As I followed the narrow alleyway tucked between the high walls, the sound of someone running—panting heavily—echoed from behind.
I didn’t know why, but I instinctively stepped aside to let them pass. Yet before I could fully move, a palace official came barreling forward and slammed into my shoulder.
“Oh no—are you all right?”
The bundle of medicinal herbs he had been carrying scattered across the ground with a loud clatter.
Without thinking, I bent down and began picking them up. That was when someone suddenly yanked on my sleeve, startling me into looking up.
It was the youngest palace official. His face had gone deathly pale, and he clung to me, his lips moving soundlessly like a fish gasping for air.
“What’s wrong…? Did something happen?”
He nodded, only to flinch and shake his head wildly a moment later. In the meantime, Baeksonggol flapped his wings again and let out another piercing squawk, screeching wildly overhead.
The youngest official looked up at the bird, and for a brief moment, something like realization flickered in his eyes.
Whatever it was he had realized, he immediately abandoned the remaining herbs, grabbed my sleeve, and began pulling me toward Gamcheondang.
He’d chosen to side with Baeksonggol, it seemed.
“What on earth is going on?!”
With Baeksonggol practically pushing at my back and the youngest official dragging me by the sleeve, I was half-forced to stumble along with them.
It was early evening, yet all the lights around the building had been extinguished. The gates were bolted tightly shut—this was the coldest wing in the entire Ungyeong Palace.
Gamcheondang, locked in ominous darkness.
***
The youngest official urgently rattled the door latch.
“We were told to throw stones over the wall, remember? And not to make any noise—ahh! Chief Archivist?!”
The palace official who cracked open the gate let out a sharp shriek, as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Shhh!”
A large official—who had clearly come to quiet the others—stiffened the moment he laid eyes on me and quickly stepped outside.
“Why would you bring the Chief Archivist here? What if he’s startled!”
The way the large official scolded the youngest one was completely unlike his usual demeanor.
And yet the youngest official, still clinging to my sleeve, just shook his head repeatedly, casting a helpless look upward.
Something was definitely wrong—very wrong.
“You don’t need to worry about me getting startled. Just tell me what’s happening.”
“Oh, no no, sir, please don’t trouble yourself. It’s nothing… really, by tomorrow—or maybe the day after—it should all be fine.”
“Should be fine? Who are you talking about?”
SCREECH!
Baeksonggol, who had been holding back until now, soared up to the gate’s roof and shrieked his lungs out.
The large official, startled, instinctively raised a finger to his lips. Not that the bird was likely to understand.
“Did something happen to the young master?”
“It’s all right. We’ll send someone to the archives tomorrow, so please come then. You really mustn’t go in right now.”
So now they were hiding things from me again, treating me like a fool.
“Would you just explain what this so-called ‘big deal’ is?!”
I had tried not to raise my voice at palace officials, but suddenly I remembered something Dan-ye had said—and the irritation crept into my tone before I realized it.
It wasn’t even a real outburst.
Yet the youngest official’s hand trembled in mine, pitifully. The large official looked like he’d just been reprimanded by someone far above his rank—his shoulders hunched, his head bowed low.
All I wanted was to know what was happening inside. Even just a vague idea. Something honest.
“Step aside. I’ll see for myself.”
“Sir, please…”
“It’s his mental affliction acting up again, isn’t it? Do you really think I don’t know anything? Whatever’s happening in there, it must be something terrible for you to be acting this way. So let me see with my own eyes.”
I pushed past the large official and opened the gate.
A rich fragrance of lotus incense instantly enveloped me.
Just closing my eyes made it feel as though I were standing in the middle of a vast lake filled with blooming lotus flowers.
“Sir, please—you can’t. First-time visitors might get hurt from the shock. If anything serious happens, the young master… no, I—what will I say to him?”
The large official scrambled after me, clutching at my robe.
“He looked truly at peace for the first time since you arrived, sir, so we…”
“But wouldn’t the young master at least recognize the Chief Archivist?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Have you already forgotten the commotion when he failed to recognize the second princess?!”
CRASH!
A loud smashing sound erupted from within.
The officials instinctively huddled close to me, their shoulders shrinking in fear.
“Please just leave. He’ll calm down soon.”
“It’s better not to see him like this. His eyes… when he’s like that, they’re terrifying.”
“Shhh!”
Those eyes.
Yes, I knew. Eyes so dizzying and warped they made you feel sick.
From inside came a sound that was somewhere between a scream and a groan—choked and barely held back, like a battlefield cry.
Today had been far too long. Dan-ye, the Daegyeongseung, and now this madness with Dan Ijae.
Sigh.
A pale breath slipped from my lips.
It felt as though everyone I’d met today had been whispering the same thing to me: “You held onto hope only because you didn’t yet know the truth. Now see it for what it is.”
“Don’t worry about me. I lived through Maecheon’s madness… I’ve seen worse. And he is my disciple. As his teacher, I need to witness it myself.”
“But still…”
Someone began peeling away the hands of the officials who clung to me, one by one. It was the youngest among them.
Why had he brought me here?
What could I possibly do in this place?
I pushed through the crowd blocking my way.
Baeksonggol, perched under the eaves, gleamed his yellow eyes down at me.
Perhaps, just like the first time I’d seen him, the sight of those ominous eyes would turn my stomach and make me want to vomit.
Perhaps Dan Ijae wouldn’t even recognize me and would lash out with a blade.
Why was I taking such a risk to go see him?
Even I didn’t understand my own decision.
Wouldn’t it have been wiser to back down when they tried to stop me?
It wasn’t that I was afraid of dying. But if I were to risk my life, I wanted it to be for something that mattered.
Was Dan Ijae someone who mattered that much?
As I hesitated at the stone steps, that dreadful groan echoed once more.
Pyaaaa…
Baeksonggol let out a defeated cry, as if to say: If you want to run, no one will stop you.
I didn’t know anymore. Dan Ijae…
He saved me.
And he had also taken my class, listened to my words, and achieved what he wanted.
The hallway to the door felt strangely long.
I gripped the handle and looked back. The officials had faded into the shadows.
Harsh, ragged breathing leaked from inside.
Another loud crash echoed through the air.
My fingers tightened around the doorknob.
I drew in a deep breath, the lotus scent filling my lungs.
And then, I threw open the door.
“Young Master?”
Pitch-black darkness.
And the suffocating scent of blooming lotus, thick enough to choke on.
Something pricked the sole of his foot. Sahyeon bit down hard on his lower lip and gingerly cleared the scattered debris from the floor with his toes as he moved forward with caution.
The room was pitch dark, not a single speck of light seeping in—but the sound of someone breathing raggedly in pain guided him forward.
If he kept going, step by step, he would eventually see him. That brilliant yellow glow, even in the blackest of alleys…
“Your Highness…”
…those piercing eyes.
Their gazes met. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Dan Ijae’s figure came into faint view.
His hair was a tangled mess. His eyes, gleaming like those of a predator, were chilling—as if ready to rip into someone’s throat at any moment.
Now Sahyeon understood why royals with those eyes were said to carry the blood of their wolf ancestors.
Those were the eyes of a beast.
A wounded animal, enduring the pain of a trap cutting into its flesh, baring its teeth at any approaching human—Eyes filled with pain and suspicion.
“Your Highness, it’s Baek Munhak. Baek Sahyeon. Do you recognize me?”
He reached out both hands. His fingertips brushed Dan Ijae’s cheek. Dan Ijae shut his eyes. Sahyeon slowly knelt down and cupped his face in his hands.
When Dan Ijae opened his eyes again, that feral gleam had faded. The calm eyes Sahyeon was used to were now looking at him.
His pounding heart finally began to settle. As the tension left his shoulders, his hands slid softly from Dan Ijae’s cheeks.
“I won’t turn on the light. If you saw your reflection right now, I know you’d be embarrassed. If it were me looking like this, you’d definitely flick on the lights and make fun of me.”
“But now that I’m your teacher, I can’t behave like your foolish student, can I? First, let’s fix your clothes…”
He reached for Dan Ijae’s hand. His palm was damp. Sahyeon brought it close to his nose to smell it.
Even with the strong scent of lotus roots making his head throb, the metallic stench of blood filled his nostrils.
“Blood…”
He ran his fingers over the palm. He felt the jagged edges of a torn wound. Quickly, he checked the other hand.
Warm blood was still oozing from it.
“Damn it. Hold on. I need to call the court attendants—”
He tried to rise halfway to his feet to get help, but Dan Ijae yanked his hand suddenly.
Off balance, Sahyeon fell into his arms.
A soft, floral scent of lotus drifted from Dan Ijae’s chest….Dan Ijae always smelled good.
“…Don’t go.”
Just as Sahyeon tried to pull away, Dan Ijae’s hoarse voice caught him.
“Just for a moment… stay like this.”
But he was bleeding. He had to stop the bleeding first.
The lotus scent was dizzying. Maybe it was the scent making him lightheaded.
Or maybe… it was Dan Ijae’s fever.
Right, he had a fever.
That’s why his judgment was clouded… why he was acting like this…
“Just a little while longer…”
Dan Ijae held his hand tightly. His broad fingers slipped between Sahyeon’s, the blood from his wounds soaking their joined palms.
It was warm.
“…Strange, isn’t it.”
Dan Ijae’s body slowly collapsed into Sahyeon’s embrace. Caught off guard, Sahyeon held him, gently patting his cheek. He debated whether to call a physician.
Dan Ijae brushed his hand away irritably. That small reaction finally made him feel like his usual self again.
“Why is it that when you’re here…”
It still didn’t feel like him, though—lying down with his face buried in Sahyeon’s lap like that.
“…that scent disappears?”
He exhaled deeply and didn’t say another word.
A heavy silence swept through the room.
Then, the soft, even sound of someone sleeping deeply echoed gently from Sahyeon’s lap.
…He fell asleep like this?
Making him sit here so uncomfortably, just to use his lap as a pillow?
He really was the same—whether delirious or perfectly sane, always doing whatever he wanted.
Sahyeon sighed and gently patted his shoulder.
Maybe it was finally quiet inside. A court attendant crept up on their knees and peeked into the room.
“He seems to have calmed down and fallen asleep.”
Sahyeon whispered softly. The attendant covered their mouth in feigned shock, then began flailing strange hand signals to others outside.
He had no idea what they meant, but the frantic gestures—done in complete silence—were oddly impressive.
“What should… what should we do?”
Since something like this had never happened before, the court attendant hovered at the doorway, unable to step in or retreat, completely at a loss.
Sahyeon could guess what they were worried about. If they tried to move Dan Ijae to his bedding and accidentally woke him—if it triggered another episode…
He didn’t want that either.
“It’s better to leave him like this.”
Fatigue weighed down on him, threatening to knock him out the moment he closed his eyes. But he couldn’t just leave.
The sound of Dan Ijae’s pained groaning from earlier still echoed in his ears.
One of the attendants began sweeping up broken shards of pottery, but the sharp clink startled them, and they quickly backed out of the room. Sahyeon motioned for them to just close the door.
Watching them fumble was more exhausting.
Now alone in the wreck of a room, Sahyeon reached out and checked Dan Ijae’s palm again.
It was still bleeding, albeit slowly.
He tore his collar and wrapped it around Dan Ijae’s hand. Then, folding his fingers gently into a fist, he finally looked down at his face.
He brushed back the messy hair, tucking it behind his ear, and smoothed the bridge of his nose.
“I wonder… why.”
He murmured softly to himself.
“Why does it have to be me?”
He didn’t even know if it was resentment or sorrow that was spilling out.
“There are so many court attendants out there who care about you.”
He placed a gentle hand on Dan Ijae’s cheek.
“…But I don’t pity you, Your Highness.”
Dan Ijae had too much for him to feel pity. Born into royalty, already named successor to the Duke of Sinreung.
Whether his trauma came from witnessing the horrors of war too young or watching his mother’s tragic death as an infant—many others in this ravaged world had suffered worse.
Children were abducted on roadsides and thrown onto battlefields as child soldiers, clutching weapons they didn’t even know how to use.
Kids who screamed hoarse over their slaughtered parents ended up digging graves with bare hands while watching crows feast on the corpses.
And yet, everyone pitied Dan Ijae’s suffering—because tragedy felt different for the noble and the lowborn.
Sahyeon didn’t want to pity him.
“I have nothing left to give for Your Highness. Even if you were to go mad without me, I couldn’t abandon my purpose to stay by your side. I’ve walked this path on the backs of too many sacrifices.”
Right after he fell asleep, a fleeting thought crossed Sahyeon’s mind.
If… if it was really true that only his presence could calm Dan Ijae’s illness, would he be forced to stay by his side?
Like the old archivist once said—if he were to go to Sinreung with him… If they could farm the land together, help the village prosper in peace—wouldn’t that be meaningful in its own way?
But there is no such thing as a safe place in a time of chaos.
If Yugang swallowed Hahyeon, Sinreung wouldn’t be a safe haven anymore—it’d become a frontline where Yugang and Pasa clashed.
Sooner or later, they’d pay the price for choosing the easier path. Sahyeon—and Dan Ijae too.
He hated himself for even entertaining such a fantasy. Only when clear tears began to fall onto Dan Ijae’s forehead did he realize he had been crying.
He wiped his chin and lifted his head.
“I will walk my path.”
He said it like a vow.
“There’s no way I’m the only one who can calm Your Highness. In this vast world, surely there’s someone else. Find them.”
Even though he knew Dan Ijae couldn’t hear him.
“But if you can’t…”
‘…Will you walk the same path as me?’
He couldn’t bring himself to say those words aloud.
It didn’t feel right to ask Dan Ijae to abandon his peace and walk his path—especially when his current life already looked hard enough.
A huge bird shadow passed over the window.
Perhaps because the bird didn’t leave all night, not even an owl hooted in the dark.
It was a quiet, solemn night.