The grand hall was silent, wrapped in the weight of midnight shadows. Moonlight spilled across the lacquered floors like a silver river, casting long reflections of hanging lanterns and ancient banners. At the far end, where the obsidian throne loomed like a forgotten god, King Hwan-Jo walked alone.
His steps echoed—slow, deliberate—as if he were listening for something buried beneath the silence.
Elara, dressed in plain servant robes, was kneeling on the cold marble tiles, polishing the edge of one of the ceremonial pillars. She had been told to stay late. Another punishment, no doubt orchestrated by Rin'Hwa, for stepping somewhere she shouldn't.
Her fingers ached. Her mind wandered.
Then the room shifted.
No wind. No noise. Just pressure—like a storm forming beneath her ribs.
She looked up.
The King was approaching.
She lowered her gaze instinctively. No servant ever looked into Hwan-Jo's eyes directly. They said if you stared too long, your soul would reflect in his and you'd lose yourself. But she felt it nonetheless: the weight of his stare.
And then—
The Cheonhwa.
That cursed, beautiful flower that clung to his neck like a parasite began to glow.
Not softly. Not faintly.
This time, it pulsed with violent, crimson light.
Elara froze. Her skin prickled. Her breath caught in her throat. The petals shimmered, twisting, blooming outward as if waking from a slumber. And from deep within her own chest—like a sudden heartbeat not her own—she felt it.
A rhythm.
A pulse.
Her mother's soul.
The heartbeat echoed through her bones like thunder.
The King stumbled back, clutching the flower as though it were burning him from the inside. He staggered, growling, and then pointed a trembling finger at her.
"What did you do?" he shouted, voice cracking with something between rage and fear. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
The sound splintered through the hall. Guards rushed in from the side doors, weapons raised, but Hwan-Jo waved them off, never taking his eyes off Elara.
She stood slowly. Her knees shook. The light from the Cheonhwa bled across the room, casting blood-red shadows on the polished floor. Her own body felt strange—warmer, as if something inside her had been unlocked.
"I—I didn't do anything," she managed, voice barely above a whisper. "It just… reacted."
The King's expression darkened.
"No," he said, stepping toward her, fury rolling from him in waves. "You carry it. Her scent. Her blood. That cursed soul."
He grabbed her wrist, and the Cheonhwa blazed again, brighter than ever. Light seared between them like a blade, and for a moment—just a breath—Elara saw something in his eyes.
Not wrath.
Fear.
He released her like she was fire.
"You," he spat. "You are the root."
Elara blinked. "What?"
But the King was already turning away, breathing hard, hands trembling.
"She swore I'd never escape her. Even in death…" He looked back at Elara with haunted eyes. "Why now? Why you?"
A soft tremor shook the ground beneath their feet.
From deep below, a faint sound—a hum—rose like a sleeping voice stirring. The guards looked around in panic, their armor clinking nervously.
Hwan-Jo turned toward the throne.
"No more," he hissed to himself.
Then, loudly: "Seal the lower halls! Double the guards at the eastern vaults! No one goes near the throne chamber!"
Elara's heart raced. The hum. The door. Jae-Hwa's warnings. It was all connected. And now, the King was afraid.
The Cheonhwa had responded to her—and he couldn't hide that.
As guards scrambled to obey, the King threw one last glance over his shoulder.
"If you ever go near that place again," he said to Elara, voice icy, "I'll burn the memory of your name from every stone in this kingdom."
Then he was gone.
⸻
Elara was left alone. Shaking. Confused.
And burning with questions.
She rushed back to her quarters. The air in the palace was strange—electric, brittle with tension. Whispers had already begun among the servants.
By the time she reached her small room, the flower mark on her wrist had begun to glow faintly. A sign from the Raven. Or something older.
She opened the scroll from Jeon-Myeong, fingers trembling. Hidden within the parchment, between layers of dried ink, was a map.
Not of the palace.
But of something beneath it.
The chamber beneath the throne.
The chamber of the Cheonhwa.
She whispered, "You saw me, Mother. You felt me."
And for the first time since she arrived in this cursed place, Elara felt no fear.
Only fire.
⸻
Far above, in the highest tower of the palace, Prince Jae-Hwa stood watching the moon.
He had felt the tremor.
Seen the light from the throne room with his own eyes.
And he knew then—
The time of silence was ending.