By dawn, Seong-min had made up his mind.
Ji-hwan still gazed at the stars too long. Still smiled too easily. Still said nothing.
So Seong-min started his game.
He left notes with encoded names in tiny shrines. Spoke in half-lies to monks passing by. Called on the spirits of loyalty Ji-hwan did not even know still labored for the throne.
Not for politics. Not for power.
For him.
If prophecy were a sword hanging over him, Seong-min would not wait for it to drop.
He'd snap the chain himself.
At a border town near Daesan, a messenger found him beneath a willow tree. No one saw what passed between them—only that the king's smile returned, and it was sharp as a blade.
That night, Ji-hwan asked, "You've been busy."
Seong-min replied, "You're not the only one allowed secrets."
Ji-hwan flinched, but said nothing.
Because some part of him was afraid.
Afraid that Seong-min might see too clearly.
Might choose the crown. Might walk away.
But Seong-min had already made his decision.
He was merely deciding how to fight.
He would defend Ji-hwan.
Even if he had to deceive him.
Even if Ji-hwan never forgave him.
Because in the end, this wasn't about prophecy.
It was about love that would not bow.
Far from the light of the fire, something moved in the forest.
Eyes that shone like ice.
A voice without a mouth, speaking:
"Two hearts. One destiny.
Let them shatter or let them burn."