The initial scream never sounded.
Only the whine of a blade.
The sound of breath cut off.
And blood splattering stone like spilled ink.
Ji-hwan's eyes flew open—before the attack.
Before the killing.
Before it occurred again.
He moved fast, pulling Seong-min down just as the dagger cut through the night air.
The assassin missed his heart by inches.
Steel clashed—Ji-hwan spun, disarmed the shadow in two moves that didn't feel learned, but remembered.
As if he'd killed this man before.
The assassin hissed. "You were never meant to wake."
Ji-hwan's blood turned cold. "I've heard that line… in a dream."
The man lunged again—but this time, Seong-min was ready.
The king didn't flinch.
He killed.
Quickly. Effectively.
Then there was silence again. Only the fire snapped.
And the body lying at their feet.
Ji-hwan knelt beside it, yanking away the mask.
Black ink on the assassin's neck—an ancient mark. A seal of destiny.
Ji-hwan's breath caught.
"I saw this symbol… in a vision. When I betrayed you for the first time."
Seong-min's forehead creased. "You mean—"
"This isn't just prophecy," Ji-hwan breathed. "It's a pattern. A cycle. Someone wants it to repeat."
A gust of wind screamed through the trees. The mark on the body started to glow—then incinerated, leaving ash.
Seong-min held Ji-hwan's wrist. "Then we end the cycle."
But Ji-hwan's eyes were far away.
Because deep within him, he recalled—
that same dagger,
that same night,
but with Seong-min dying in his arms.
And a figure laughing in the shadows, saying:
"You can save him, or stop me.
Not both."