The spring festival had painted the palace grounds in colors of life. Petals rained from the cherry blossoms, scattering across the stone paths like snow touched by blush. Nobles paraded in silken hanbok, their laughter carried by the wind. Yet, away from the chatter and noise, a boy sat alone beneath the grandest tree in the courtyard.
Kim Yunxi.
He was only ten that spring—two years younger than the Crown Prince—but already striking in a way that drew eyes without meaning to. His hair, a rare shade kissed by red under the sunlight, tumbled over his shoulders like threads of fire. His features were delicate, too soft, too lovely; his lashes so long they shadowed the tremble in his wide eyes. Wrapped in layers too thin for the cool breeze, Yunxi shivered faintly, his small hands tucked against his chest.
Jo Han Ji had come for air, escaping the stifling formalities of the officials' endless amble. His steps slowed when his gaze caught the figure under the blossoms. For a fleeting moment, he thought it was a girl—a young noble daughter perhaps, left behind in the crowd. But as he drew closer, he had not seen her beautiful self around. Such a beauty that Han Ji's breath caught in his throat.
Without a word, Han Ji shrugged off his durumagi, the heavy overcoat of his royal robes. He stepped into the boy's trembling silence and draped it gently over Yunxi's narrow shoulders. The fabric swallowed him whole, making the boy look even smaller, like a fragile bird cradled in warmth.
Yunxi lifted his startled eyes. They were large, round, the color of clear spring water. The crown prince gave him a faint smile, firm yet warm, and for the first time in days, Yunxi's lips curved into something timid, almost shy.
That was where the memory always ended—under the blossoms, a smile exchanged between a fierce young prince and a sweet boy who looked like sunlight itself.
---
Now.....
The throne room was suffocating with fear.
Now Emperor, Jo Han Ji sat high upon the dragon-carved seat of power. Time had carved him into a man whose presence dominated the chamber like a storm. His long, raven hair spilled over broad shoulders, dark as midnight, his sharp jawline set with unyielding authority. Muscles sculpted beneath his robes strained when his hand clenched the armrest. His lips, once gentle in youth, now pressed into a thin, merciless line. His eyes—piercing, black fire—burned with irritation so intense that no one dared lift their gaze.
The officials lined the hall in two trembling rows. Their faces were pale, beads of sweat trailing down temples as they bowed low, afraid even to breathe too loudly.
At the center of the marble floor knelt a boy, his forehead pressed against the cold stone. His arms were yanked backward by two armored soldiers, the bones of his wrists nearly snapping under the pressure. His voice cracked with desperation as he cried out,
"Please, Your Majesty! Spare my family! I will do anything!"
The Emperor's sneer twisted his lips into a cruel shape. His voice cut the silence like a blade.
"Shut him up."
The soldiers shoved the boy's face harder into the ground, his pleas muffled to pitiful whimpers.
Behind him, his family cowered: parents, cousins, bloodline bound together by the same fate. They had been beaten until bruises stained their skin, their sobs echoing in the grand chamber. Some wept silently, others clung to one another in terror, their knees shaking as though the stone floor might devour them.
Whatever it was, they were all going down.
Above them all, Emperor Jo Han Ji's gaze did not soften. Once, long ago, he had smiled beneath a blossoming tree. Now, his throne was drenched in power, and mercy was a word long forgotten.
His eyes searched the boy's body below, his gaze towards him grew intense. He was once one of his own, at least he he thought he was,...now he was nothing but a disgrace and a traitor.
'You....you dare lie to me. Why?'