Chapter Text
Sana faced them with a serene demeanor, yet her words carried undeniable weight.
"The decision is yours," she said. "You can either flee or stay."
Yeji didn’t hesitate. Her instincts had already made the choice for her. Her hands moved in a blur, shoving clothing and supplies into a bag with frantic energy. Her breaths came in short, uneven bursts, her fingers trembling as they clutched at whatever they could find.
"We can’t stay here. We can’t—" she muttered, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Her alpha instincts screamed at her to run, to take Hyunjin far away before it was too late.
Hyunjin stood still, watching her. Then, something inside him shattered.
"A-Jie."
She didn’t hear him. Her mind was consumed by calculations—routes, supplies, escape plans. The air in the room grew suffocating, thick with desperation.
"Yeji-jie!"
His voice rang sharp through the air, and for the first time, his scent unfurled.
It was subtle at first—a lingering trace of roses. Then it bloomed, filling the room, seeping into the very walls. It wasn’t just a scent; it was a presence. It wrapped around them like a balm, commanding yet gentle, steadying the frantic storm inside Yeji’s chest.
Yeji froze. Her breath hitched, her heartbeat slowing as the scent coiled around her like silk. The fear and urgency that had clawed at her moments ago melted into something softer, something grounding.
Hyunjin stepped forward, his voice quiet yet unwavering. "Jie, I can’t take this anymore. I can’t bear this any longer. I’m afraid, but more importantly—we shouldn’t be in this position. We are dragons, not ones to submit or to flee."
Yeji clenched her fists. "The circumstances are different now. We cannot afford to be overly proud. Our dynasty is gone, and I am only trying to protect you."
Their disagreement erupted like thunder, Hyunjin—gentle, mild-mannered Hyunjin—finally losing his composure.
"You still treat me like a child! Do you think I can’t do anything right?" His voice was raw with frustration.
Yeji spun to face him, disbelief evident in her eyes. "Because you are my little brother! You don’t understand what it means to carry this burden—keeping you safe, being the last one capable of doing so."
"I never asked you to!" Hyunjin retorted, his breath quickening. "Jie, I need you to see me. I need you to trust that I can stand by your side, not just behind you."
Yeji shook her head, hands trembling. "Hyunjin, you don’t understand—"
"No!" He took a step forward, his scent flaring—roses and something sharper now, something unmistakably resolute. "You don’t understand. You keep pushing me away, keeping me at arm’s length like I’m fragile. But I am here, Jie. I am right here, and I am not the boy you once knew. And I miss you."
The words hit Yeji like a blade slipping between her ribs. The room suddenly felt too small, too thick with emotions she had been avoiding for so long. She opened her mouth, but no words came.
Hyunjin’s voice trembled. "I miss my sister. I feel like I’m losing you piece by piece. You always fight for me, yet you won’t even look at me. You refuse to speak to me. It feels as though I lost you the night our family perished."
"I don’t ask for a warrior or a protector. I simply want my sister."
Silence stretched between them, charged and aching. Yeji swallowed hard, her hands clenching at her sides before she slowly released them. Then, with a shuddering breath, she reached forward, pulling Hyunjin into a fierce embrace.
"I don’t know how to do this without you," she whispered.
Hyunjin held on tighter. "Then don’t."
When they pulled apart, something between them had shifted—no longer strained, but understood.
Hyunjin’s voice was raw with emotion. "But I don’t want to run. I want to stand."
The words struck deep, settling into the quiet between them. Yeji exhaled slowly, the weight of her brother’s sorrow pressing against her. She reached out, pulling Hyunjin close once more.
"But if we stay, I don’t know how to keep you safe, Jinnie..."
Hyunjin buried his face against her shoulder. "You’ve already given enough."
When they finally pulled apart, Hyunjin turned to Sana. He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words, before finally speaking. "Thank you," he said, his voice softer than before. "For everything."
Sana’s lips quirked in a faint smile. "You’re not thanking me yet."
Hyunjin let out a small breath of laughter, but it was laced with something heavier. "I mean it," he insisted. "If not for you, I would still be lost. You have given me knowledge, guidance... and something I never expected."
Sana arched a brow. "And what is that?"
Hyunjin’s throat tightened. "A place to stand. A way to fight back. I never had anyone to teach me what it means to be an omega—not like this. I think... I think if I had grown up with a mother, she might have been like you."
For the first time, something flickered in Sana’s carefully guarded expression. It wasn’t sadness, nor was it pride. It was something deeper, something aching and unspoken.
"That is a dangerous thing to say," she murmured, tilting her head slightly. "You have no idea who I truly am."
Hyunjin shook his head. "I don’t need to. I know enough."
A silence stretched between them, heavy yet comforting. Then, Hyunjin straightened his shoulders. "I won’t run," he said. "Because if I do, you’ll suffer for it. And I can’t let that happen."
Sana studied him, her dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Then go. And make sure you return standing tall."
Hyunjin stood before the mirror, his hands steady as he washed out the last traces of black dye. The silver strands gleamed under the candlelight, cascading down his shoulders like liquid moonlight. He stared at his reflection, breathing deeply, as if seeing himself clearly for the first time.
The dragon’s blood never falters.
He stepped into Bang Chan’s study without knocking. The scent of ink, parchment, and burning incense filled the air, thick and intoxicating. The flickering candlelight cast long, twisting shadows along the walls, making the room feel smaller, more intimate.
Bang Chan looked up from his desk, his gaze locking onto Hyunjin. At first, his expression remained unreadable—sharp, assessing. But as his eyes raked over him, something flickered beneath his carefully composed exterior.
A slow, knowing smirk curled Bang Chan’s lips. "To what do I owe this honor?" His voice was smooth, laced with amusement, but there was something else beneath it, something deeper.
Hyunjin didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped forward, his movements deliberate, unhurried. The distance between them shrank, but the tension only grew. The room, thick with Bang Chan’s scent of cedar and musk, felt warmer, heavier.
Bang Chan’s gaze flickered downward, his slow perusal tracing the elegant lines of Hyunjin’s form. "Is this your way of surrendering, little dragon? You didn’t have to come all this way." His voice dipped lower, richer, teasing. "I would have taken you eventually."
Hyunjin’s stomach twisted, but he didn’t let it show. He remained still, letting Bang Chan fill the space with his arrogance, his confidence. The wolf believed himself to be the hunter, oblivious to how the ground had shifted beneath him.
"No clever words?" Bang Chan murmured, pushing himself to his feet. He moved toward Hyunjin, his steps slow, his presence an encroaching force. When he reached out, fingers hovering just beneath Hyunjin’s chin, his breath ghosted over his lips. "Let me guess. Yeji sent you? Is this a bargain? A trade? A plea?"
Hyunjin moved before Bang Chan’s fingers could graze his skin. Not backward—forward. The shift was slight, but the space between them disappeared entirely. Their chests nearly brushed, and for a brief, breathless moment, Bang Chan stilled.
Hyunjin’s voice was quiet, but it carried weight. "You treat my sister like a pawn, but she is worth more than this entire court combined."
Bang Chan raised a brow, amusement still curled at the edges of his lips, but there was something else in his eyes now—curiosity. "Is that so?"
Hyunjin took another step, close enough now that Bang Chan could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. "I won’t stand by and watch you trample her any longer. If you desire me—"
His fingers moved, untying the sash of his robe.
"—then prove yourself worthy."
The fabric slid from his shoulders, pooling at his feet.
Bang Chan’s breath hitched.
For months, he had entertained this fantasy—Hyunjin beneath him, flushed, breathless, his body arching under his touch. He had envisioned the quiet defiance in those amethyst eyes melting into something softer. But now, faced with the reality before him, Bang Chan felt something far more dangerous coil in his chest.
Lust should have ignited in his veins, should have driven him forward, should have made him claim what had willingly stepped into his grasp. And yet—
It wasn’t lust that locked his breath in his throat.
It was reverence.
His gaze trailed over Hyunjin’s form, drinking in the smooth expanse of skin, the way silver strands shimmered under the candlelight. But it wasn’t just his beauty—it was the sheer presence he commanded, something vast, something undeniable.
It was like staring into the sun, knowing it would burn him, and being unable to look away.
His knees buckled before he even realized what he was doing.
He knelt.
The realization sent a jolt through him, but he could not fight it. His body had acted on instinct, on something primal buried deep in his bones. He had knelt before emperors, before warlords and kings, but never like this. This was not a submission born of duty or fear.
This was worship.
Hyunjin’s voice echoed through the chamber, steady and unyielding, speaking the forgotten language of dragons.
"Se ossyngnot rȳban. Ānogrose hen zȳhon zaldrīzes ēza gaomagon va rȳbagon.”
(The dragon’s blood is sacred. Those who seek to use it will find themselves devoured by fate itself.)
Bang Chan’s head bowed lower, his pulse hammering in his throat.
Hyunjin continued, his voice unwavering. "You want an alliance? You want power? Then you will do it properly. You will not trample my sister. You will not disrespect my lineage."
Bang Chan exhaled, his fingers pressing against the floor as if grounding himself. "And what do you propose?"
Hyunjin’s gaze gleamed, something sharp, something knowing. "An heir."
Bang Chan stilled.
Hyunjin’s voice was unyielding. "You and Sana have no successor. I will give you one. In exchange, you will forge an alliance with my sister. You will help her reclaim the throne."
Bang Chan’s jaw clenched. His fingers curled against the ground beneath him. "Are you doing this solely for her?"
Hyunjin tilted his head slightly, the softest trace of a smirk playing at his lips. "No. I do this for Sana, too. For her honor as a mother."
A long silence stretched between them, the weight of Hyunjin’s words sinking deep.
Then, slowly, Bang Chan nodded.
Hyunjin’s heart leaped. "Good. Then we start with my mother’s clan, the Yang Clan. We need to contact them as soon as possible."
Hyunjin turned away, leaving Bang Chan still kneeling in his wake. The scent of roses lingered, wrapping around the room, pressing against Bang Chan’s senses, suffocating him in something he didn’t quite understand.
For the first time in his life, he felt powerless before someone else.
And he did not hate it.
The news of Hyunjin’s proposal spread through the court like wildfire. The Yang Clan was not one to submit easily, and their response would determine the fate of everything Hyunjin and Yeji had fought for. Whispers filled the halls, speculation growing with every passing hour.
The Yang Clan lived deep within the heart of an island, beyond the empire’s reach. A place shrouded in myths, where even the boldest warriors dared not tread. Some said they were phoenix-born, others claimed they were fae, beings untouched by mortal laws. Few had ever encountered them, and even fewer lived to speak of it.
Yeji and Hyunjin had met them only once, on the coronation of their parents—the moment their father and mother ascended as emperor and empress. That day, the Yang Clan had arrived in silence, their presence ethereal, their eyes like stars burning in the dark. They had spoken in riddles, their voices lilting like a song only the wind could carry. Then, as quickly as they had appeared, they vanished, leaving behind only whispers of their existence.
Now, Hyunjin was determined to reach them again—but not by the empire’s methods. Not by force or negotiation, as Bang Chan and Yeji had initially planned.
"We send an envoy, establish a line of trade, a gesture of goodwill," Bang Chan had suggested, tracing a map with his fingers.
"No," Yeji countered. "They will see it as a bribe. They don’t deal in gold or treaties. They deal in truths. We must prove our worth. We must challenge them."
Hyunjin had listened, silent. Then, he shook his head. "You’re both wrong. They don’t need trade. They don’t need warriors. They need to know if we are still bound to them. If we still hear them."
Yeji frowned. "What are you saying?"
Hyunjin exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. "Mother never spoke of them, but she never truly left them either. If we are of her blood, then we are of the Yang Clan. If we are of the Yang Clan, then we should be able to reach them."
Bang Chan scoffed. "You think they’ll hear you across the sea? Through a mind link? That’s—"
"That’s how they called mother home the night of the coronation," Hyunjin said softly, his voice unwavering. "I felt it then, but I didn’t understand. The whisper in the wind, the pull in my chest. It wasn’t magic. It was a bond. A link forged through generations. And if it still exists… I can reach them."
Silence stretched between them.
Yeji’s hands curled into fists. "That’s a risk. If you reach out and they reject us—"
"Then we were never meant to return," Hyunjin finished. "But if they answer…"
A shiver passed through the room.
"Then we will have allies stronger than the empire itself."
Bang Chan studied him, unease settling in his stomach. This was not the Hyunjin he knew—the soft-spoken, naïve boy who used to hide behind Yeji’s shadow. That Hyunjin would have clung to Yeji, waiting for her to decide the next step. But now, here he stood, speaking of mind links and ancient ties with the confidence of someone who had always known.
And yet, Bang Chan could see it—the flicker of doubt in Hyunjin’s gaze. The way his fingers twitched ever so slightly, as if holding onto something invisible.
"You don’t remember her," Bang Chan said, his voice quieter. "Your mother. And yet, you know this?"
Hyunjin hesitated. The room felt colder suddenly, his own thoughts pressing down on him like an unseen weight. "I don’t remember her," he admitted. "Not her face, not her voice. But this? This I know. And I don’t understand why."
Yeji’s breath hitched. She had always assumed Hyunjin had simply been too young to remember their mother, but now, the possibility that his memories had been taken from him, locked away, sent a wave of unease through her.
It was Sana who finally broke the silence. "Perhaps your mind is blocked," she mused, stepping forward. "Not erased. Sealed. A protection placed long ago. And if that is the case..." she met Hyunjin’s gaze, her dark eyes gleaming, "I may be able to help you open it."
Sana was of the Minatozaki Clan, a house of healers whose influence bloomed quietly like the roses on their sigil. They were like ivy creeping through the cracks of a kingdom—delicate, beautiful, but utterly unshakable. Unlike warriors who wielded steel, they wielded knowledge, and their power lay in the unseen. Their presence in the empire was often overlooked, their gifts mistaken for whispers of kindness rather than tools of control. But those who underestimated them never lived long enough to regret it.
Hyunjin sat before her, cross-legged, as Sana arranged a small altar of candles and fresh rose petals around them. The air smelled of damp earth and something sweeter—something laced with old magic. The flickering candlelight cast shadows that twisted and curled, like vines waiting to bloom.
"Your father must have done this himself," Sana murmured, tracing a sigil into the wooden floor with her fingertip. "A Luna is powerful, Hyunjin. Too powerful, if untrained. You were too young, too open. If he hadn’t sealed it, you would have been a beacon for those who sought to control you. He did it to protect you."
Hyunjin swallowed, his hands gripping his knees. "And now?"
Sana smiled faintly. "Now you are strong enough to choose for yourself."
She pressed a single rose petal to his forehead. The moment it touched his skin, a rush of warmth flooded his veins, spreading like sunlight beneath his ribs. The world wavered—colors darkened, edges blurred. It felt like sinking into deep water, the weight of something vast pressing in on him from all sides.
Then—
A voice. Distant. Familiar.
A woman’s laugh, light as wind chimes in the summer breeze.
Hyunjin’s breath caught. The scent of jasmine and salt water filled his senses. He was standing somewhere else now, somewhere he had never seen but somehow knew. Towering trees with golden leaves swayed in the breeze, their branches arching toward an endless sky. A silver river ran beside him, reflecting the constellations above.
And there, by the water’s edge, a figure turned toward him.
She was not a stranger.
She was the thing missing inside of him.
Hyunjin’s lips parted. "Mother?"
The word barely left his mouth before everything shattered.
He gasped, jerking back into his body with a force that sent him reeling. He was on the floor of the study, Sana kneeling before him, her hands pressed against his temples. The candles had burned low, wax pooling like blood on the wooden floor. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, his lungs heaving as he struggled to ground himself in reality once more.
Sana’s voice was steady, anchoring him. "Did you see her?"
Hyunjin’s fingers curled against the floor. His throat tightened. "I saw her. I don’t remember her, but I saw her."
Yeji and Bang Chan stood frozen, watching him, their expressions unreadable. But Sana merely nodded, the corners of her lips curving in something between satisfaction and sorrow. "The seal is weakening. It will not break all at once. But now, she knows you are looking for her."
Hyunjin’s hands trembled. For the first time in his life, his mother was no longer just a name lost to history. She was waiting for him to remember her.
He sat in silence, the weight of revelation pressing against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, but everything within him trembled. The memories that had once been veiled, hidden beneath layers of protection, now unfurled like flames licking at the edges of his mind.
Yang Guifei.
His mother’s name rang through him like a bell tolling in the depths of his soul. She was not a whisper lost to time, not a shadow confined to the past. She was the most powerful Luna of the Yang Clan, the embodiment of their divine blood. The woman whose presence had once commanded an empire was not dead—no, she had transcended.
Moksa. The final rebirth.
She had become something beyond mortal reach. A true phoenix.
Hyunjin’s breath hitched as he recalled her face. Red hair like the first light of dawn, eyes that held the wisdom of centuries. He had her features, her gentle elegance, but the silver strands of his hair belonged to his father, the Dragon Emperor. Yeji, on the other hand, bore no trace of their mother. She was their father’s daughter in every way—a being of pure dragon’s blood, unshaken, unyielding.
For so long, he had thought himself lesser, incomplete. But now he understood. He was not merely his father’s son, nor was he his mother’s shadow. He was the convergence of two bloodlines that were never meant to intertwine—fire and scales, sky and sea.
And now, with the unsealing of his mind, he could feel it.
The gift of the phoenix blood.
He turned his gaze toward Bang Chan, watching as the man observed him carefully, gauging the changes in him. But Hyunjin did not need to guess Bang Chan’s thoughts anymore. For the first time, he could see them, **feel them**, just as clearly as he could feel the heat of a flame.
Bang Chan was ambitious. He was a wolf, and wolves were born to chase, to hunger for power. But he was not a fox—never deceitful, never cunning in the way that betrayed those he called his own. He was an opportunist, but his loyalty was unwavering. A wolf never turned on its pack.
Hyunjin smiled faintly. "You’ve never deceived us, have you?"
Bang Chan blinked, his brow furrowing. "What?"
"You’re always looking for an advantage, always thinking ten steps ahead," Hyunjin murmured, tilting his head. "But you’ve never lied to us. Never turned your back on us."
Bang Chan exhaled sharply, leaning back against the chair, his arms crossing over his chest. "That’s not exactly a compliment."
Hyunjin chuckled, the sound light but knowing. "It is."
Bang Chan had spent years proving himself in the only way a wolf could—through action, through endurance. He had fought for his clan, he had killed for his people, and he had bled for the empire that had never once offered him loyalty in return. Yet now, in this moment, none of those things mattered. Because here, before Hyunjin, he was not a general, not a strategist, not a ruler.
He was a wolf, baring his throat.
But for the first time, he was uncertain. He had always thought power and dominance would be the only way to prove himself, yet Hyunjin was unlike anyone he had ever encountered. A Luna—a presence that commanded without force, that demanded without speaking. It unsettled him in ways he couldn’t describe. He had spent his life winning wars, but Hyunjin was a battle he did not know how to fight.
So, he did what wolves did.
He courted.
At first, it was awkward. Painfully so.
Bang Chan, the fearsome Alpha, the conqueror of battlefields, suddenly found himself in unfamiliar territory. Wooing.
He sent gifts—rare silks, gold-embellished robes, moonstone jewelry fit for an imperial consort. They were extravagant, befitting a dragon heir, but Hyunjin barely spared them a glance. The silks remained folded, the jewelry untouched. Bang Chan bristled, unsure if he had miscalculated, if this display of wealth meant nothing to someone who had once worn a crown.
Then, he tried scenting. More deliberate this time.
He lingered—closer than necessary. His scent wrapped around Hyunjin like the slow curl of smoke, rich with cedar and musk, warm and grounding.
Possessive.
He let his fingers brush against Hyunjin’s wrist when handing him tea, let his breath ghost against the shell of his ear when murmuring in low tones.
And yet—
Hyunjin never recoiled. Never stepped back. But he never leaned in either.
Bang Chan found himself watching, waiting---searching for a sign that the dragon heir acknowledged the tension twisting between them, the pulse of something beneath their interactions that neither dared name.
But Hyunjin only observed him with knowing eyes, too knowing.
And then, one evening, Bang Chan caught it.
In the way Hyunjin turned his head, the effortless grace in the way he carried himself, the way he felt like a presence even in silence—
A glimpse of someone Bang Chan had known long ago.
For the briefest moment, his breath hitched.
Sana.
Not in appearance, not in voice—but in the way Hyunjin moved, the way he commanded without force, the way he could devastate someone with a single glance.
Bang Chan swallowed hard, pulse stuttering. The scenting, the gifts, the pursuit—it had all been for Hyunjin.
And yet, somewhere in the middle of it, he had begun to chase something else.
Or perhaps, someone else.
Desperate for something undeniable, Bang Chan resorted to an old tradition—a wolf’s greatest act of devotion. The hunt.
Wolves did not bring flowers. They did not weave poetry in honeyed words or craft delicate love letters. **They hunted.** They provided. They laid their offerings at the feet of the ones they sought to claim.
And so, Bang Chan disappeared into the forest before dawn, alone, leaving nothing but the ghost of his scent behind.
Hyunjin knew.
He had felt the absence before he even opened his eyes, the space Bang Chan left behind in the air, in the silence. He did not ask where he had gone. He already knew.
When Bang Chan returned, it was with blood on his hands, breath heavy in his chest, muscles taut with exhaustion. He dropped the kill at Hyunjin’s feet—a wild boar, freshly slain, the scent of its life still lingering in the air.
A tribute. An offering. A wolf’s vow.
The moment stretched, thick and charged. The flickering candlelight cast shadows over Bang Chan’s face, his jaw clenched, his gaze unreadable as he waited.
Hyunjin’s gaze flickered between the offering and the man who had brought it, taking in the way his tunic clung to sweat-dampened skin, the rise and fall of his chest, the way he **stood—waiting.**
Bang Chan did not speak. He did not need to. His presence was a weight in the room, pressing, demanding, expectant.
And then—
Hyunjin laughed.
The sound was soft, lilting—unexpected. Like wind chimes stirred by an evening breeze, delicate yet unshaken. Not cruel. Not mocking. Just… amused.
Bang Chan stiffened, his hackles rising in confusion. What was so funny?
Hyunjin lifted a hand, brushing his fingers over his lips as if to stifle the remnants of his laughter, but his eyes gleamed in the dim light. Amused. Pleased.
Bang Chan shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat. "You do not accept it?"
Hyunjin tilted his head, his expression unreadable, unreadable in the way that made Bang Chan’s stomach coil tight. "It is not that. I appreciate the effort. But you misunderstand."
Bang Chan exhaled sharply, irritation flickering beneath his skin. "Then tell me." His voice was rougher now, edged with something raw. Something desperate.
"How am I to be worthy of you?"
His words were not a challenge, not a demand, but something closer to surrender. A plea dressed in sharp edges.
Hyunjin’s amusement softened, just slightly. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his presence filling the space between them like the steady pulse of a drum. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but his words were a blade to the throat.
"I never needed gifts. I never needed your strength. If you truly wish to prove yourself to me… then be worthy of her."
Bang Chan froze.
The air shifted. The room, once charged with expectation, now stilled.
Understanding crashed into him, swift and brutal. For all his efforts, for every trial he had endured, for all the ways he had tried to claim something for himself—
He had been blind to the one thing Hyunjin truly wanted from him.
Sana.
His breath caught in his throat.
Not Hyunjin. Not a throne. Not power.
Her.
The woman who had stood by him, who had suffered loss after loss, who had buried every shattered piece of herself in silence. And he had abandoned her.
Hyunjin’s gaze remained steady, unwavering. "You want to be worthy of me, Bang Chan? Then be worthy of her."
Bang Chan’s pulse thundered in his ears, shame curling deep in his stomach. He had spent so long proving himself as a warrior, as a ruler, as a wolf.
But he had failed as a man.
And so, he turned.
He found Sana where she always was—in the quiet, tending to wounds that were not hers to bear, giving warmth to others while her own heart ached from the cold.
He knelt before her.
The motion was instinctive, primal. His body, so used to command, so used to war, now yielded. Not out of duty. Not out of submission.
Out of devotion.
Sana stared at him for a long moment, her dark eyes unreadable. Then, finally, she spoke, her voice calm yet carrying the weight of something old and unshaken. "Do you mean it this time? Or is this another war you’re trying to win?"
Bang Chan swallowed hard. She knew him too well.
"This was never a war," he murmured, his voice low, rough with something unspoken. "It was always supposed to be a home. And I lost sight of that. But if you let me…" He hesitated, then lifted his gaze to hers.
"I will build it again. With you."
Silence stretched between them, thick with old wounds and unspoken words. Then, slowly, Sana reached for him, her fingers ghosting over his jaw before curling into his hair.
Bang Chan exhaled, something in his chest finally, finally loosening.
Hyunjin watched the exchange from a distance, his heart heavy, yet hopeful. He did not expect Bang Chan to change overnight, but perhaps this was enough—a first step. A chance.
That night, as Sana sat beside him, tending to his hair, Hyunjin spoke softly. "Do you regret it?"
Sana hummed, her fingers gentle as they brushed through silver strands. "Regret what?"
"That you stayed. That you loved him."
Sana was quiet for a moment, then sighed. "I regret the pain. But love itself? No."
She met his gaze, her expression unreadable. "And you? Do you regret offering yourself?"
Hyunjin hesitated. "I do not know. That is why I ask you now. If I bear a child for the Bang Clan… would it hurt you?"
Sana’s hands paused. Her lips parted slightly, but no immediate words came.
Hyunjin felt something tighten in his chest. "If you say no, I will not do it."
Sana exhaled, leaning back slightly. "You are the first person to ask me that."
Hyunjin frowned. "He never did?"
Sana’s laugh was soft, but without humor. "No. But you… you would give up an empire for someone else’s heart." She reached out, brushing a strand of silver hair behind his ear. "You are kind, Hyunjin. But I do not want you to make this decision for me. Make it for yourself."
Hyunjin nodded, his thoughts tangled. "I will think on it."
Sana smiled. "That is all I ask."
Days passed, and Bang Chan changed in ways no one had expected. He was still a beast of war, still the wolf of the north, but around Sana, his sharp edges softened. He listened more, spoke less. He sought her out, not for obligation, but for companionship.
Hyunjin watched it unfold, quiet and observing. Perhaps this was what he had needed all along.
On the night of the full moon, Bang Chan stood before Hyunjin once more, but this time, there was no arrogance, no desperation.
Only certainty.
"I will honor my vow," Bang Chan said, his voice steady. "Not just to you. But to her."
Hyunjin exhaled, something unspoken passing between them. He reached out, pressing his palm lightly over Bang Chan’s chest, where his heart beat strong beneath his ribs. "Then you are worthy."
Bang Chan bowed his head. And for the first time, the wolf did not kneel out of submission.
He knelt in devotion.
—
But while Hyunjin accepted Bang Chan’s shift with grace, Yeji found herself watching him instead.
For the first time in her life, Hyunjin cast a shadow.
Yeji had always been the one people turned to, the one who stood tallest. She had been their leader, their protector, the last pillar of their shattered dynasty. Hyunjin had been her responsibility, the quiet presence behind her, the one she shielded, the one she bore the burden of keeping safe.
But now—
People were looking at him.
Hyunjin had changed. He carried himself with something deeper, something heavier. It was in the way he moved, the way he spoke—soft, but absolute. He did not demand, yet people followed. He did not seek attention, yet eyes found him, liingered on him.
And it unsettled Yeji.
She had always known her brother was beautiful. He had their mother’s ethereal grace, their father’s quiet power. But it had never been like this.
She caught the way Bang Chan’s gaze lingered a second too long, the way Sana’s lips parted in the briefest hesitation before answering him. She saw how the court shifted, whispers growing, something brewing beneath the surface.
She looked at him now, truly looked.
And she understood.
This was dangerous.
Hyunjin had been soft once, a gentle, submissive presence. But now, there was something untouchable about him, something otherworldly. He was beautiful—too beautiful. In a way that made people stare too long, made them forget their own names, made them want to have him.
And he was unaware of it.
For so long, he had been in the background, content to exist in the periphery of her protection. But that time had passed. He was stepping forward now, stepping out of her shadow.
And the world was watching.
Yeji clenched her fists, a pit forming in her stomach. She had fought wars, had slain men in battle, had stared death in the face—but this? This scared her.
Because power did not always come from strength.
Sometimes, it came from devotion. And people would go mad for him.
Sneak-peek for the next chapter:
The night was still when Hyunjin reached out.
The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and fresh rain. The candle beside him flickered, casting long shadows across the floor, but he barely noticed. His breathing was steady, his eyes half-lidded as he reached beyond.
Mind linking was not simple. It was not just a connection—it was an intrusion, an invitation, a bridge built on trust. The Yang Clan did not open their doors for just anyone, and they would not welcome him if they did not acknowledge his right.
But he was of their blood.
So he called.
And someone answered.
At first, it was nothing but static. A flicker of something distant. Then, a presence—a warmth against his mind, hesitant, uncertain, but there.
And then— Hyunjin saw it, a young man.
He learn his name quickly.
“Yang Jeongin.”
—
Yang Jeongin’s breath hitched.
He saw him. Not just his thoughts, not just his voice, but him, stood at the threshold of his mind, too real, too vivid.
He was beautiful.
Not in the way mortals were. Not in the way men were. He was something else.
Regal. Serene. Otherworldly.
He was too much and yet perfectly composed. His silver hair cascaded down his back, sleek and untouched, glinting like moonlight on water. It framed a face that was sculpted with sharp precision—high cheekbones, an elegant nose, a strong, defined jawline. But it was his eyes that stole Jeongin’s breath.
Ruòfēng.
Phoenix eyes in amethyst color, slanted and captivating, dark pools that reflected nothing and everything at once. They were lined with a quiet sharpness, a gaze that felt like it saw through him, beyond him.
And yet, they were gentle.
His skin was pale, flawless in a way that should not be real. His body was a contradiction—slender, yet strong, delicate yet firm, a balance of grace and silent power. His frame was ethereal, impossible. Long, shapely legs, a tapering waist, an elegance that belonged to something divine rather than mortal.
And the details—
The moles.
Scattered across his skin, constellations of beauty marks that Jeongin’s eyes traced instinctively. A single mole below his left eye, like a mark of fate. Dimples that softened his expression when he tilted his head, like a secret waiting to be uncovered.
Jeongin’s pulse thundered in his ears.
This… this was dangerous.
He had not spoken, had not moved, yet Jeongin felt ensnared.
He had expected a dragon. A warrior. A prince.
Not a goddess.
His breath came uneven now, his mind struggling to make sense of what he was seeing, what he was feeling. He had never felt like this before—never had his soul rattle from just looking at someone.
And then, he smiled.
“Hwang Hyunjin. My name is Hwang Hyunjin.”
Soft. Knowing. Damnation wrapped in silk.
And Yang Jeongin knew—
He was already lost.
—