then winter came—quiet, heavy, and white.snow fell in the mornings like powdered silence, coating the rooftops and blanketing the narrow paths between the houses. the world seemed to breathe slower. the wind was sharper. the cold seeped into the walls, into the bones. but inside the small house, the fire was always burning, and lucen always woke to its warmth before his morning lessons.
but one morning, something different happened.
just as they finished breakfast and were about to begin, a knock echoed at the door—firm, deliberate, not the kind of knock that came from neighbors or wandering merchants. jang-ho stiffened. his hand paused midway through clearing the table.
he turned to lucen.
"go to your room," he said simply.
lucen hesitated but obeyed, heading upstairs. once inside, he crept to his window, but kept low, cautious. his fingers gently pushed a small gap open between the frost-covered paper panes, just enough to peer through.
below, three men stood at the doorstep.
soldiers.
he could tell by their posture, their heavy black-and-silver armor, the sharp lines on their faces. even from a distance, their presence pressed against the house like a storm waiting to break. they weren't local guards. these men came from somewhere higher. far higher.
lucen's eyes shifted to the object in one soldier's gloved hand—a red envelope.
even from up there, he could tell it wasn't ordinary. the color alone screamed importance, deep crimson with golden thread curling around the edges. it shimmered faintly in the winter sun. not a message. not a letter. a command.
jang-ho bowed his head slightly, accepted the envelope without a word, and watched the soldiers turn and leave. they didn't say anything else. they didn't need to.
once the door closed, lucen waited a few moments before creeping downstairs. jang-ho stood in the center of the room, the envelope now open in his hand. he read it slowly, calmly, his expression unreadable. his eyes, cold and clear, seemed almost too calm.
lucen stood at the edge of the stairs, unsure, then finally asked, "what was that?"
jang-ho looked up.
jang ho sat for a long time after the soldiers left, the red letter still open on the table in front of him. it wasn't the first time he had been summoned by the emperor, and he knew too well what such a letter meant—he couldn't refuse. whether it was to return to his former station or to serve in some new capacity, he had no choice but to obey.
but this time… it was different.
he was no longer alone.
he glanced toward the stairs, where soft footsteps had vanished just minutes ago. lucen—quiet, stubborn lucen. the boy had become something more than a guest, more than a student. he had become a son.
and jang ho could not leave him behind.
not in this world. not after everything.
he didn't know what the emperor wanted. he didn't know what would happen next. but he knew one thing—he would not allow the boy to stay alone, waiting. and after thinking it over the entire evening, he made his decision.
"you're coming with me," he said quietly that night, his voice calm but firm.
lucen blinked at him, puzzled. he didn't understand the weight of those words. he only knew that jang ho had looked serious ever since the letter came. but there was a quiet kind of thrill building in him. the palace… the capital… the things he had only read about in books—he would see them now.
and so, they packed.
jang ho helped him fold his few clothes, placing them into a small bundle. he added a long white cloth and an old hat—worn, but wide enough to cast a shadow over the boy's face. it wasn't much, but it would do. in truth, jang ho wasn't sure if it would matter. he knew people might notice, might wonder, but if anyone dared question it… well, let the emperor decide.
the night passed quietly.
and in the morning, the soldiers returned.
they bowed deeply at the gate, offering words of respect and waiting patiently as jang ho stepped out with his belongings. but then they noticed someone else walking beside him—a small figure, slender, dressed in a light gray cloak and wearing a hat with long white fabric wrapped around the head and neck, leaving only the chin and part of the eyes visible. the boy's strange-colored eyes peeked through, but barely.
the soldiers didn't ask.
it wasn't their place.
they exchanged uncertain glances but said nothing. whatever this child's identity was, whatever purpose he served—such things were not for them to question.
and so they departed.
the snow crunched under their boots as they began the long journey to the imperial palace
after what felt like three long days on horseback, they finally arrived.
the palace stood like a giant watching the mountains, layers of rooftops stacked like crowns, old wood darkened by time, stone paths wide and clean as if no dust dared settle here. mist curled low around the ground, stirred only by hooves and footsteps. towering gates opened with a groan that echoed across the courtyard, guarded by silent men in black armor.
lucen blinked. for a moment, he forgot the cold, the aches, the hunger. it was too vast, too quiet. it didn't feel like a place for people. it felt like something ancient, something sleeping.
the man beside him didn't speak. he just led the horse forward.
at night, the palace changed. hundreds of lights flickered like stars had fallen into its halls. from high up, it looked like a dream trapped in blue fog, floating between the mountains and sky. roofs shimmered under moonlight, guards patrolled like shadows, and the silence became heavier — not empty, but full of watching eyes.
inside the palace, the air felt different. colder. thicker.
they were led through silent, towering halls by a guard dressed in sharp black. he stopped at a wide door, bowed slightly, and said, "the emperor is waiting for you, sir jang ho."
jang ho gave a small nod and pushed open the doors. his hand never left lucen's. they entered together.
the throne room was a world of its own.
gold and black painted the walls in swirling patterns that shimmered like sunlight on oil. thick carpets muffled their steps. pillars stretched so high they disappeared into shadow. there were people — many of them — standing or sitting around the throne, dressed in robes heavy with silk and pride.
and there, in the center of it all, was the throne. massive. sharp-edged. quiet.
on it sat a man draped in gold-trimmed black. the emperor.
jang ho bowed deeply, lowering himself to one knee without hesitation. lucen followed, unsure, but copying him.
a long silence passed.
then, the emperor spoke. his voice was smooth and cold, like wind across a frozen lake.
"...long time no see, general jang ho."
he paused.
"but... what is this little thing that came with you?"
his words echoed against the marble walls. some of the people nearby chuckled under their breath.
from where he sat, the emperor couldn't quite see lucen clearly. the boy was small — and jang ho stood tall, towering at nearly two meters.
but the way the emperor looked down, like he was peering at an insect, made lucen's heart clench.