The scroll haunted Ji-hwan.
Every time Seong-min touched him—every lingering glance, every teasing word—he wondered: Does he believe it?
Does he think I'll be the sword that ends him?
He didn't ask.
Instead, he searched.
By day, he stood at the king's side, eyes keen, smile submissive.
At night, he prowled through the palace as a ghost, tracking the path of the prophecy.
It took him to the Temple of the Hidden Sky, a temple forsaken since the old king died.
There, Ji-hwan discovered ink-stained ruins. Symbols etched into stone.
One name reiterated over and over: Gojin—a prophet burned once for treason.
He was meant to be dead.
But someone was still writing in his hand.
Back at the palace, Seong-min noticed. Of course he did.
"You've been quiet," he said one evening, pouring wine himself for once. "Planning something?"
Ji-hwan hesitated. Then smiled. "Always."
Seong-min's expression flickered. Not with anger—but fear.
Not of Ji-hwan.
For him.
"I won't let them use you," the king said. "No prophecy. No enemy. No past."
Ji-hwan stared at him, heart aching.
"You don't get to keep me safe," he told her softly.
"You did, once. And I lost you because of it."
Seong-min took a step closer. Their foreheads were almost touching.
"Then remain. Let me lose with you this time, if I have to."
Ji-hwan shut his eyes. "Only if we lose together."
But in his hand, hidden under his sleeve, he gripped the name of the man who could still be alive—
the prophet who began it all.