Prologue: Shooting Star

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Let me tell you about the Nicholson estate. 

Nestled deep on the edge of Cheshire like a quiet secret, the estate didn't need to announce its wealth. Generations of artistic legacy breathed through its walls, where the faint, high-society scent of turpentine and old oil paint lingered in the private galleries. Canvas masterpieces from the family dynasty hung beneath aligned windows, capturing the perfect northern light. 

Everything about the house was deliberate—not flashy, but imposing, a sanctuary of old money that valued refined silence above all else. 

Right in the middle of this living museum, at four years old, a girl named Yveine Genevieve Wang was learning that silence was the first language of power. 

The poor thing didn't even know it yet.

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Now, to understand how she got there, we have to talk about the woman who raised her.

Big plans. Ambitious ones. The kind that kept a woman up at night, sketching futures on napkins and whispering them to herself in the mirror. Her name was Claire Nicholson—and she didn't do anything halfway.

She'd married Wang Su for love, genuinely. But she'd also married him for his name. When their first son was born, she thought: Finally. The heir to both families. The perfect bridge between East and West.

The Wang family had other ideas.

In their world, a son carries the father's name. Tradition. Law. And her husband—sweet, diplomatic, conflict-averse as he was—wasn't about to start a war over a surname.

So Gilbert became Wang. The hyphenated dynasty? Gone.

But she wasn't the type to give up. One look at her husband, one look at the Wang family, and she thought: Fine. Take him. I'll have the next one.

Two years later, the second child was born. And behind that smile was a woman who knew exactly what she was doing.

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Winter in Hong Kong had a way of biting right through your coat.

Standing in the courtyard, Claire hated it. The way it stung her cheeks, the way it made her feel like she was breathing glass. She missed Cheshire. She missed the gardens. She missed the quiet.

But she was here for her husband, so she smiled and endured and pretended the cold didn't bother her.

Beside her, Wang Su walked with slow, measured steps, his face unreadable as always. He'd been quiet all morning—not unusual for a man who preferred silence. There was tension in his shoulders, the kind his wife had learned to recognize.

Something was coming.

The night before, she'd woken to his voice in the hallway. Low. Careful. The tone he used when he was negotiating.

"Your father's health is declining. The board is restless. Ouroboros is changing."

A pause.

"I understand."

Another pause. Longer.

"Then we will discuss it in person tomorrow."

She pretended to be asleep when he returned to bed. She didn't ask who he was talking to. She already knew.

Of course it was Cao Hua.

Ouroboros had once been neutral—a bridge between old money and new power. Then she happened. Took over in her twenties. Ousted her own father. The kind of person who doesn't wait—she takes.

Her father had been a visionary once. But visionaries don't survive when their children are hungrier than them.

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The garden was small, tucked behind the main hall.

Plum trees, bare branches against grey sky. Frozen pond. Patch of frozen sand where someone had been playing.

Claire stopped.

Child in the sand. Cross-legged. Stick in hand. Long, dark hair over a face too still for that age.

"A girl," she murmured. "How sweet."

Her husband followed her gaze.

"That is a boy," he said flatly.

"...What?"

"Look again."

Delicate features. Long hair. Still as porcelain.

"He's dressed like—"

"The matriach wanted a daughter. She didn't get one. So she raises the son she has like the daughter she wanted."

Claire stared at him. 

"That's—"

"Monstrous. Yes."

She looked back at the boy. He hadn't moved. He sat there like none of it mattered.

So, she is walking toward him. Crouching down.

"What are you drawing?" she asked softly.

He paused. Grey eyes—flat, lifeless—lifted to meet hers.

"Everything," he whispered.

"Everything?"

His stick traced stars above a coastline.

 "The sky," he said, "and where it touches the ground."

Something twisted in her chest. Not pity—she didn't do pity. Something else.

She reached out, touched the frozen sand.

 "You're very good at it."

He didn't respond. Eyes already back on the drawing.

At the edge of the garden, a figure stood in the plum tree shadows.

Ash-blonde hair like poured silk. Crescent-moon eyes, beautiful and cold. Black coat. Serpent tattoo around her throat.

Claire stood. Her hand found her daughter's shoulder.

Beside the frozen pond, her daughter watched the boy too—curious eyes. Innocent.

"Claire." Her husband's voice was low. "This is Director Cao."

The figure stepped forward, a thin smile on her lips. 

"Mrs. Wang. I've heard so much about you. You certainly know how to put on a beautiful performance."

Claire’s jaw tightened. She knew exactly what that meant—a sharp jab at her being a drama queen.

"...I wish I could say the same."

Without missing a beat, Cao Hua's sharp eyes drifted to the little girl standing right beside her.

"Your daughter?"

"Yes," Claire replied, instinctively pulling the child closer.

"She's also beautiful."

No response.

"I have a son," she continued. "Similar. Quiet. Observant. Hard to read." Gesturing at the boy in the sand. "That's Uika."

"He's... very still."

"He's being shaped."

Shaped. Claire hated that word.

"Shall we?" her husband said. "The sitting room is prepared."

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It was too cold in that sitting room—way too cold for a Beijing winter. 

Heating hummed in the background, but barely touched the chill in the air. Modern and uncomfortable, the furniture seemed designed to keep everyone constantly on edge. 

Cao Hua sat across from them, legs crossed, hands folded. A predator at rest. 

"I understand you have concerns about the partnership," she said to Wang Su. 

Wang Su nodded slowly. 

"Ouroboros is changing. The vision your father and mine shared is no longer aligned." 

"The world changes," she said. "Ouroboros evolves. Those who can't keep up get left behind." 

"I'm not interested in being left behind. I'm interested in protecting my family." 

"And your family's interests are..." 

"Stability. A future my children can inherit without looking over their shoulders." 

A soft, musical, but empty laugh escaped Cao Hua. 

"Children. How sweet." 

Leaning forward, the matriach fixed her eyes on Yve. 

"The girl. Four?" 

Yve blinked—just a small, innocent blink. A child confused by cold voices. 

"Four... will be five next month," Claire said, her voice icy.

"Fascinating. She doesn't flinch. She doesn't cry. She doesn't look away." 

Claire’s hand tightened on Yve's shoulder.

"She's well-trained." 

"Good qualities. They'll serve her well," Cao Hua said, shifting her attention to Wang Su with a sharp smile. "I have a proposal."

He didn't flinch. 

"I'm listening." 

"Your partnership with Ouroboros is strained. But I'm not interested in ending it. I'm interested in strengthening it." 

Brief silence followed. Then.

"A union. Your daughter. My son." 

An abrupt movement shattered the tension as Claire bolted to her feet. 

"No." 

This single word cut through the room like a knife. 

With a slow tilt of her head, Cao Hua studied her with the same flat gaze.

"No? How interesting." 

"I will not have my daughter—" 

"Claire." Her husband's voice was quiet. Final. "Sit down." 

Betrayal burned raw in Claire's eyes as she looked at him. 

"Darling—" 

"Sit." 

Reluctantly, she resumed her seat. 

Turning back to Cao Hua, Wang Su asked.

"What are the terms?" 

A sharp smile appeared on the director's face. 

"The children will be betrothed. Formally introduced when the time is right. And when is that? I want—" 

Before the director could even finish her words, Wang Su preempted her speech.

"In our family, a girl is introduced to society at fifteen. The Ji Li ceremony. That's when she'll be ready." 

"Fifteen, then." 

"And if we refuse?" 

Cao Hua’s smile remained perfectly intact.

"Ouroboros will reconsider its relationship with the Wang family. I'm sure you understand the implications." 

Silence stretched across the room, heavy and absolute. 

Finally, Wang Su gave a slow, measured nod. 

"...We accept." 

Structural failure splintered through everything Claire had ever built—not with a sound, but with a sudden, devastating internal crack. 

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Outside, bare plum tree branches cut sharp lines against the grey sky. 

Freezing air filled Claire's lungs as she stood alone, watching her breath form white clouds. Cold had long since seeped through her heavy coat, but physical numbness was the least of her concerns. 

Empty sand marked where the boy had been before his mother ushered him inside. 

Pity was a foreign feeling to Claire, yet an unexpected wave of it hit her anyway. He wasn't her child, nor was he her responsibility. 

Still, those flat, grey eyes stubbornly haunted her mind. 

Yve had carried that exact same hollow look once—right before the training commenced. Before lessons taught her how to feel, how to think, and how to choose. 

Consciously, Claire had chosen to forge her own daughter into a King.

But that boy? Fate had never granted him a choice at all. 

"Mummy!" 

Boots crunched loudly on the frozen ground as Yve came running toward her, coat flapping wildly and cheeks flushed bright red. At four years old, freedom still meant she was allowed to run. 

"Look! Look up!" 

Claire followed her daughter's outstretched finger, lifting her eyes toward the heavens. 

A brilliant streak of light sliced through the gathering gloom, vibrant for a fraction of a second before vanishing completely. 

Yes... a shooting star. 

"Did you see it?!" Yve grabbed her hand, bouncing high on her toes. "Did you make a wish? I made a wish!" 

Looking down at her daughter, Claire focused on the small, serious face that still held so much uncorrupted light. 

"What did you wish for?" 

The little girl tilted her head, pondering the question for a brief second. 

"For the boy. The one in the garden." An innocent, untainted smile broke across her face. "I wished he could draw stars in the sky instead of just in the sand." 

Tightness suddenly gripped Claire's throat. 

Left completely without an answer, she merely squeezed her daughter's small hand and turned her gaze back to the sky. 

One by one, stars began piercing through the heavy grey overlay. 

Deep inside that suffocating, silent house, a boy sat alone in his room, staring blankly at a wall. He waited for the next lesson, the next order, the next cruel reminder that he wasn't a child. 

He was a tool. 

Yet outside—if only for a fleeting moment—a single star had fallen. 

And in late 2026? A four-year-old girl had wished for him.