The moon that night was unlike any other. Heavy and swollen, it bled across the sky-an ominous crimson orb hanging low over the royal palace of the Jeon dynasty, as if the heavens themselves had descended to witness what was to come. Blood-red clouds smothered the stars, leaving no trace of their guiding light. The wind had stilled. Even the night seemed to hold its breath. Inside the east wing of the palace, beneath a vaulted ceiling gilded in gold leaf and painted with celestial beasts locked in eternal dance, Queen Minah writhed in the throes of labor. Her screams tore through the air-raw, ragged, and relentless-echoing along the polished marble corridors like the cries of something being torn apart from within.

Maids rushed frantically in and out of the chamber, their hands trembling as they carried fresh linens, steaming bowls of herbal infusions, and cloths soaked in warm water. The sharp scent of crushed roots and medicinal leaves lingered heavily in the air. None of it helped. Nothing eased the Queen's agony. Her body trembled violently, slick with sweat that clung to her skin like a second layer. Strands of her once-perfect hair clung to her face, now a tangled crown of suffering. Her nails clawed at the silken sheets beneath her, her breath coming in broken gasps

She was an elder, her back slightly bent with age, her hands lined with the memory of countless births-princes and paupers alike. She had

The birthing chamber, usually radiant and grand with its intricate carvings of phoenixes rising and tigers prowling, felt suffocatingly dim. Oil lamps flickered weakly, their flames trembling as though frightened. Shadows clung stubbornly to every corner, stretching longer than they should. At the far edge of the room, priests stood in a rigid line, their heads bowed as they murmured chants of protection beneath their breath. Their voices were low, urgent-threaded with something dangerously close to fear. Not one of them dared look away from the Queen. Beyond the silk veil that marked the sanctum's boundary, King Jeon Haneul paced. Back and forth. Again and again.

Royal tradition forbade him from entering the birthing chamber during labor, yet his presence pressed against the room like heat from a raging fire. A man forged by war and hardened by rule, he was not one to falter-but tonight, his composure cracked. His hands trembled at his sides. His jaw clenched so tightly it ached. This was no ordinary birth. It had been foretold. A child of light would be born beneath a blood moon-a child destined to unite fractured lands and rule with the favor of the heavens themselves. A child of prophecy. And then- It came.

A cry

Sharp split Cry echoing the birth room

Then

JeonGugkk

Hello guys sorry for late update But this chapter is long hope you like it

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And then- The second child was delivered. Silence. No cry followed. The stillness that descended was unnatural-wrong. The baby did not wail. Did not gasp. Did not breathe. Instead, something else stirred. Shadows. At first faint, barely noticeable-then growing, thickening, coiling like tendrils of ink spilled into water. They gathered around the newborn, curling protectively, possessively. The flames of the lamps dimmed. The air turned cold.

Even the braziers sputtered as though suffocated. Cho-Sun stepped back instinctively, clutching the child to her chest. Her lips parted, but no sound emerged. The infant's skin was pale-too pale. Cool to the touch. Smaller than his brother. Fragile. Yet- Alive. His eyelids fluttered. Then opened. Black. Not dark-endless. No whites. No color. No light. Just depthless, consuming obsidian.

A murmur of horror spread through the chamber like wildfire.

The night swallowed them whole.

Beyond the palace walls, past the winding river that split the kingdom in two, and into the jagged southern mountain pass-where ancient legends claimed the gods had buried their greatest mistakes. The child remained silent throughout the journey. Not asleep. Watching. Unblinking. Unafraid. At last, the guard halted beneath an ancient tree, its massive trunk hollowed with age. Its twisted bark resembled faces frozen in grief, as though the forest itself mourned something long forgotten. Wind whispered softly through the branches above. The moon hid behind thick clouds.

Do-yun dismounted. He unwrapped the child carefully. The baby did not move-only stared up at him, mouth slightly parted, as if waiting. His blade was already drawn. One strike. That was all it would take. That was the order. Yet- He could not move. Slowly, he sank to one knee. For a fleeting, fragile moment, he saw not a curse... not a monster... But a child. Small.

Helpless. Human.

The child blinked once. And that was enough. With shaking hands, Do-yun lowered the blade. Instead, he laid the infant gently upon a bed of moss beneath the roots. He wrapped the blood-stained silk tighter around the tiny body, shielding it from the cold. Beside him, he placed a dagger-not as protection, but as mercy. If death came, let it be swift. He rose, forcing himself not to linger. Not to look back.

Mounting his horse, he rode into the darkness, his spine straight-but his heart unraveling with every step the animal took. Behind him, the shadows stirred. Curling closer. Protecting. And high within the trees— Something watched. Its silver eyes gleamed in the dark.

..........

The moon that night loomed heavy above the cliffs-vast, dimmed, and half-veiled behind drifting mist, like a watchful eye that refused to close. Its pale light bled across jagged rocks and ancient trees, turning the world silver and shadowed. The wind had stilled, yet the forest did not rest. It listened. Pine and damp earth scented the air, laced with the chill of melting snow that trickled down unseen paths. The branches barely moved, but the silence felt wrong-too deep, too aware. As though something unseen lingered between the trees, waiting. Beneath that uneasy sky, two figures walked along a narrow, moss-covered trail.

jin

In love with namjoon

Ran away from her home

Her father was trying to forced her to marry someone

Is from Jeon kingdom

Namjoon

In love with Jin

Is a farmer

Jin father can't accept him

So they ran away

Love her so much

Is also from Jeon kingdom

Jin pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, shivering despite herself. The cold had crept beneath her skin, settling somewhere deeper than the mountain air should reach. Her long dark hair lifted and danced with the faint breeze, strands catching the moonlight like threads of silver.

Beside her, Namjoon walked with steady steps, though his gaze wandered the forest more than the path. Every so often, his fingers brushed against hers-light, fleeting touches, as if to reassure her.

I'm here. You're not alone. They had left everything behind weeks ago. The lowlands. Their families. Their names. A life already written for them. Jin-the chancellor's daughter, raised among silk and politics, meant to marry power, not love. Namjoon-a farmer's son, with rough hands and a mind full of poetry, never meant to stand beside someone like her. But they had chosen each other. And the mountains, harsh and unforgiving, had given them something the world never had. Freedom.

But the moment lingered too long. The quiet stretched. And then- Something broke it. A sound. Soft. Fragile.

A cry. Namjoon stopped mid-step

He didn't answer immediately. His head tilted slightly, listening.

Jin held her breath. At first-nothing. Then again. A faint, broken sound. Not quite a cry. Not quite silence.

The forest seemed colder suddenly. The shadows deeper.

The sound came again. Weaker this time. Helpless. Namjoon hesitated-

Jin's grip faltered.

Fear flickered across her face-but so did something else. Reluctance. Concern. Slowly, she nodded. They moved forward together, more cautiously now. Each step felt heavier, as if the earth itself resisted them. The sound led them off the path, deeper into the trees—toward a place where the ground turned bare and twisted roots clawed out of the soil. And there- Beneath the gnarled base of an ancient tree-

They saw it. A bundle. Small. Still. Stained dark.