Chapter Text
Lee Minhyeong was not born into nobility. He came from a small village on the outskirts of the kingdom—a place where the soil was thin and the winters were long.
His father had been a farmer, his hands calloused from years of working the stubborn earth and his mother had died when he was young he barely recalled her face and voice anymore. Minhyeong had grown up with nothing but calloused hands of his own and a stubborn will to survive.
Good thing he didn't present as an omega but a beta. So when the king's recruiters came to his village looking for strong young men to serve in the royal guard, Minhyeong volunteered immediately and got accepted. It wasn't patriotism that drove him. It was money. He wanted to pay back all his dad's hard work to raise him all these years that he didn't think much and joined as the guard.
But somewhere along the way—through the grueling training, the sleepless nights, the first time he picked up a sword and felt it fit perfectly in his palm—Minhyeong finally found a purpose in life.
He rose through the ranks quickly since he possessed everything they wanted for a guard. Strength, skills and the most important thing was… loyalty.
When his commander gave an order, Minhyeong followed it without hesitation. When his comrades needed help, Minhyeong was there. When the king needed someone to trust, Minhyeong proved himself worthy.
He became one of King Sanghyeok's most trusted knights and through that position, he met Kim Geonwoo.
They met at a diplomatic gathering since Kim Geonwoo was the leader of the knights of Han Wangho’s kingdom. The great hall was filled with nobles from both sides, their silks and jewels glittering in the torchlight. Minhyeong had been assigned to guard the eastern entrance of the great hall. His job was simple. It was just standing still, looking imposing, and making sure His Majesty was safe.
He had been doing an excellent job of it—standing rigidly, expression neutral, eyes scanning the crowd—until he heard a voice beside him.
"You look like you're about to march into battle. Ease down a little, won't you?"
Minhyeong turned sharply, his hand instinctively moving toward his sword—just in case.
The man standing beside him was an alpha who was just a tad taller than him. But he looked huge since he had broad shoulders, a strong jaw, and sharp eyes that looked attractive. He wore the colors of King Wangho's kingdom—and his stance was more relaxed than his, "you are too stiff.” the man continued, his smile widening, “you'll give yourself a cramp standing like that all night."
"I'm on duty," Minhyeong replied evenly, "I'm supposed to be stiff."
"Ah… Well, you're doing an excellent job of it." The man let out a warm chuckle. Then he extended his hand, "I'm Kim Geonwoo," he said, extending his hand, "one of King Wangho's personal guards."
Minhyeong stared at the offered hand for a moment before taking it. The man's grip was firm and warm, his palm rough with calluses that matched Minhyeong's own.
"Lee Minhyeong. Knight of King Sanghyeok's royal guard."
"Ah, so we're on the other side." Geonwoo said, still smiling, "we should probably glare at each other more dramatically."
Minhyeong blinked, clearly taken aback by Geonwoo's words, "what?"
"For appearances. The nobles love watching us posture and pretend we hate each other. It gives them something to gossip about." Geonwoo leaned in slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "but between you and me, I've never understood why we have to be enemies just because our kings are rivals. We're both just soldiers, aren't we? Trying to protect the people we serve."
Minhyeong felt his guard lower—just a little, because you could never be too sure with an alpha. There was something disarmingly honest about this man and that made it hard to remember they were supposed to be on opposite sides, "...I suppose that's true." he admitted.
Geonwoo grinned, "see? We're practically friends already."
And it worked! That was how easy it took to make friends, apparently.
Geonwoo was unlike any alpha Minhyeong had ever met. He was cheerful. He had a way of making everyone around him feel like they mattered and filled the room with warmth. The alpha was also fiercely loyal to his king—Minhyeong saw it in the way Geonwoo spoke of Wangho, with genuine respect and affection—but he never let duty make him cold and senseless.
When their kingdoms hosted joint events, Geonwoo would find Minhyeong immediately. They'd stand together in corners, quietly sharing food and gossip about the nobles.
"You know what…" Geonwoo said one evening, gesturing with a piece of bread he'd stolen from a serving tray, "that minister over there—the one with the ridiculous crooked hat—he was caught last week with his mistress. In the royal gardens. In broad daylight."
Minhyeong choked on his drink, "you are not serious."
"Oh, it's absolutely true. My king told me himself."
"Your king gossips about his ministers?"
"My king loves gossip." Geonwoo leaned in, eyes sparkling, "and I love my king for it. He's the most human person I've ever met. He cries at weddings, laughs at funerals, and knows everyone's secrets. He's not like the other kings who likes to play pretend."
Minhyeong shook his head, but he couldn't stop the smile tugging at his lips, "you're impossible." he said.
"And you are so predictable and too serious." Geonwoo replied cheerfully, "a smile would suit you better, I think."
The beta huffed a laugh, “a calm and collected personality will suit your appearance too.”
They met whenever they could. In between diplomatic visits, when their patrol routes crossed, in the brief moments between duties. It became a game—finding each other in the chaos of royal gatherings, stealing moments of conversation before someone noticed. Sometimes they'd spar.
Minhyeong was fast and precise, his movements calculated and so different from Geonwoo who was stronger, more brutal, relying on sheer power to overwhelm his opponents. The first time they fought, Minhyeong won. The beta would disarmed Geonwoo in three moves, his sword tip resting against the larger man's throat.
"You're fast." Geonwoo admitted, not looking the least bit defeated.
"You have to think before you attack." Minhyeong corrected.
The second time, Geonwoo won by catching Minhyeong's blade with his own and twisted, sending the sword flying from his grip, "I did think. But still, strength matters." The alpha grinned.
"Luck matters more." Minhyeong grumbled.
By the tenth time, they'd lost count—and they'd stopped caring who came out on top. The fighting became less about victory and more about the joy of testing each other, pushing each other to be better.
"Your form is getting sloppy." Geonwoo said one afternoon, catching Minhyeong's blade with his own. The practice yard was empty, the other soldiers having long since retreated to their duties, “you can't win a fight like that.”
"Says the man who almost tripped over his own feet."
"That was a tactical retreat." Geonwoo made an excuse.
"Retreat implies you planned to come back."
Geonwoo laughed and disarmed him before declaring, "victory is mine." He pointed his practice sword at Minhyeong's chest.
"You let me win last time." The beta accused.
Geonwoo blinked innocently, "did I? I don't remember."
"You're a terrible liar."
"And you're a sore loser."
Minhyeong scowled, but he couldn't maintain the expression. At least not when Geonwoo was looking at him like that. And in those quiet moments between the laughter, Minhyeong sometimes caught Geonwoo looking at him longer than necessary, like there was something he wanted to say but couldn't find the words.
Minhyeong never asked what it was. He didn't know that he would regret that later.
It was during one of these stolen moments that Minhyeong realized he was in love.
They were sitting on the wall that separated the two kingdoms' patrol routes. It was almost midnight, the sky thick with stars, and the air was cool against their skin. Geonwoo had somehow acquired a bottle of wine—Minhyeong didn't ask how—and they were passing it back and forth, talking about nothing and everything.
"Do you ever think about the future?" the alpha asked suddenly.
Minhyeong tilted his head, "what do you mean?"
"I mean—after all this." Geonwoo gestured vaguely at the world around them, "the politics, wars, and the constant tension. Do you ever think about what comes next?"
Minhyeong considered the question, "I've never thought about it." he admitted, "I've always just... existed. One day at a time."
"That sounds lonely."
Minhyeong’s lips twitched, "maybe. But it's all I've ever known."
Geonwoo was quiet for a moment before he said, "I think about it all the time."
"About what?"
"About having a different life." Geonwoo's voice was soft, almost dreamy, "a life where we're not enemies. Where we can just... exist. Together."
Minhyeong's heart stuttered, "together?"
"Would that be so strange?" Geonwoo turned to look at him, his dark eyes catching the starlight, "we get along better than anyone else I know. And I've known a lot of people."
"Geonwoo—"
"I'm not saying we have to be—" Geonwoo stopped himself and shook his head, "never mind. Forget I said anything."
But Minhyeong couldn't forget any of it. The words echoed in his head for days, weeks, months.
He never asked Geonwoo what he meant by being together. He was too scared of ruining the fragile thing they had built. If he pushed too hard, if he asked the wrong question, he might lose Geonwoo entirely. And he was sure he could never bear that.
So he stayed silent. Pretending he hadn't heard the longing in Geonwoo's voice and his heart didn't race every time the alpha looked at him. He pretended he wasn't in love.
Minhyeong didn't know when everything went wrong.
One day, he was sparring with Geonwoo in the courtyard of Wangho's palace, laughing at some joke he'd made. The next, his king—Sanghyeok—was summoning him to the war room.
"The plan has changed." Sanghyeok said, his voice cold and measured, "the marriage alliance is no longer sufficient."
Minhyeong felt his blood run cold, "Your Majesty?"
"I intend to conquer Wangho's kingdom."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Minhyeong's mind raced, trying to process what he'd just heard. Conquest. War. Bloodshed. The death of thousands, including—
"Your Majesty, with respect—" Minhyeong began, but Sanghyeok cut him off.
"This is not a request, Minhyeong. This is an order."
Minhyeong's hands trembled at his sides. His throat was dry, "Your Majesty, the people of Wangho's kingdom—they are not our enemies. There must be another way."
Sanghyeok's gaze sharpened, "you question my decision?"
"No, Your Majesty." The knight said quickly, "I would never—I only meant—"
"I understand you have friendships in that kingdom.” the king interrupted, "but you are my knight first. Your loyalty is to my throne. Don't ever forget your place."
Minhyeong bowed his head, "yes. Apologies, Your Majesty."
Geonwoo was standing guard at the eastern gate of the palace—alone, for once—when Minhyeong approached him from the shadows. The panic outweighs the shock since it wasn't the place he should be seeing the beta.
"Minhyeong? What are you doing here? It's late."
Minhyeong didn't answer immediately. He just stood there, looking at Geonwoo. Immortalizing his face before he told him what was about to come.
"Minhyeong?" Geonwoo's smile faltered, "what's wrong?"
"Geonwoo." Minhyeong forced the words out, "you have to leave. Now."
"What?"
"War is coming.” Minhyeong said urgently, "my king has declared it. He's going to march on your kingdom. You need to leave before it starts."
Geonwoo stared at him with a frown, "why would I leave? My king needs me."
Even though Minhyeong realized how Geonwoo remembered his place as the knight and to protect the king, the thought that Geonwoo might die from this war was still unsettling to him.
"You can't stay. If you stay here any longer, you'll die."
Still with the Knight's mentality, Geonwoo refused again, "that's my choice to make."
"No, Geonwoo—" Minhyeong grabbed his arm, his grip was so desperate, "please. I'm not supposed to be telling you this. I'm betraying my king by being here. But I can't—I can't let you die. Please. Leave. Run. Go somewhere far away where no one can find you."
Geonwoo looked confused at first and there was a sliver of hurt flashed in his eyes before he forced his expression to be unreadable, which made Minhyeong's heart clench. The alpha stepped closer, until Minhyeong could see the way his throat moved when he swallowed, “why do you care if I live or die?"
"Because—" Minhyeong started off so strong, only to stop after the first word because he didn't know how to word it out. .
How could he explain the way his heart raced whenever Geonwoo laughed? How could he explain the sleepless nights, the dreams, the constant need to be close to someone who should be his enemy? He didn't have the words for it.
So he said nothing.
"I see." Geonwoo said quietly. Then he pulled his arm free and stepped back, "go home, Lee Minhyeong. And forget you ever knew me."
"Geonwoo, at least listen—"
"If my kingdom falls, I will fall with it." Geonwoo's voice was firm, leaving no argument, "that's what it means to be a knight. I thought you, of all people, would understand that."
Minhyeong's throat tightened, "I understand. I do. But I also—"
"Then let me make my choice." Geonwoo met his eyes, "and you make yours."
In the end, Minhyeong never told him because he never found the courage and he was a coward.
And by the time the war began, it was too late.
The war did come, on a grey and cold day, with Minhyeong standing at the front lines, surrounded by the soldiers of Sanghyeok's army. His armor was heavy on his shoulders, his sword slick with blood that wasn't his own. The sounds of battle raged around him—clashing steel, dying screams, the thunder of hooves against mud—but his mind was somewhere else.
Somewhere out there, in the chaos of blue and silver banners, Geonwoo was fighting with fire ablaze in his eyes and body dodging the attacks with all his might.
I should have tried harder, Minhyeong thought, parrying a blow from an enemy soldier. I should have made him leave.
But it was too late. The war had begun. And they had made their choice.
The beta fought and moved on instinct. Each motion was drilled into him through years of training and preparation for this very moment. His sword arm was heavy with exhaustion, but he couldn't stop. If he stopped, he would die. If he died, he would never see Geonwoo again.
He never thought he would live long enough to reach the moment with Geonwoo on the other side, despite how well both kingdoms' relationship lasted for years.
The battlefield stretched endlessly before him—a sea of bodies and blood and broken banners. Minhyeong pushed forward, cutting down anyone who stood in his path. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to kill these men who had done nothing wrong except serve their king.
But he had his orders. And he was serving his own king too.
A cry rang out to his left made Minhyeong turned his head while raising his sword.
He froze when he saw Geonwoo standing twenty paces away, surrounded by three of Minhyeong's comrades. His armor was dented and scarred, and helmet was lost somewhere in the chaos. Blood ran down the side of his face from a gash above his eyebrow, but his eyes—those dark, warm eyes that had always looked at Minhyeong with such affection—were blazing with cold fury.
He moved like a sturdy wall, his sword swinging in wide, brutal movements, making two of Minhyeong's comrades fall down. The alpha was relentless, his strikes fueled by desperation and grief. The third soldier tried to circle around him, but Geonwoo was too swift on his feet. He spun, his blade catching the man across the chest, and the soldier crumpled to the ground. Blood seeping through the red and black uniform of Sanghyeok's kingdom.
Geonwoo stood alone in the middle of the carnage, his chest heaving, his sword dripping crimson. He was breathing hard, his shoulders rising and falling with each ragged breath. Blood dripped from his chin, from the wound on his face, from a dozen smaller cuts that covered his arms and hands.
Then he turned, making their eyes meet across the battlefield.
The sounds of war faded into a dull roar, distant and unimportant. Minhyeong could see Geonwoo's expression went through several emotions. Shock to pain, regret, and then... a grim acceptance that made the beta’s stomach drop.
Geonwoo raised his sword. The blade caught the grey light, glinting dully. Minhyeong raised his own. His hands were trembling.
And they charged at each other.
Their blades clashed with a sound that echoed across the battlefield. The impact shuddered through Minhyeong's arms, vibrating up to his shoulders and into his spine. Geonwoo was stronger—he always had been—and the force of the blow nearly sent Minhyeong stumbling backward. He caught himself, his boots sliding in the mud, and pushed back with everything he had.
"Minhyeong." Geonwoo grunted, straining against the force of their locked swords. His face was close, close enough that Minhyeong could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, “you should have stayed away."
"I couldn't.” Minhyeong replied, breathless. "I had to protect you. I had to—"
"I told you to forget me."
"Could you forget me?!" Minhyeong demanded, desperation bleeding into his voice. He could feel the tears building behind his eyes.
Geonwoo's jaw tightened. His eyes flickered—just for a moment—and Minhyeong saw the pain there. It was raw and deep, a wound that had been festering for years.
"Geonwoo." Minhyeong said, his voice cracking, "tell me why didn't you leave?"
Geonwoo didn't answer. Instead, he broke the lock and swung his sword again. Minhyeong barely managed to block it. The force of the blow sent him staggering sideways, his boots sliding in the mud. He caught himself just in time to deflect another strike, then another.
Geonwoo was relentless, his attacks coming faster and faster. Each blow was heavier than the last. The alpha wasn't holding back and fighting like a man who had nothing left to lose, his movements fueled by a desperation that bordered on madness. There was no strategy in his attacks anymore—just pure raw instinct.
And Minhyeong realized that he wasn't trying to attack him. Geonwoo was trying to die. He's trying to make Minhyeong kill him.
"Stop it!" Minhyeong shouted, blocking another strike, "Geonwoo, stop!"
"Make me!" Geonwoo roared back as he lunged forward, his sword aimed at Minhyeong's chest. Minhyeong twisted, barely avoiding the blade, and brought his own sword up in a counter-attack.
The tip of his blade caught Geonwoo's shoulder, slicing through the gap in his armor. Blood welled up immediately, dark red against pale skin. Geonwoo grunted but didn't slow down. He kept coming, his sword swinging in wide, deadly arcs.
"You're injured," Minhyeong said, his voice shaking. "Please—Geonwoo, stop! We can find another way—"
"There is no other way." Geonwoo said firmly, “I'll stop when my king tells me to.”
Time lost all meaning on the battlefield. They fought for what felt like hours, until Minhyeong's arms were heavy, lungs burned, and vision was starting to blur at the edges. He was bleeding from a dozen wounds—a deep gash on his forearm, a shallow cut across his ribs, a bruise blooming across his cheek where Geonwoo's fist had connected during a moment of close combat.
Geonwoo wasn't in better shape. His movements were slower and clumsier. His breathing was ragged, each inhale was a struggle. But his eyes still burned with determination. He was a man who had made peace with his end, and that made him more dangerous than anyone else on the battlefield.
The thought of them would die today and making this battlefield their last time seeing each other should have terrified him. Instead, it filled him with a strange, desperate resolve. If they were going to die, he wanted to die beside the alpha. He wanted to hold his hand and whisper the words he'd been too afraid to say.
He wanted to say I love you.
And then—above the sounds of battle—he heard the news spread.
"THE KING IS GONE! THE KING HAS BEEN TAKEN BY THE ENEMY!"
“KING WANGHO HAS FALLEN!"
“RETREAT! RETREAT! EVERY SOLDIER RETREAT NOW!"
Minhyeong froze and his first instinct was to look at Geonwoo.
The man had gone completely still. His sword hung loosely at his side, his face empty of emotion. For a moment, he looked frozen in time.
"Geonwoo?" Minhyeong's voice was uncertain, "what are you—"
"Minhyeong." Geonwoo's voice was near yet so far away, "I'm tired."
"What?"
"I've been fighting for so long." Geonwoo's sword slipped from his fingers. It fell to the ground with a dull clang, sinking slightly into the mud. He finally let his body feel things and only then he felt weak, "I thought—if I could just save him—if I could just protect my king—then maybe everything would be worth it."
He looked up at Minhyeong, and his expression was... peaceful. He looks like he's finally at rest.
"Geonwoo, no." Minhyeong shook his head frantically, "no. Whatever you're thinking, stop it. We can still—"
"Minhyeong." The alpha stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against Minhyeong's cheek. His touch was cold and bloody, but Minhyeong didn't flinch, "I need you to do something for me."
"What?" Minhyeong's voice broke, "what do you need?"
"I need you to kill me."
Geonwoo dropped his shield deliberately. It fell to the ground with a heavy clang, sinking slightly into the mud. His hands hung at his sides, open and empty. His chest was bare of any protection, the gap in his armor exposing the vulnerable flesh beneath.
And as though his pain wasn't sufficient yet, Minhyeong saw an arrow strike Geonwoo in the chest—taking advantage of how bare his body was without a shield protecting his torso.
The impact pushed him backward a step. His eyes widened—not from the pain, but from the force of it. The arrow had found the small gap in his armor, the one place where the metal didn't meet perfectly. It sank deep into his chest, buried between his ribs.
Geonwoo's knees buckled before he collapsed.
Minhyeong dropped everything and ran. He skidded to his knees beside Geonwoo's crumpled form, his hands already pressing against the wound, trying to stop the blood that was seeping through the cracks in the armor. The arrow was still lodged there, its shaft protruding from the alpha’s chest. Minhyeong could see the way the fletching trembled with each of Geonwoo's shallow breaths.
"No, no, no—" Minhyeong's voice was a broken sob. "Geonwoo, look at me. I can save—"
"It's… better this way." Geonwoo's thumb brushed away the tears streaming down Minhyeong's face, "I can't bear it if I have to watch you die. This is kinder."
"How is this kinder?!" Minhyeong demanded, his voice breaking entirely, "how is leaving me alone—?!"
"I love you." Geonwoo managed to spit it out with blood threatening to spill from the corner of his mouth, "maybe... in the next life..." Geonwoo's hand found Minhyeong's, his grip weak and slipping, "...I'll have the courage... to tell you sooner."
But he could feel it. He could feel the life draining out of Geonwoo, slipping through his fingers like water. The warmth was fading. The light in his eyes was dimming.
Geonwoo's hand went slack. His eyes, those dark and beautiful eyes, stared up at the grey sky. They didn't move. They didn't blink. They were empty, hollow, staring at Minhyeong but with no warmth left—just like his body.
Minhyeong didn't know how long he knelt there.
Time had stopped. The world had stopped. Everything that mattered was bleeding out into the mud, and Minhyeong was holding it in his arms, watching it slip away.
Geonwoo's body was still warm. Still heavy against Minhyeong's chest. His blood soaked through Minhyeong's armor, seeping into the fabric beneath. It was dark and thick and it would never wash off. The warmth was fading, the blood cooling against Minhyeong's skin.
Minhyeong pressed his forehead against Geonwoo's, just like Geonwoo had done moments before. He could feel the cold setting in, the warmth fading from his skin. Geonwoo's lips were turning blue. His face was pale.
"I love you," Minhyeong whispered, his voice broken and raw. But there would never be a response again.
"I love you, Geonwoo. I've always loved you. I should have told you. I should have said it while you were still alive. I was so scared. I was so—." He couldn't finish the sentence. The words were trapped in his throat, suffocating him.
Minhyeong pulled Geonwoo closer, holding him as tightly as he could. His body shook with sobs he couldn't control. The sounds that came out of him were ugly and broken.
Around them, the battle continued. Soldiers ran past, shouting orders. Swords clashed. Men died. But none of it mattered.
For Minhyeong, the war was over as soon as Geonwoo's body went cold.
He carried Geonwoo's body to the hill—it wasn't a proper burial, of course. There wasn't time for that.
The army was retreating, the enemy was regrouping, and there was no time for ceremony. But Minhyeong insisted and refused to let Geonwoo be thrown in a mass grave with the other enemy soldiers. He refused to let him be forgotten.
"He was a knight!" Minhyeong told the men who helped him. His voice was hollow, empty, "he was a knight and he served his king with honor. He deserves better than this stupid soil with no respect."
They didn't argue. They didn't ask questions. They just helped him carry the body through the chaos, away from the battlefield, to the hill overlooking the ruins of Han Wangho's kingdom.
The sky was still grey. The clouds hung low and heavy, pressing down on everything. It felt like the world was mourning with him.
Minhyeong dug the grave himself. He didn't allow himself to rest. His hands were raw and bleeding by the time he finished, but he didn't stop. The guilt ate him alive from the inside and now chasing him with time.
This was the last thing he could do for Geonwoo so he had to do it right.
The grave was deep and wide—big enough for Geonwoo to rest comfortably. Minhyeong lined the bottom with soft grass and flowers he'd gathered from the hillside. It wasn't much. It wasn't the grand burial Geonwoo deserved. But it was all Minhyeong could give.
He lowered Geonwoo's body into the grave. Slowly. Gently. Like he was handling something precious.
"Blue and silver." Minhyeong murmured, smoothing Geonwoo's tunic, "those were your colors. I saw you in it at our first meeting and even our last. I wanted you to wear them when you—" He swallowed back his tears, "I wanted you to be remembered as who you were. A knight. A loyal soldier. Someone who deserved better than what I gave you."
He pressed a kiss to Geonwoo's forehead. It was cold against his lips.
"I'll find you…" Minhyeong whispered as he ripped a little bit of his torn uniform, and tied the black and red fabric with Geonwoo's blue and silver ones, "in the next life. I'll find you and I won't be afraid. I'll let you know the truth from the very beginning."
He covered the grave with earth.
Each handful of dirt that fell on Geonwoo's body felt like a knife in Minhyeong's heart. He couldn't stop crying. The tears fell freely, mixing with the soil, soaking into the grave. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely scoop the dirt.
By the time he finished, the hill was covered in a fresh mound of earth. Minhyeong gathered stones and arranged them on top—a pathetic attempt to replace a gravestone, but it was better than nothing.
Proof that Geonwoo had lived and loved. That beneath the armor, the rank, and the duty, there had been a man whose heart belonged to someone.
He knelt beside the grave and pressed his palm to the dirt, "I love you." he said one last time, “may fate be kinder to both of us in our next lives.”
The wind answered, perhaps pitying Minhyeong since all his attempts to confess were met by cold body and silence.
Minhyeong stayed there until the sun set. Until the stars came out. Until his body was numb from cold and grief. He just sat there, staring at the grave, his hand pressed against the dirt.
And then, finally, he stood when he deemed it was enough.
He didn't look back as he walked away—he couldn't bear to. If he looked back, he would fall apart, collapse and never get up again.
So he stepped away, one foot in front of the other. Away from the grave and away from the love that slipped away from his fingers.
The days that followed were a blur. Minhyeong returned to Sanghyeok's kingdom hollow-eyed and silent. He fulfilled his duties like an empty shell—standing guard, training the new recruits, attending to the king's needs. But he was a shadow of the man he'd been before. His eyes were empty. His movements were slow.
Sanghyeok noticed, "you've changed." the king said one evening, when Minhyeong stood guard outside his chambers.
Minhyeong didn't look at him and just responded stiffly, "I've always been loyal, Your Majesty."
"That's not what I meant. You're... different."
And how could he be the same when the only person who made him alive is dead?
"I'm fine, Your Majesty." Minhyeong lied. "Just tired."
But even with lots of sleep, he never felt fine.
He was only living because he can't die yet. There was no joy or emotion beneath it. He was only waiting for his time to come. And so Minhyeong endured.
Day after day. Month after month. Year after year.
He lived for the hope of a future that might never come.
He lived long enough to serve Sanghyeok's successor, Lee Yechan, with the same quiet dedication he'd shown before.
Even until his last days, Minhyeong had never taken a partner, never sought companionship. Every time someone tried to approach him—tried to offer warmth or comfort—he pushed them away.
He had someone waiting for him, anyway.