The Moon Festival had come.
The palace shimmered in gold and indigo silks, paper lanterns hanging like glowing spirits above the courtyards. Music drifted through the warm night air — soft drums, a flute's lament, voices chanting hymns older than the stone beneath their feet. Elara, dressed in servant's robes, could barely breathe as she walked among nobles. Every footstep felt like stepping into someone else's dream.
She had one goal tonight — to see the king up close.
Not out of awe. Not out of fear.
But because of the flower.
The symbol of Cheonhwa — the ethereal bloom that hung around his neck like a necklace. The magical relic that once belonged to her mother, Han'Lia. The same one Sae-Myung had described, shimmering with a pulse of ancient power. The king wore it openly now, as if daring fate to challenge him.
Elara waited near the base of the marble dais, pretending to arrange flower offerings. She could feel it — the magic — humming, reaching toward her like something long buried that remembered her scent.
And then he came.
King Hwan-Jo.
He walked as though time bowed to him, clad in layered robes of deep sapphire. His hair, black as obsidian, fell down his back like a silk river. His eyes — oh, his eyes — were not the eyes of a man. They were ageless, brilliant, like polished glass hiding endless storms. And around his neck hung the Cheonhwa blossom, glowing softly against his skin.
Elara's breath caught.
She hadn't expected it to call to her.
Her knees weakened. Her hands trembled.
It wasn't just beautiful.
It was alive.
The king paused beside the altar, lifting his gaze to the full moon. Courtiers bowed. Musicians hushed. A sacred silence fell.
And then — almost too casually — he turned to her.
"You," he said, voice like distant thunder, low and commanding.
Elara bowed instantly. "Yes, Your Majesty?"
His eyes narrowed. "What is your name?"
"Ara," she whispered, the name she'd borrowed.
"Ara…" he repeated, as if tasting it. "Strange. You look familiar."
Her heart thudded. "I've never been in your presence before, Your Majesty."
He stared a moment longer, then gestured.
"Bring the incense bowl."
She obeyed, lifting the ornate brass vessel with both hands and stepping forward. The bowl was heavy. The scent of sandalwood curled around her like smoke.
As she approached, the flower pulsed brighter.
It was singing to her.
Elara's fingers twitched.
And in a moment of madness — a moment she couldn't stop — her hand brushed his chest. Her fingertips grazed the edge of the flower.
Time shattered.
A blinding light surged through her hand, up her arm, and into her core like fire. Her eyes widened as magic burst to life inside her — not gentle, not warm, but wild and ancient and furious. The Cheonhwa reacted instantly, blooming brighter, golden petals turning crimson at the edges as if tasting her blood.
The king stumbled back.
Elara gasped — and fell.
Her knees hit the polished floor with a sickening crack. Her body seized. Images flooded her mind: a forest burning, her mother screaming, the flower torn from flesh. She felt pain — not her own — ripple through centuries and generations.
The world spun.
She collapsed.
Voices screamed.
Hands grabbed her.
Someone shouted, "She touched the relic!"
And then — darkness.
She woke in a dim chamber.
Soft silk sheets. The scent of herbs. A single candle flickering.
Her body ached. Her fingers burned. Her heart thundered in her chest.
A voice spoke beside her.
"You should be dead."
Elara turned her head. It was the old alchemist — a man with silver eyebrows and a gaze like cracked glass. He sat beside a table full of scrolls and strange glass bottles, watching her like a puzzle he couldn't solve.
"But you're not," he continued. "Why?"
Elara tried to sit up. "The flower…"
"It reacted to you," he said. "As if it recognized you. As if it belonged to you."
"It did," she whispered. "To my mother."
His eyes narrowed. "Who is your mother?"
"Han'Lia."
The name struck him like thunder.
He stood slowly, as if in a trance. "Impossible."
"She was Sylara. The woman the king—"
"I know who she was," he interrupted, voice trembling. "I served her. I watched her fall. But you…" He approached slowly, staring at her face. "You look nothing like her. And yet…"
He knelt beside her.
"Do you know what you've done?"
"I didn't mean to—"
"You awakened it," he hissed. "The Cheonhwa. It hasn't responded to anyone in years. The king has worn it like a trophy, but it's been dormant. Until now."
"Why?" she asked. "Why did it answer me?"
"Because you carry her blood," he said. "And perhaps more."
He handed her a small scroll, tied in blue ribbon.
"This is your first lesson. Read it in secret. Burn it after. There are eyes everywhere."
Elara clutched the scroll. "What will happen to me?"
He hesitated.
"They're saying it was an accident. That you fainted from the incense. The king hasn't spoken of it — yet. But the court is watching. The princesses are watching. The prince…"
Elara's chest tightened. "Jae-Hwa…"
"He asked about you," the alchemist said. "He was there, you know. He saw you fall. He said your name in a way that made even the king notice."
Elara looked down at her burned fingertips.
The first price of magic.
The first blood.
She was no longer just a girl in disguise.
She was seen now.
And in this place, being seen was the first step toward being hunted.