Pain. Cold. Darkness.
Yoon Ji-hwan's final memory had been death—bloodstains on the snow, his falling body crashing to the palace stone courtyard. Betrayal was the louder sound than screams amidst him.
And then.... nothing.
Until then.
Ji-hwan opened his eyes with a gasp, his lungs searing as if he had drowned and surfaced to take a breath at the exact same instant. He clutched his chest, expecting the wound that had killed him, but there was nothing.
No pain.
No blood.
Only the desperate, pounding rhythm of his heart. He knew this room.
The wooden pillars, the silk quilted mattress, the subtle scent of ink and pine—this was his space. His rooms. But how?
Stumbling to his feet, Ji-hwan hurried to the bronze mirror in the corner. What he saw left him gasping.
He was young again. His face untouched, his hair still trimmed in the simple manner of a bachelor lord. His frame—free of the torment of exile.
It was like the previous years did not count.
No—he'd return to an earlier time frame before all this chaos began.
A sharp knocking at the door made him startle.
"Young Master, the king's court is calling you," his servant exclaimed.
"His Majesty must speak with you immediately.".
Ji-hwan's blood turned to ice.
Lee Seong-min.
The king who had previously judged him.
The one whom he had loved previously.
Ji-hwan closed his eyes, controlling his breathing.
This time, he would never make the same mistake.
This time, he would stay far, far away.
Even as his heart hurt for the man who had slain him.