Sunlight streamed through the porthole, gilding the cabin. The narrow bed, a tangle of limbs and rumpled sheets, swayed gently with the calm sea. The sky was a clear expanse, the water a tranquil mirror. At this pace, the Black Wings would reach Birahng by nightfall. Cheon Hwan nuzzled Yirahng's neck, inhaling the salt-laced, musky scent of her skin. His hands drifted over her slender form, tracing the curve of her waist to the gentle swell of her belly. He caressed it softly, and Yirahng, whom he'd presumed asleep, spoke.

  "I think I'm pregnant."

  Hwan's hand stilled. His eyes, half-closed in contentment, snapped open.

  "How do you know?" he asked.

  "I just know, idiot."

  Yirahng's curt reply hung in the air, a ripple of unease disturbing Hwan's tranquility. He hadn't particularly desired or anticipated a child with Yirahng. A child, inheriting half his blood, was an inevitability, a distant eventuality. But that very inevitability had lulled him into a sense of complacency. He'd always believed that only those who feared oblivion clung to the notion of children, seeking a legacy beyond their own mortality. He lived on the edge of a blade, his existence a constant dance with death. Yet, even after surviving countless dangers, he had never yearned for a child to carry on his name.

  What words would an ordinary man offer his expectant lover, a man unburdened by the weight of prophecy, a deposed prince, or a pirate adrift on the vast sea? Hwan, unable to find the right words, simply pulled Yirahng closer. He couldn't decipher if the swell within him was joy, but he felt a surge of gratitude and a pang of guilt towards the small woman carrying his seed. He felt her slender shoulders tremble against his chest. Turning her to face him, he saw her eyes, usually sharp and guarded, brimming with tears. Her unexpected display startled him.

  "Why are you crying? This is good news."

  Yirahng gently pushed him away and sat up, tears silently tracing paths down her cheeks. Hwan sat up as well, patiently awaiting her words. Finally, her voice thick with emotion, she replied, "What if the baby looks like me?"

  Fresh tears spilled from her eyes, the crimson hue of her right pupil intensified by the moisture.

  "What's wrong with that?" Hwan asked back.

  "You're the only one who would say that."

  Her words reverberated in his mind, a chillingly familiar refrain. He had uttered those very words to Seong.

  You're the only one on my side.

  It was not the words of affection. It had been a desperate cry, flung at Seong in a moment of frustration. Looking back, he couldn't comprehend his own weakness, but there had been a time when Seong was his only support. Can Yirahng's past suffering, the prejudice she faced, compare to the coldness I endured within Wicheong? He recalled Seong's response, a fierce reassurance that had met his outburst. Hwan now repeated those same words to Yirahng.

  "Is that not enough?"

  He gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, but his comforting gesture did little to soothe her.

  "Look at me," she pleaded, her voice thick with unshed tears. "They'll point, they'll stare. They might even try to kill it. We'll be hunted, forever running."

  Hwan's brow furrowed. "Don't be absurd. It's my child. It carries my blood. It's a Celestial Scion. No one would dare."

  "A half-breed," Yirahng spat, her voice laced with bitterness.

  Hwan gripped her arms, his gaze unwavering. "I will reclaim Sunyahng. I will be the King of Wi. And our child will inherit the throne. Understand?"

  "And what of the Guardian of the Crimson Star?" she challenged.

  "She's merely a means to an end."

  Yirahng's expression remained unreadable.

  "Our child will be royalty," Hwan continued, his voice firm. "No matter its appearance, it will never be persecuted or hunted. And neither will you."

  He drew her close, her tears soaking his robe.

  The Black Wings sailed for half a day, slicing through the waves. As the blue hues of the sky faded, a series of dark, jagged pillars emerged on the horizon. Birahng. As they drew closer, the crew bustled about, preparing the smaller boats for disembarkation. Birahng had no proper harbor that could accommodate a vessel the size of the Black Wings. They had to seek out secluded locations, places other ships avoided, places that were, by their very nature, unsuitable for landing. Hwan had chosen Seobyeok, the most treacherous cliff face on the island. The waters surrounding it were riddled with reefs, forcing them to anchor further out and approach by smaller boats.

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  Such a remote location minimized the risk of discovery. And even if they were spotted, no ship in Birahng, save those of the Dahnian forces with their cannons, posed a threat to the Black Wings. Yet, an unusual nervousness gnawed at Hwan. It was a familiar sensation, one that had been his constant companion from childhood until four years ago. He scanned the cliff face, his eyes searching for something, anything that might explain his unease.

  "Lower a boat," he ordered a nearby subordinate. "I'm going ashore alone."

  "Shouldn't we accompany you?" the man asked.

  "I have business to attend to," Hwan replied. "Wait here. I'll return before sunrise."

  "As you command."

  The subordinate bowed his head in acknowledgement, but Yirahng stepped forward, blocking Hwan's path.

  "Where are you going?" she demanded.

  Hwan gently cupped her cheek. "Don't ask. Just wait for me. I'll be back soon."

  His tone brooked no argument, and Yirahng, sensing his unusual mood, held her tongue. Hwan descended to the smaller boat, and as soon as it hit the water, he slid down a rope, landing nimbly on board. He grabbed the oars and rowed towards the crashing waves at the base of the cliff.

  ──────────

  The ship, its black sails billowing in the moonlight, seemed more apparition than reality. Seong stood frozen, rooted to the spot. Even without Yeong's warning, he would have known, with a certainty that resonated deep within him, that Hwan was aboard that vessel. The ship drew closer, and in the moonlight, he saw a smaller boat being lowered. He couldn't make out the figure within, but an instinctive certainty told him it was Hwan rowing towards the shore. He couldn't stay here. He turned and fled, heading back towards Wicheong Palace.

  Why are you running? a voice within him chided. Your brother, the one you've longed for, is within reach. What are you so afraid of?

  Seong, pushing through the undergrowth, confronted his own cowardice. With every step, Hwan's presence grew stronger, an undeniable pull. He hadn't gone far when a familiar figure stepped out from the shadows, blocking his path.

  "Hwan," he breathed, the name escaping his lips before he could stop it.

  Hwan stood in the moonlight, his gaze fixed on Seong. He said nothing, and Seong, his body trembling, took a hesitant step forward. He saw the glint of several swords strapped to Hwan's waist, but he didn't falter. He closed the distance between them, and before Hwan could react, he threw his arms around him, holding him tightly. Tears welled up in his eyes.

  "You pathetic," Hwan sneered.

  Seong only held him tighter. Hwan, as always, was disgusted by Seong's unwavering affection, his willingness to forgive and forget. What is this naive empathy, this relentless compassion? He could draw his sword and pierce Seong's heart right now. His brother, with his unwavering faith in humanity, was a fool. And that foolishness, that unwavering belief in Hwan's own goodness, had always been his weakness. The familiar warmth of Seong's embrace filled him with a strange fear.

  Push him away.

  But he couldn't. His arms hung awkwardly, frozen between an embrace and a rejection.

  Seong held onto the embrace for a long time. He feared that if he released his arms and met Cheon Hwan's gaze, the sorrow he had barely contained would burst forth. Only after a long while, when he had warmed away the night's chill that clung to Hwan's clothes, did Seong finally loosen his arms.

  "I thought you were dead," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

  His gaze swept over Hwan's face, his hands finding their way to his brother's neck.

  Hwan sneered. "So, were you sad?"

  "Sad?" Seong echoed incredulously. "You show up after four years and that's all you've got to say?"

  Hwan chuckled. "I didn't just show up," he clarified. "You came looking for me. And looks like the Guardian Crimson's not as tight-lipped as I thought."

  "She didn't tell me anything. I put it together myself."

  Hwan's gaze, which he had kept averted, finally met Seong's. "Defending her already? You two must have gotten close."

  "Can't you just greet me without a sneer?" Seong retorted.

  "Have I ever?"

  Seong laughed bitterly. "No. This is you."

  Hwan scoffed, shoving Seong aside. He settled onto a large, moonlit rock, his features, previously obscured by the darkness, now clearly visible. He looked thinner, his face sharper, his expression hardened.

  "Where've you been all this time?" Seong asked.

  "Mind your own business," Hwan retorted. "Are those Wicheong idiots treating their new Guardian right? Or are they making you sneak around at night, risking your neck?"

  Seong's brow furrowed at the mocking question. "How did you know about Father's death?"

  Hwan leaned his chin on his hand, a sneer twisting his lips. "Round up your people and torture them one by one. See if you can shake loose my little birdie inside."

  "If you actually have someone on the inside, why'd you be so obvious about it?" Seong challenged.

  "Because you won't find them."

  "You think I can't?"

  "I know you can't," Hwan stated flatly.

  Seong's jaw tightened.

  "You seem awfully relaxed for a man in your position," Hwan continued, his voice laced with mockery.

  The cruel twist of his lips sent a shiver down Seong's spine. He quickly grasped the implication.

  "The things around House Myeonghyeon... that was you, wasn't it?"