The Royal Court was vibrating with tension. The news of the impending arrival of the West-Seu delegation had turned the Council chambers into a hive of speculation. No one in Joseon had seen true envoys from the legendary kingdom in over two decades; the memory of the coup that had unseated Maya's family was nearly mythological.
Maya knew she had to prepare. She immersed herself in the few West-Seu cultural texts that Scholar Aisha could safely retrieve, focusing on the language. The cipher scroll had ignited her connection to the language, but the complex, rhythmic structure was still mostly dormant.
The day of the preliminary arrival ceremony was a whirlwind. The Korean court dressed in its finest, a subtle display of wealth and power meant to impress the visitors.
Maya stood beside Dong-jin, maintaining the serene, dignified demeanor of a royal advisor. She knew that her every gesture would be analyzed by her own people.
The lead diplomat from West-Seu was a tall, imposing man named Kofo. He was dressed in magnificent robes of rich, dark greens and golds, his posture radiating ancient, regal authority.
When the introductions began, Kofo spoke first, not in the polite, expected Joseon dialect, but in his native West-Seu language.
The language was a torrent of deep, melodic tones, sharp consonants, and complex rhythms. It was completely incomprehensible to every Korean present, serving as a powerful, immediate statement of West-Seu's independence and pride.
But as the words flowed from Kofo's mouth, something profound happened to Maya. She did not actively translate the language; she felt it. The sounds resonated deep in her bones, triggering muscle memory and neural pathways she hadn't known existed. The words flowed over her, sounding like the powerful roar of a jungle cat, the gentle rush of a river, and the commanding beat of a war drum, all at once.
Kofo's speech was a formal, diplomatic opening, but its undertones were clear: We have observed the chaos. We are here for our Princess, and we will tolerate no interference.
As Kofo paused, his deep, intense eyes scanned the Joseon court, lingering on the Crown Prince, and then finally settling, with an almost painful intensity, on Maya.
Maya's face reacted.
It was not a conscious movement. A rush of pure, raw emotion—grief for the life lost, validation for her identity, and sudden, fierce pride for her people—washed over her. A single, silent tear tracked down her cheek, a betrayal of the perfect calm she had strived to maintain.
The court, understanding nothing of the words, understood the emotion instantly. The foreign Ward was visibly, profoundly moved by the foreign tongue. It was undeniable proof of her connection to the legendary, lost kingdom.
Kofo's stern, professional demeanor broke for the briefest fraction of a second. A hint of sorrow and recognition flickered across his eyes. He recognized her—not from a portrait, but from the deep, unspoken resonance of their shared heritage.
The moment hung heavy in the air. Dong-jin, who stood beside her, gently placed a comforting hand on her arm. He understood the profound weight of this linguistic awakening.
Maya swallowed hard, fighting back the tide of raw emotion. She knew what Kofo's next move would be: the formal, official request for her repatriation and installation as the true ruler of West-Seu. She had gained a family, a past, and a crown. But accepting it meant abandoning Joseon—and the man who had just risked his life for her.