The courtyard is bathed in light.
The eldest, armed with a wooden sword, parades clumsily among the flat stones. His little cries of imitation echo — proud, yet childlike.
A short distance away, the two younger ones sleep peacefully in their nurses' arms, their steady breaths blending together.
Beneath the pavilion, the wife sews slowly. Her face is still pale, but the fresh air brushes her cheeks, and her hands find calm against the fabric. For a moment, the house seems to breathe peace.
Then, heavy footsteps cross the courtyard. Yi Sun-sin appears — armor on his shoulder, sword at his waist. His dark gaze sweeps over the scene: the children, the nurses, his wife… then stops.
The eldest lowers his wooden sword at once and bows awkwardly.
The wife lifts her head. Her needle freezes between her fingers as she asks in a low, incredulous voice:
— "You… are leaving again?"
He approaches, straight, unyielding.
— "The kingdom does not wait."
Silence falls at once. The wooden sword slips from the child's hands. The nurses lower their eyes, clutching the two little ones closer.
The wife rises, her sewing clasped tightly in her hands. Her lips tremble, yet she finds the strength to smile softly.
— "Then… come back."
Their eyes meet for a brief instant: she, upright despite her fragility; he, the unmovable rock already turned toward the sea. Then he turns away, his steps echoing across the courtyard like a funeral bell.
Behind him, the wife remains still. The wind lifts the unfinished fabric from her lap. The gentleness of home fades in a single breath — as though war itself had shattered the fragile moment they had just begun to build.