CHAPTER 30
The thick scent of burning flesh and incense mingled in the air, curling upward in slow, mournful ribbons of smoke. The corpses—wrapped in cloth—were lowered into the flames one by one. The fire roared and hissed, as though it, too, grieved for the lives it consumed. The king stood in silence, his hands clasped before him, the flickering light painting deep shadows across his weathered face. The elders bowed their heads, murmuring prayers of passage, while the guards stood rigid in a show of respect. No one spoke above a whisper; the crackling fire was the only voice here.
Once the last body was taken by the flames, the king closed his eyes briefly—perhaps in prayer, perhaps in exhaustion—before turning away. The elders exchanged solemn glances, but deep within their eyes, the quiet embers of their scheme burned on.
The scene shifted to the soft glow of Taeyang's room, where the air smelled faintly of lavender and clean sheets. Muwon stepped inside, his heavy boots softened by the plush carpet. Taeyang's face lit up instantly.
"Papa!"
he called, scrambling from the bed and running into Muwon's arms. Muwon caught him easily, holding him close, breathing in the familiar scent of his son's hair.
"What's going on in the palace?"
Taeyang asked quickly, his voice tinged with both curiosity and worry.
"Why haven't I been able to see Dada?"
Muwon's heart clenched at the small, earnest face looking up at him. He brushed a stray strand of hair from Taeyang's forehead.
"Dada's still recovering,"
he said gently.
"And I've been… busy with palace duties. I'm sorry we haven't been able to see you as much as we should have."
Taeyang's smile faltered, his shoulders slumping.
"It's so boring being alone…"
he murmured, his voice soft, as though admitting a secret.
"I know,"
Muwon replied quietly, guilt pressing heavy on his chest.
"That's why I found someone who will look after you—and keep you company when we can't."
As if on cue, the door creaked open. A young woman stepped inside, bowing gracefully. Her hair was neatly tied back, her eyes held a warm, gentle kindness, and her smile seemed to soften the room. Taeyang glanced from her to Muwon, uncertain at first, then looked back at the stranger.
"This is Hayeon,"
Muwon said softly.
"She'll make sure you're never lonely again."
Taeyang's little fingers tightened on Muwon's sleeve, his expression unreadable.
But Taeyang didn't smile. His little gaze shifted from Hayeon back to his father, a shadow falling over his expression. He thought—just for a moment—that maybe this meant he would never see both his parents together again.
"Papa…"
he called softly, his voice trembling.
Muwon's chest tightened. He could see the sadness pooling in his son's eyes. Lowering himself to Taeyang's height, he pulled him into a firm, protective embrace.
"I'm sorry… my little moonlight,"
he whispered against his hair, voice thick with emotion.
"Please… be patient with us."
Taeyang clung to him tightly, his small arms locking around Muwon's neck as if he never wanted to let go.
Later that night, the low murmur of voices and the clink of cups echoed in the private chamber Muwon had chosen for the evening. A round table stood at the center, lit by the warm, golden glow of an oil lamp. Muwon sat with Yuhyun, Dohyun, and Taejin, a half-empty wine flask between them.
Taejin leaned lazily against the back of his chair, one arm slung over the rest, while Dohyun kept refilling his own cup without much restraint. Only Yuhyun's cup remained untouched, his hands resting in his lap, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular.
Muwon took a slow sip before setting his cup down with a faint clink.
"I'm… confused,"
he admitted at last, the weight of the words dragging his voice low.
"I don't know what to do anymore. Sihyun's… driving me mad."
Yuhyun's eyes flickered up at him, a hint of guilt softening his face.
"Then… I apologize in his place,"
he said quietly.
Muwon shook his head immediately.
"You don't have to do that. This isn't on you. He just needs time—to understand what he's done. We have to give him that… and remind him that we'll be here for him, no matter what."
A brief silence settled over them before Taejin straightened slightly.
"I didn't realize the twentieth mark was something else,"
he said, his voice thoughtful but edged with unease.
Before Muwon could answer, Dohyun leaned forward, his tone sharper.
"You mean you haven't noticed? The way his eyes glow? Sihyun's… scary. What if this is just the beginning of his madness?"
"Dohyun."
Muwon's voice cut through the air, his eyes narrowing slightly—not in anger, but in a sharp, startled disbelief that his friend would even say such a thing.
The oil lamp flickered, shadows shifting over their faces, and for a moment, the room felt colder.
Dohyun leaned back, lifting his cup in a small, almost defensive gesture.
"I'm just stating a fact,"
he said, his voice lighter this time, as if trying to soften the blow. Turning toward Yuhyun, he added,
"And… I'm sorry for saying that about your brother."
Yuhyun shook his head slowly.
"It's fine,"
he murmured, though inside he knew every word was true. The thought gnawed at him, the fear of what Sihyun might become. Still, an idea began to form—simple but perhaps the only thing he could do. Even if all I can do is stay with him… talk to him… maybe that'll be enough to help.
Breaking the quiet, Taejin leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
"Muwon, is it okay for you to bring someone to look after Taeyang? Without Sihyun knowing?"
Muwon closed his eyes, rubbing his temple as if the weight of the day had finally caught up to him. His voice was weary when he replied,
"Sihyun's opinion doesn't matter for now."
The words faded into the stillness as his head began to dip, sleep threatening to pull him under.
Seeing this, Taejin reached over and gave Yuhyun's back a light, reassuring pat.
"Don't worry too much,"
he said with a small smile.
"Sihyun will be alright. He'll come back to us before we even realize it."
Yuhyun looked up at him, the corners of his lips curling into a faint, relieved smile.
"You're right,"
he admitted, a faint warmth in his voice.
"I really do have a stubborn brother."
Dohyun chuckled under his breath, and for the first time that evening, the tension at the table loosened just a little.
The next morning, the sky was heavy with dark clouds, as if the heavens themselves were warning of an impending storm. A hush had settled over the palace, broken suddenly by the deep, resonant clang of the gong.
Muwon, still lost in sleep, jolted upright, his heart skipping a beat. He muttered under his breath,
"What now?"
But the sounds beyond his chamber walls told him this was no ordinary summons. The corridors were already alive with hurried footsteps and hushed, trembling whispers.
The king is dead.
The words moved like a shadow through the palace, and before Muwon could fully grasp them, a guard appeared at his door, face pale.
"Your Highness… I bring sad news. His Majesty… has passed."
For a moment, Muwon could only stare, the air seeming to drain from his lungs. His mind rejected the words, but the look in the guard's eyes left no room for denial. His father—the king—was gone.
Moving as if in a dream, Muwon made his way to the royal chamber. The heavy doors stood open, and inside, the air was thick with incense and grief. Elders, nobles, and ministers had already gathered, heads bowed as they paid their respects to the lifeless figure lying upon the bed.
Muwon's steps slowed as his eyes fell on the still face that had once seemed unshakable. His throat tightened, and he whispered, almost too softly to be heard,
"Father…"
The word trembled in the air, carrying with it the weight of a son on the verge of breaking.