Kyeongseon Ung's disapproving gaze settled heavily on Cheon Seong's nodding head. A flush of embarrassment crept up Kyeongseon Joon's neck as he called out in a hushed tone, "Guardian."

  Silence met his call. Seong remained slumped, lost in slumber. Joon sighed, then raised his voice, "Guardian!"

  Seong's chin slipped from his cupped hand, and he jerked awake, eyes wide with confusion. Flustered, he pressed his hands to his face. "Oh, I’m sorry..."

  "Were you even listening?" Joon asked, frowning.

  Seong offered a sheepish smile. "Where were we?"

  "Gunpowder stockpiles," Joon replied.

  Ung interjected in a low, reproachful voice. "Do you have any idea how critical this discussion is? To fall asleep at a time like this... Maintain your focus, Guardian."

  "My apologies, Master," Seong mumbled.

  "You seemed exhausted yesterday as well," Ung pressed. "What are you doing at night?"

  Ung's low, reproachful voice cut through the air. "Do you have any idea how critical this discussion is? To fall asleep at a time like this... Maintain your focus, Guardian."

  "My apologies, Master," Seong mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

  "You seemed exhausted yesterday as well," Ung pressed, his gaze sharp. "What are you doing at night?"

  A pang of guilt tightened Seong's chest. Every night, under the cloak of darkness, he stole away to the cliffs overlooking the sea, his eyes straining for any sign of Hwan's ship. He returned to Wicheong Palace only as the first slivers of dawn painted the sky. Strangely, he found no sleep on those windswept cliffs, the ceaseless roar of the waves a constant echo of his inner turmoil. Yet, the horizon remained starkly empty, the moon's reflection a shimmering path across a tranquil sea. These nightly vigils only deepened the shadows of fatigue beneath his eyes.

  "I've just been having trouble sleeping," he said, his voice trailing off. "Too much on my mind. Joon, could you recap from the beginning?"

  Joon, eager to avoid further reprimands from his father, quickly complied. "The gunpowder stockpile in Hyangdo remains unchanged since our last inspection. As far as we know, they haven't used any."

  "And the security at the armory?"

  A mischievous grin spread across Joon's face. "With Jooyeong Hyo as governor? A fish stand has better security."

  "Any population changes?"

  "Supposedly," Joon replied, "but nothing noticeable."

  "And the local mood?"

  "Mostly Dahnian soldiers and their families, since they settled after the war. If things turn violent, they'll side with Dahn. We can't count on them."

  Seong's unease grew with each report. There was still no news from Myeonghyeon Ryang. Has he succeeded in persuading Nahmgyo? If they were forced to take Hyangdo by force, Seong hoped the other three fortresses could be secured peacefully. He dreaded the thought of bloodshed. Is it out of genuine concern for innocent lives, or simply a lack of confidence in my ability to win? Seong pushed aside his doubts, offering Joon a bright smile.

  "Thank you, Joon. Please compile your findings into a report for Nahmgyo. Ryang will be waiting for news."

  "High Councilor," Ung corrected. "Even amongst ourselves, maintain proper decorum."

  Seong ignored the correction, rising to his feet, his smile faltering. "I'll take my leave."

  He bowed and left the room. Once he was gone, Joon turned to his father, unable to contain his frustration any longer.

  "Father, he is the Guardian now," he retorted.

  "I am well aware of that." Ung sighed, shaking his head. "He's just like his father..."

  "He inherited his virtues as well," Joon countered.

  "That's the problem," Ung muttered. "He had few virtues to speak of."

  Joon, exasperated, lowered his voice. "Someone might overhear you. Be careful what you say."

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  As dusk deepened, Seong slipped out of Wicheong Palace. The coastal cliffs Yeong had mentioned, Seobyeok, lay south of Nahmgyo. It was a long trek, and he couldn't afford any delays. As he approached the gate, the guard he'd bribed earlier stopped him, his face etched with worry.

  "Guardian, are you going out again tonight?" he asked.

  Seong offered a reassuring smile. "Just taking a walk to clear my head."

  "Please, don't stay out too long," the guard pleaded. "It's hard for me to explain your absence if anyone asks. And it's truly dangerous."

  "Don't worry," Seong reassured him. "I'll be back before sunrise. I've never broken a promise, have I? Relax and wait for me."

  He pulled his cloak tighter around him and stepped into the cool evening air. He hadn't ventured far into the forest when a voice startled him.

  "Searching for Cheon Hwan again?"

  Seong spun around, finding Yeong standing behind him. His initial shock gave way to wry amusement.

  "So now that you’re no longer confined, you've taken to stalking me?"

  "You're acting like a child," Yeong stated flatly.

  "Does everyone look like a child to the Mother of All Creation?" Seong teased.

  Yeong ignored his teasing, her eyes sweeping over him from head to toe. You're still alive, so I presume you haven't found what you sought."

  "Are you worried?" Seong asked, a flicker of hope in his voice.

  Yeong remained silent.

  "You didn't follow me to try and stop me, did you?" he pressed.

  "Of course not."

  "Then you should return to Wicheong," Seong urged. "If we're both absent, it will raise suspicion."

  He turned to leave, but Yeong's voice halted him. "Be careful. Don't spill your precious blood on the dirt."

  Her words, though awkwardly phrased, carried a faint echo of concern. Seong offered a small smile and continued on his way.

  The sky deepened into a velvet black as he navigated the forest path. The moon cast long, dancing shadows, painting the path in an ethereal glow. Though the night air was cool, the burgeoning scent of spring soon brought beads of sweat to his forehead and neck. The rustling sounds of nocturnal creatures echoed through the trees, sending a shiver down his spine. As he walked, his thoughts drifted back to the night he last saw Hwan, a night that remained a dark mire from which he struggled to escape.

  Every detail remained etched in his memory: the gaping wound, the warm, slick blood, the searing pain in his chest. He had clung to Myeonghyeon Seung's lifeless body, his cries a hollow echo in the silent halls. He had been unable to face his brother, to watch him leave. A foolish, selfish regret, yet he wished he had looked at Cheon Hwan one last time. Had he known how deeply he would miss him, he would have stolen another glance, called out his name, anything to rewrite the course of that night. Every choice made, every word unspoken, now haunted him as a source of endless regret.

  After Hwan's departure, Seong had wept uncontrollably. Time might have been brief, yet it lingered in his mind as an endless, desolate stretch. He remembered the choking sobs, the raw, burning pain, all of it flooding back as if it were yesterday.

  "Uncle... how could I... to Uncle..." Seong wept, tears blurring his vision.

  His trembling lips struggled to form coherent words, his body wracked by sobs. By then, the blood had ceased its gushing flow from Myeonghyeon Seung's gaping wound. Only after the warmth had leached from the spreading pool of crimson on the floor did Ryang burst into the room, held back until then by Hwan's men. He collapsed at the sight before him.

  "Father..."

  Seong, still clutching Myeonghyeon Seung's bloodstained robes, couldn't lift his head. "I'm sorry, brother... It's all my fault... because of me..."

  He choked back his sobs, unable to face Ryang's despair. Ryang, his eyes fixed on his father's lifeless body, didn't seem to hear Seong's apologies. Silent tears streamed down his face. Each breath was a torment, the metallic scent of blood filling his lungs, sharp and suffocating.

  "What's wrong with Dad?"

  Seon's voice from the doorway startled both Seong and Ryang. Ryang's voice trembled as he called out, "Seon."

  Seon approached her father's body hesitantly. She knelt beside him, her hand hovering over the gruesome wound on his neck. Her slender fingers trembled, the sight almost unbearable.

  "Brother, what do we do?" she whispered, her voice filled with panic.

  She crawled towards Ryang, clutching his robes, shaking him desperately. "Do something, brother! Save him! Please?"

  Ryang, unable to speak, could only weep. Seon, her words dissolving into sobs, shook him harder.

  "Let's get a physician! We can save him! Ryang!"

  "Seon," Ryang barely managed, grasping her hands tightly, his voice thick with grief. "He's gone."

  Seon's voice rose to a shriek. "No! We can save him! Ryang, we can save him! Please, let's save him!"

  Her cries tore through the room, a gut-wrenching lament. Ryang pulled her close, his arms encircling her tightly. Her sobs muffled against his chest, he held her, drawing a sliver of strength from the embrace, trying to absorb her pain. But his comfort only fueled her anguish, her cries echoing his own silent despair.

  Seong remained silent, the raw truth of Seon's cries echoing within him. It should have been him, not his uncle. If he couldn't protect them all, he should have been the one to fall. When they encountered Hwan, his body splattered with blood, Ryang and Seon might have prayed it was Seong's blood, not their father's. But it was not. Their father lay dead, and Seong remained, a prisoner of his own guilt.

  Seon's cries haunted his memory, a relentless reminder of his failure. Seong clenched his fists, the scene replaying in his mind: the crimson stain, Seon's keen wails, Ryang's silent tears. And always, Hwan. His thoughts inevitably drifted to his brother, the architect of his nightmares. Do we share the same burden of resentment and yearning? When he closed his eyes, he could almost feel Hwan's presence, adrift somewhere on the vast sea surrounding the island.

  Lost in this reverie, he reached Seobyeok. He stood at the cliff's edge, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. The moon shone with an unusual brilliance tonight. His eyes, tracing the unbroken line where sea met sky, were filled with a desperate longing, but the ocean remained mute, offering no solace. He sank onto a weathered rock, resuming his vigil. As he waited, stars emerged, their light undimmed by the moon's glow. One by one, they ascended the horizon, until the sky was a tapestry of twinkling lights. And then, he saw it. A dark silhouette, stark against the moonlit water, cresting the horizon. A ship.