The world turned like a broken mirror—splintered shards of lost lives, memories that were not supposed to come back.
Seong-min remained still, clutching Ji-hwan to him, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
It slipped back—through time, through agony, through love lost long ago.
The flashes came in waves, each one more intense than the previous:
A cold wind on his cheek.
The smell of burning scrolls.
A knife to the throat.
And Ji-hwan—his face contorted in pain, whispering, "I trusted you."
A room in darkness.
His bloodied hands, Ji-hwan collapsed at his feet.
And Seoryeon, standing in the doorway, observing it all.
"You can't change it, Lee Seong-min," she had told him. "You never could."
Seong-min's breath caught in his throat.
The memories were too vivid.
Too real.
And then—the moment that broke him.
Ji-hwan's body, dead in his arms, as he whispered the same thing:
"I trusted you."
It had been the end.
The end of everything.
Seong-min blinked, and the vision disappeared.
But he wasn't just remembering now—
He was reliving it.
The weight of what he'd done slammed into him like a tide.
How had he forgotten? How had he allowed himself to believe—pretend—it had all been for the kingdom?
No.
It had been for Seoryeon.
For the woman who had manipulated them both, who had pushed them apart and ripped their souls from each other.
Seong-min reached for Ji-hwan, who was lying against him now.
But Ji-hwan's expression was impassive.
He had been expecting this. Expecting that Seong-min's memories would come back.
And still, he had allowed him to get this far.
"Ji-hwan." Seong-min whispered, his voice raspy.
"I remember. I remember everything now."