Days later, the moon began to lose its brilliance—as if it were being worn down beneath the gaze of men. An unknown sickness fell upon the palace like a dense, lethal fog. The gates slammed shut with a metallic thunder, healing rites multiplied in the temples, and the sky—as though it could hear the mortals' whispers of dread—answered with sepulchral silence.
In the palace corridors, only one thing was spoken of: an ill omen had taken hold of the monarch's body. From that moment, no one could enter or leave without permission. Fear seeped beneath every doorframe, because a sick King meant a vulnerable kingdom. The doors to his chambers were sealed against scholars, officials—even his own family.
Only a chosen few carried the privilege—or the curse—of crossing that threshold: the Naeui, the royal physician; the eunuch who tasted the King's food; and Min Seok-ryeon.
While the country held its breath, I felt the watchfulness around us loosen—not from mercy, but because Min was occupied at the heart of power, pulling the strings of a King who could barely hold his crown. Yet my father did not share my relief. Each night, he looked to the heavens with a face stripped of color, knowing that if the King died beneath a sky we had charted, our heads would be the first to roll—an offering to calm the wrath of the gods.
Min Seok-ryeon summoned a clandestine meeting with the scholars most loyal to his cause. In whispers and shadows, a conspiracy began to take shape beneath the convenient pretext of the monarch's illness.
The next day, he sent for Kang-dae.
They met in one of the palace's inner courtyards. As they walked beneath carved wooden eaves, Min began with trivial questions about battles on the border—then, without warning, his tone shifted.
"How is your family, Bujang?" Min asked, wearing a cordiality too polished to be real.
Kang-dae's jaw tightened. The mention struck him off balance; Min had never taken an interest in his personal life. It was a clear sign of danger.
"I have a task for you," the Councilor continued, hands clasped behind his back. "I need you to go to the observatory and deliver a message to the Chief."
"Yes, my lord," Kang-dae replied, bowing in obedience that tasted like iron.
"You will be my eyes and my ears while the palace remains sealed," Min said simply.
Kang-dae's hand closed around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles whitened. He understood exactly what it meant: Min was preparing the ground to blame Haneul's father for the King's illness—using the stars as proof of a supposed curse.
With fire contained behind his eyes, Kang-dae answered, "Yes, my lord. I will depart at once."
Min took a few more steps, then paused. He turned slightly, a glacial smile cutting across his face.
"You will keep me informed of everything that happens there…" he said softly, "…and I, in the meantime, will look after your family here in the capital."
The threat hung in the air—heavy, lethal.
Kang-dae understood he was trapped in a silk web. If he failed to report every movement of Haneul and her father, his own family would pay the price. His duty as a soldier and his instinct to protect were now at war, and whichever side he chose could cost him the life of the person he most wanted to save.
Kang-dae's arrival did not go unnoticed—though fate ensured they met far from the guards' eyes.
Haneul, as on so many nights, had slipped away to the cliff, searching for answers in the silence of the heights. When she reached the summit, she saw the silhouette of a man standing with his back to her, fused with the dark horizon.
"Who are you?" she demanded, tense. "What are you doing here?"
Without turning, the man replied with a familiar note of irony.
"Are you some kind of nocturnal creature?" he said. "You move like a thief."
Haneul's heart lurched.
That tone—that cadence—
"That voice…" she whispered to herself, feeling her fear transform into something deeper.
He released a breath that sounded almost like a lament.
"Doesn't it frighten you," he asked, "crossing the forest in the dark?"
Her eyes remained fixed on the warrior's back.
"That voice…" she repeated.
Then relief and shock broke through her.
"It's you—Kang-dae!"
"Were you expecting someone else?" he replied at last, turning.
For a heartbeat, she forgot her father's warnings and stepped closer.
"What are you doing here? I thought you'd be guarding the King, given his condition. Tell me—do they know what he has? What is happening in the palace?"
Kang-dae watched her for a long moment. Despite Min's pressure and the noose around his family, he couldn't stop a faint smile from touching his mouth at her relentless urgency.
"Are you always like this?" he asked gently. "Always firing questions…"
Haneul frowned, annoyed by his evasion, and moved closer.
"And why do you always appear and disappear whenever you please?" she snapped. "You never announce yourself—you just rise out of the shadows as if you belong to them."
Before he could answer, rapid footsteps crunched through leaves. A soldier emerged from the dark and bowed urgently.
"Sir—the Chief of the Observatory is looking for you at the main entrance."
Kang-dae nodded, gravity returning at once. He turned to leave, but before taking his first step, he pointed at Haneul and ordered the soldier:
"Watch her while she remains at the cliff. Do not leave her alone."
Haneul's blood flared at his commanding tone.
"I've always taken care of myself!" she shot back. "I don't need you assigning guards to me now."
Already striding away, Kang-dae halted for a brief second and glanced back, shouting over his shoulder with a mix of annoyance and amusement:
"You are the only insolent one here!"
Haneul stood with her hands on her hips, breathing hard with indignation. When she was left with the soldier, she looked him up and down with open disdain.
"Ugh. I don't need you. You can go," she said, flicking her hand.
"Miss, I will remain nearby in case you need me," the soldier replied, respectful but firm.
"I said I don't need you!" she shouted again, frustration snapping. "Go protect your Bujang—I'll be perfectly fine. Can't you hear me?"
The soldier stared back, unmoved.
"The young Bujang gave the order," he said simply—discipline sealed in his voice.
Without another word, the guard withdrew several steps—far enough to give her space, yet near enough to remain what he was: a stone statue set there by command, watching her from a distance.
Haneul turned toward the horizon and huffed with irritation, but deep in her heart, his presence was the only proof that in the storm gathering inside the palace, Kang-dae was still watching her steps.
Like and comment, don't forget to add it to your collection!