Episode 3

The spring festival filled the small town with music and laughter. Lanterns swayed above the streets, painting everything in warm hues of orange and gold. Children ran with paper kites, merchants shouted over their wares, and the scent of roasted chestnuts drifted through the air.

Seo Yun-woo moved through the crowd, his snow-white hair catching the lantern light like spun silver. Strangers often paused to stare, murmuring about his beauty, though Yun-woo accepted their glances with a quiet smile. He was used to it. Since childhood, people had whispered that he looked like someone from the heavens—too pale, too delicate, too unreal.

But to him, he was just Seo Yun-woo. A boy who gathered herbs for the healer’s hut, who laughed easily with neighbors, who cherished simple days.

That night, as fireworks burst across the sky, Yun-woo stood by the riverbank, his reflection wavering in the water. The sight unsettled him. His own face seemed… unfamiliar, as though it belonged to someone else. His chest ached suddenly, without reason. His fingers tightened on the chrysanthemum tucked in his sash.

A ripple of fear stirred within him, though he did not know why.

The next morning, soldiers in black and gold armor arrived. The imperial crest gleamed upon their chests, their eyes cold and disciplined. The townsfolk fell silent, bowing their heads. No one dared breathe as the captain unrolled a decree stamped with the emperor’s seal.

By order of His Majesty Kim Jae-hwan, the boy with snow-white hair was to be escorted to the capital.

Yun-woo froze. The words felt surreal, distant, yet inescapable. Before he could protest, a hand seized his arm. The townspeople watched with pity, whispering prayers as he was led away.

The journey to the capital was long, the road lined with endless fields and forests. Yun-woo sat in a carriage, staring out at the blur of scenery. He pressed his hand to his chest, heart beating erratically. Fear, confusion, and a strange… pull. As if something in the capital was waiting for him.

When at last the city gates rose into view, towering and magnificent, Yun-woo’s breath caught. The palace loomed beyond—golden roofs glittering like the sun itself, red walls stretching endlessly. It was beautiful, but its beauty was suffocating.

Inside the throne hall, Kim Jae-hwan sat in silence, his dark robes flowing like ink. Ten years had passed since the night he killed Yun-woo, yet the memory had never dulled. Now, as the doors opened and guards announced the arrival of the snow-haired youth, his heart thundered with a force he had not felt in years.

Seo Yun-woo entered, guided forward by the soldiers. His white hair spilled like snow down his back, his delicate face calm yet uncertain. He bowed automatically, though his movements betrayed unease.

When his eyes lifted, they met Jae-hwan’s.

The emperor’s breath faltered.

It was him. Yun-woo—reborn, transformed, but unmistakable. The curve of his lips, the depth of his gaze, the fragile beauty that once haunted his nights—here, alive, standing before him.

But Yun-woo’s expression held no recognition. Only the wary respect of a subject before his ruler.

Jae-hwan’s hand trembled against the armrest of his throne, though he quickly stilled it. His voice, when he spoke, was cold and steady, though his chest burned with longing and guilt.

“What is your name?”

The boy hesitated, then answered softly. “Seo Yun-woo.”

The emperor’s composure almost cracked. The same name. The same soul.

Yun-woo, however, felt only confusion. Why did the emperor’s gaze make his heart pound? Why did standing here feel like déjà vu, as though he had once stood in this very hall, under this very gaze, with his life trembling in the balance?

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unseen threads of fate.

At last, Jae-hwan rose from his throne, his tall figure descending the steps. Each stride echoed through the hall. He stopped before Yun-woo, close enough to touch. His eyes softened despite himself.

Ten years of regret, ten years of longing—yet all he could say was a single command.

“You will stay in the palace.”

Yun-woo lowered his head, unable to resist. Yet deep within, something stirred—an unease, a shadow of memory, like blood hidden beneath silk.

And thus, the wheel of destiny turned again.

— To be continued.

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