Chapter Text
In the East, where the mountains touch the sky and the rivers weave like silver thread through valleys drenched in morning mist, three kingdoms ruled the land. They were Osmos, Obriulor, and Agros—each distinct in culture, strength, and ambition, but bound together by history and the thin thread of diplomacy that always seemed on the verge of snapping.
Osmos, nestled in the southeastern coast, was a kingdom of scholars and court intrigue. Its stone cities faced the sea, fortified with centuries-old walls, yet its true strength lay not in blade or bow, but in the minds of its bureaucrats. Poetry and politics were indistinguishable here, as were flattery and betrayal. It was a land where silk-clad ministers debated policy under lantern light and daughters of the court were groomed to wield smiles like daggers.
To the northeastern, obscured by fog and mountain shadows, loomed Obriulor—a land colder than its neighbors, both in climate and temperament. Its people were proud and stoic, as granite-bound as the harsh cliffs they called home. Ruled by pragmatic monarchs and upheld by a merchant class who measured worth by coin weight, Obriulor kept its silence and its borders with equal tenacity.
And then there was Agros.
Agros, the westernmost of the three, sprawled across fertile plains and sun-drenched hills that blushed crimson in the autumn. It was the land of golden harvests and endless song, of spring festivals beneath cherry blossoms and warriors who trained beneath waterfalls. Its strength was raw and resplendent—a blend of martial honor and a fierce, almost naive joy in life.
It was in this kingdom, on a storm-tossed night thick with the scent of pine smoke and river fog, that a child was born.
The bells of the Agros Palace rang out like the call of cranes across the hills of Agros. They chimed seventeen times, once for each hour the Queen had labored, and then once more for the breath that marked the arrival of a new royal heir.
King Woo Do Hyuk stood beside the great hall’s open doors, his robes slightly damp with the lingering summer drizzle, his dark hair tied back with a strip of deep blue silk. His boots were stained with the red dust of the courtyard and his fingers twitched as he watched the midwives hurry past. But when the chamberlain emerged, breathless, bowing low with trembling joy, the King's expression broke into a smile that lit the stones beneath his feet.
“A daughter, Your Majesty,” the chamberlain said. “She cries strong and loud.”
A cheer rose in the courtyard, where nobles and servants alike had gathered despite the hour.
“A daughter,” Do Hyuk echoed, his voice both reverent and fierce. “The blood of Agros runs strong tonight.”
He stepped into the chamber, and there—wrapped in silk embroidered with golden cranes—lay the infant girl. Her cheeks were red as plum blossoms, her mouth opened in a mighty wail, and when the King knelt beside her, her tiny fist latched onto his finger like a warrior gripping her blade.
He named her Seulgi. Woo Seulgi of Agros.
That very night, the King declared a celebration across all eight provinces. The festival would last seven days, in accordance with old tradition, and the people of Agros responded with joy so powerful it rang like music across the realm.
Paper lanterns shaped like phoenixes were lit in the capital. Musicians played gayageum and janggu in every village square.
In the palace itself, the royal kitchens worked without rest. Iron cauldrons boiled fragrant beef bone, and fish cakes floated in pots of hot broth seasoned with anchovy and kelp. The scent of charcoal-grilled bulgogi filled the banquet halls, where nobility and generals from all corners of Agros lifted silver cups of plum wine in the King’s honor.
Do Hyuk watched it all from his place at the head of the grand hall, Seulgi cradled in his arms, her tiny brow furrowed in what he imagined was quiet judgment of the noise.
“She looks just like you,” murmured Queen Hyeonju, weak but smiling from her palanquin near the dais. “Only fiercer.”
“Good,” Do Hyuk said. “She will need to be.”
The priests had already whispered among themselves. The stars that night had not been entirely kind. One had fallen during the Queen’s labor—an omen that danced uneasily between fortune and misfortune, depending on who read the skies.
But the King did not speak of it. He would not let any shadow fall over the girl in his arms. Not now.
“She will be the pride of Agros,” he said. “And the bane of our enemies.”
That evening, as the festivities began to wind down and dusk wrapped its violet cloak over the city, the scent of sandalwood and burned rice filled the corridors of the palace. Seulgi, now bathed and resting in the royal nursery, slept beside her mother. The Queen’s breathing was slow—exhausted from the birth, but radiant in that quiet, maternal way that filled even silence with warmth.
Do Hyuk had retired to the side hall where his most trusted soldiers and advisors gathered to report on the day’s logistics. He was halfway through sipping honeyed ginger tea when the doors opened and an armored guard stepped in, his expression grim beneath the rim of his gat.
“Your Majesty,” the soldier said, kneeling. “A visitor requests an audience. She waits at the edge of the palace courtyard. Refuses to give a name.”
Do Hyuk frowned. “At this hour?”
“She wears a black cloak. Her hands are... unnatural.”
The cup of tea trembled ever so slightly as it met the table.
Do Hyuk rose without a word and moved toward the central steps that led down into the outer courtyard. His soldiers fell into step beside him. The air outside had grown cold—the type of sudden chill that did not belong to the season. Even the cicadas had gone silent.
There, at the foot of the stone steps, stood a woman cloaked in shadow.
Her robe was coarse and black, torn at the hem and damp with the residue of wet soil. Her long, pointed nails gleamed unnaturally under the torchlight. One eye was milky white, the other a glowing rust-red. Her cheekbones jutted at angles too sharp to be natural, her skin stretched and pocked in places as though her flesh had fought to remain anchored to her bones.
Do Hyuk’s breath hitched. “You...”
The woman smiled.
“It has been long, Your Majesty,” she said, voice a soft, slithering thing. “How radiant you look in your throne.”
“Yeonmi,” he hissed. “I banished you. You were supposed to be executed by exile.”
“I was,” the witch replied. “But not all roots are so easily dug out. Agros is still my home, even if it turns its face from me.”
The guards drew their swords as the King descended two steps, hand on the hilt of his own blade. “You dare return to my palace after what you did? You fed on children, stole them from their beds. You consumed their spirits to keep your twisted life going.”
Yeonmi tilted her head, her smile never faltering. “And yet, here I am. Still breathing. Still... hungry.”
Do Hyuk’s voice rang across the courtyard, “Guards, seize her.”
But the witch did not flinch. Instead, she fell to her knees. “Please,” she croaked. “Let me see her.”
The soldiers halted, unsure.
“My daughter?” the King said.
“The child you celebrated tonight,” Yeonmi said. “Just a glimpse. I will go quietly after.
The King’s jaw tensed. “You have no place here. You never will.”
When the guards began to move again, she surged to her feet.
“If you won’t show her to me then I will go myself.”
Like a gust of dry wind, Yeonmi leapt forward, black cloak flaring behind her like crow’s wings. The guards raised their swords too late—she was already past them, already inside.
“Stop her!” the King roared, tearing after her, heart pounding, sword drawn.
He sprinted through the corridor, past startled servants until he reached the royal nursery.
Inside, the Queen had just stirred awake.
Seulgi whimpered beside her. And Yeonmi was there, already inches from the cradle.
But the Queen, even in her weakened state, threw herself in front of it.
“Stay away from my daughter!” she cried, pushing Seulgi’s basket behind her with shaking arms.
Yeonmi’s eyes burned.
“You don’t understand,” she hissed. “She will keep me fed for lifetimes.”
With a flick of her clawed hand, a dark pulse erupted and struck the Queen in the chest.
A sickening silence followed.
The Queen crumpled to the floor, eyes wide, breath stolen mid-scream. Blood pooled beneath her, staining her white silk robe.
“No!” the King screamed, bursting into the chamber.
Do Hyuk threw himself forward, swinging his blade with a guttural cry. It found flesh.
Yeonmi gasped, staggered back as the steel sliced through her side. She dropped to one knee, black ichor spilling onto the floor like ink.
“I warned you,” the King said, his voice trembling, blade red.
The witch coughed, lips twitching into a smile even as her body convulsed. “Then take this gift with you to her cradle.”
Do Hyuk surged forward, ready to strike again, but the witch raised a finger pointing toward Seulgi’s basket.
“I curse her,” she spat. “That she shall never know the sweetness of love. Never fall into its arms. Never be held with desire or adored with longing. No heart shall beat for hers, no warmth shall seek her touch.”
The walls of the nursery trembled. The lights flickered, and the air turned foul and thick like burnt wax.
“She will never love,” Yeonmi said, her voice now barely human. “And never be loved. A shell for your empty dreams, Your Majesty. A hollow heir.”
“No!” Do Hyuk lunged but Yeonmi crumpled, collapsing in a heap beside the Queen, her final breath escaping in a wail that shook the lanterns above.
Then silence.
Seulgi cried.
The guards arrived moments later but it was too late.
Do Hyuk knelt beside his Queen, touching her cold hand, his breath shallow, face ghost-pale. The witch’s body was already beginning to disintegrate, flaking into ash that smelled of rot and iron.
His blade clattered to the floor.
Behind him, the head nurse held Seulgi, her wails piercing the chamber like a funeral bell.
“She’s unharmed,” the nurse said.
But the curse was already there, etched in the air, lingering like a bruise on the soul.
The King stood slowly, taking his daughter into his arms.
“I’ll find a way,” he whispered. “I’ll find a way.”
He looked down at the Queen one last time, her lips parted as if still whispering a lullaby.
And outside the window, the moon bled red.
-----
A month passed and with it, the chill of early autumn began to settle across the kingdom. Maple leaves blazed crimson and gold on the palace grounds, drifting like embers across the courtyards. The cries of the baby, once sharp and restless, had quieted into gentle whimpers. She was often seen swaddled in thick silk, held by a nurse who never left her side, watched over by guards who had orders to kill anything that moved too quickly near her.
It was during this fragile recovery that the royal palanquin from Osmos arrived.
Clad in navy and silver, with guards whose armor bore the mark of the white lion, King Yoo Taejoon stepped onto Agrosian soil with a carefully schooled expression. Behind him, his retinue moved with disciplined grace, their boots brushing through the fallen leaves with the soft hush of ritual.
Taejoon inhaled the air of Agros—rich with roasted grain and pine smoke and tried not to let the sour taste in his mouth linger. The journey had been long, and his purpose clear, to offer condolences… and to ask a favor.
But as he approached the palace steps, his brow furrowed.
Laughter echoed from inside the gates.
The sound of flutes and drums spilled into the air, lively and unmistakable. From the courtyard, he could see nobles with wine cups raised, dressed in festive hanbok dyed bright hues of lapis and ochre. The scent of soy-glazed short ribs, fresh perilla leaf, and hot ginger tea wafted from the kitchens. Paper lanterns shaped like cranes and peonies floated in the late afternoon light.
A celebration?
The palace steward greeted him with a deep bow, carefully avoiding the question that already danced in Taejoon’s eyes.
“We were told the King was still mourning,” Taejoon murmured, his voice cold.
The steward bowed again. “His Majesty... finds solace in togetherness.”
Taejoon said nothing as he followed the steward through the halls. Every step he took was matched by a drumbeat from the courtyard, a reminder that grief looked different here than in his own palace, where silence and shadows reigned.
Finally, he was led to a private chamber.
Inside, Do Hyuk stood beside a low table, already halfway through a bottle of plum wine. His royal robes were looser than usual, a faint flush on his cheeks, but his posture remained upright, eyes sharp as ever.
“Taejoon,” he said, raising his hand in greeting. “Welcome my friend.”
Taejoon gave a low bow. “My deepest condolences for your loss.”
Do Hyuk nodded once. “Loss is the price we pay for loving deeply.”
They sat. A servant poured tea, then disappeared with a bow.
“You seem… well,” Taejoon said carefully, his gaze flickering to the cup in Do Hyuk’s hand.
The King exhaled through his nose. “There are nights I cannot sleep. Days I cannot breathe. But in time, they say, the pain dulls.”
Taejoon said nothing. It was clear now—this party was not a celebration. It was a mask. The King was drinking as a shield, laughing to drown the screams that still echoed in his halls.
Do Hyuk gave a tight smile and leaned forward. “Congratulations, by the way. Word reached us just last night. Your second daughter?”
“Yes. Yoo Jaeyi,” Taejoon replied. “She came into this world during a quiet dawn. Her sister’s exact opposite.”
“May she grow strong,” Do Hyuk said. “And bring honor to Osmos.”
Taejoon inclined his head. “Thank you. I will bring her here someday. To see the East united in peace, with our children continuing what we have built.”
“Peace is a fragile thing,” Do Hyuk replied, swirling his drink. “It requires patience. And truth.”
Taejoon looked up. “Then let me be truthful now.”
He leaned forward, hands folded. “My kingdom is suffering. The harvests were light this year, and disease has thinned our livestock. Trade routes have grown unstable—too many merchants afraid to cross the river borders due to banditry.”
Do Hyuk listened quietly.
“My people are dying,” Taejoon continued. “And I ask this as an old friend. I need assistance. Resources. Grain. Medicine. We are at the edge.”
Do Hyuk set his cup down.
“You know I have helped before,” he said slowly. “Three years ago. And again last spring. The vaults of Agros are generous, but not bottomless. Our own stores are stretched thin with winter approaching.”
Taejoon’s mouth tightened. “A small loan. Enough to hold us through the next season. I will repay it in full with interest.”
“Have you spoken to Choi Shin?” Do Hyuk asked. “Obriulor’s borders touch yours. They could send you supplies by land before the first snow.”
Taejoon shook his head. “That man would rather choke on his riches than help a starving ally. He still remembers the trade dispute from seven years ago. I am not in his favor.”
Do Hyuk was quiet for a long moment, then sighed.
“I’m sorry, Taejoon. I cannot give what I do not have. To do so would risk my own people.”
Taejoon’s face remained still, but something in his eyes darkened.
“I understand,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “It was a bold request, I know.”
The two exchanged a few more pleasantries. Empty things. Words that skimmed the surface without daring to plunge deeper. And then Do Hyuk stood, thanking him for his visit, and ordered the attendants to prepare rooms for the Osmos retinue.
But Taejoon declined the offer of rest.
He left the private chamber and stepped back into the hall. The music was louder now—someone was singing an old folk ballad. In the garden, young nobles twirled in slow, elegant formations, their colorful sleeves fluttering like crane wings.
He stood at the threshold and stared.
So much laughter. So much abundance. Even the palace dogs looked well-fed. Children ran past him, tossing petals in the air. A woman offered him a steamed chestnut, smiling.
Taejoon turned sharply and walked back toward the gates.
Each step echoed in his ears louder than the last.
When he reached the palanquin, he paused. His retinue waited silently, already sensing his mood. Taejoon stood still for a long time, his hands curled into fists beneath his sleeves.
He looked back at the gates of the Agros palace—bright and warm.
And then he whispered.
“I will never forget this.”