she understood. Too well.

But the heart doesn’t follow logic. It still hated him for how he abandoned her mother.

Then he said he would train her.

"If you’re truly my blood, prove you're worthy of it."

She was a child. And she believed him.

"All I wanted was to train like the other kids. To have a teacher. To belong to something."

She didn’t yet know what hell looked like.

***

The First Stage. That’s what he called it.

"Most children reach it naturally. Through slow breathing and meditation. The first stage isn’t about power yet. It’s about preparing the vessel. The Qi you draw in strengthens your muscles, bones, skin, heart... everything. Your body must learn how to hold future power."

But not for her.

"You’re late," he said coldly. "Most children begin at four. The most gifted ones... from birth. You, on the other hand, are already six. If you want to catch up, you must do... more."

Then he pointed at the pool.

The liquid was strange. Thick. Sticky. It smelled like scorched metal and rotting wood.

"This is my technique. Developed just for you."

She stepped in without a word.

Hell began in a second.

She felt the liquid crawl under her skin like a living creature—cold, dense, clinging to every cell. The Qi it carried didn't flow gently. It tore through her, ripping her apart from the inside, as if it were trying to rip out every piece of her that wasn't strong enough. Her muscles shredded like old rags, pulled apart with every twitch. Bones cracked from the pressure, as if needles were being driven into them. Her nerves didn't burn—they exploded. It was as if her veins had been set on fire from within, and the pain had no end, only more layers.

She screamed until her throat bled and the air turned to flame.

She screamed.

She begged.

And when she somehow crawled out onto the edge, barely conscious, he grabbed her by the neck—and threw her back in.

Expressionless face. Eyes like ice.

Day after day. Scream after scream.

Until she stopped screaming.

She began to go quiet. To watch. To memorize. To count her heartbeat.

And then, something awoke.

"I won't give them the satisfaction. Again. Because one day they'll look me in the eyes and fall silent.I'm not trash. I have the same blood he does. And I'll show him I can stand there too."

That was the only thing that kept her from breaking. She had no one to hold her hand. No higher goal beyond survival. But she had that one thought—that if she gave up now, she'd prove them all right. That she didn’t deserve this. That she was a mistake. A tool. An experiment. A child from the shadows.

Every moment her body screamed to stop, every second she felt like she was going to fall apart—that thought drove deeper than any blade. Inside her was a fire that refused to be extinguished. Not by Qi. Not by pain. And not by Kaen.

She didn’t want to be saved.

She wanted to win.

That’s what kept her alive.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.

Not faith. Not hope. Not pride.

Anger.

A cold, pure will to survive.

***

Calista was still sitting by the window. The sun had nearly vanished. The room sank into shadow.

She stared into the void beyond the glass, the echo of memories still pulsing beneath her skin.

"Only a madman would put a six-year-old through something like that..." she muttered dryly. "But... damn it, looking back? It did what it was supposed to do."

She wasn't that child anymore. And that was why she could now sit here, in the warmth of her chamber, looking at another girl the world had tried to break.

She looked at the sleeping Shion.

"Veynessa..." she sighed softly, eyes narrowing. "What have you brought to me... You're going to make me emotionally involved."

She snorted under her breath, though there was no humor in it.

"I really hate being manipulated. But... just this once, I'll allow it."

She looked once more at Shion's sleeping face, softened into a peaceful, defenseless expression. Her lashes fluttered faintly with each breath, and her cheeks were still flushed from exertion.

Calista blinked, memories flashing behind her eyes. Shion’s outburst—the scream that had cut through the air like a blade, raw with pain, shame, and desperation. A child who had voiced what most adults wouldn't dare to say.

"Words like that... from a six-year-old?" she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. "That shouldn’t even be possible."

And yet she remembered Sylphia. Barely three, speaking thoughts that belonged to someone far older.

"Kids these days... there's something off about this generation," she murmured.

She looked back at Shion.

In that small, fragile figure burned something strangely familiar. Too familiar.

"She’s not just a girl," Calista thought reluctantly. "She’s me. The same spark, the same defiance, the same shame seared under the skin."

Calista leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

Slowly, she rose from the windowsill, walked to her wardrobe, and undid the top of her robe, letting the fabric slide off. She set the heavy garment carefully on a carved stand, then reached for a simple, dark sleeping gown. The satin fabric was cool and soft against her skin.

She extinguished most of the lamps and approached the bed.

Sliding under the covers, she wrapped an arm around the girl, pulling her gently close. Instinctively, Shion’s small form nestled into her, drawn to the warmth.

Calista let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, feeling the tension slowly melt from her shoulders.