The shaman dwelled well beyond the walls of the palace, in a ruined shrine engulfed by the forest—a place most believed cursed.
Ji-hwan entered incognito. A simple robe, no guards, no crest.
He discovered her amid dried-out talismans and bone-chimes on the wind.
She didn't even notice him entering.
"I figured you'd show up eventually," she said. "You have your former life so ingrained it's become a second skin."
Ji-hwan's footing wavered. "Then you know who I am."
The shaman lifted her eyes. They were misty, nearly sightless—but there was something in them that lanced him like flames.
"You desire answers," she told him. "But the answers you seek cost something."
Ji-hwan moved forward. "There's a prophecy—one I've only seen pieces of. I need to hear the rest."
She dipped into the depths of her robes and produced a scroll that reeked of mountain breeze and ancient ash.
"The Third Flame," she whispered. "The section no king ever dared commit to paper."
She gave it to him. Ji-hwan unrolled the vellum, gasping as he read:
"Should the shattered heart burn anew with love unspoken, the heavens will try the bond with blade and flame. If the flame lasts, the gods shall relent. If not… the cycle starts anew."
Ji-hwan's hands shook.
If he failed this time—if he couldn't get Seong-min to remember completely, or regain his trust—they would die again.
And come back again.
He bowed low. "Thank you."
The shaman's voice halted him at the door.
"Warned, Lord Yoon. Certain fires, once lit again, consume everything they touch."