Chapter 12: CHAPTER 11- FLASHBACKS
The royal palace of Joseon stood shrouded in uneasy silence, its usual vibrant energy replaced by a tension so thick it seemed to seep into the very walls. The air was heavy, as though the storm raging outside had drawn its breath and chosen to coil around the palace. Rain lashed against the grand windows, and the howl of the wind sent shivers through the golden trim and silk banners that adorned the corridors.
Deep within the palace, in the birthing chamber, the atmosphere mirrored the chaos outside. The queen lay on an ornate wooden bed draped in crimson and gold velvet. Her face was pale but glistening with perspiration, her breaths shallow and sharp as she gripped the sheets beneath her. The rhythmic chants of her attendants, meant to soothe and encourage, were drowned out by the roar of thunder.
"Your Majesty, focus on your breathing," the royal physician said with forced calm, his hand pressing gently against her wrist. The lines on his weathered face betrayed the unease he tried to suppress.
The queen's eyes fluttered open, and her trembling hand reached for the gold medallion around her neck. It bore the royal crest of her lineage—a phoenix rising from flames, symbolizing rebirth and destiny. She held it tightly, as though the cool metal could anchor her to reality amidst the growing dread.
"Why does it feel…?" Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "Why does it feel as if something is wrong?"
Before the physician could respond, a sharp gust of wind rattled the chamber windows. The queen's gaze darted toward the shadows cast by the flickering lanterns, her heart racing. It wasn't just the storm. There was something else—an unseen presence she couldn't explain but felt deep in her chest.
The royal attendants exchanged nervous glances, their movements increasingly hurried as the queen cried out again, her contractions intensifying. At the far end of the room stood a figure cloaked in mystery: the soothsayer.
Summoned in secret by the king himself, the old woman exuded an unsettling air of authority. Her long silver hair flowed like water down her back, braided intricately with strands of black silk. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes remained fixed on the queen, unblinking, as she murmured words in a tongue so ancient that even the royal scholars could not decipher it.
"Why is she here?" the queen gasped, her voice tinged with fear as another wave of pain gripped her.
"Do not trouble yourself with such questions, Your Majesty," the physician said quickly, avoiding her gaze. "Concentrate on the birth. It is all that matters now."
The queen's mind raced. She had heard whispers of the soothsayer's ominous predictions—the curse of a storm child, the downfall of kingdoms, the rise of chaos. But she had dismissed them as superstition, tales meant to frighten the weak-minded. Now, with every crack of thunder and every chilling glance from the old woman, doubt began to creep in.
The soothsayer's voice grew louder, her chant filling the chamber like a haunting melody. The attendants moved more frantically, their faces pale as they tried to block out the unsettling sound.
Outside, the storm reached a deafening crescendo. The palace courtyard, usually illuminated by lanterns, was plunged into darkness as the winds extinguished the flames. The king, pacing in the outer hall, paused to glance at the windows, his hands clenched behind his back. He was a man known for his stoic demeanor, but even he couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that had settled over the palace.
"She must survive," he muttered to himself. "Both of them must survive."
Back in the chamber, the queen let out a piercing cry. The physician knelt at her side, his voice urgent. "Push, Your Majesty. Push!"
The queen clutched the medallion tighter, her knuckles white as she drew strength from its presence. With one final, agonizing effort, she screamed into the storm's fury.
A newborn's cry pierced the air, sharp and defiant against the raging storm. For a moment, the entire room froze. The queen, her chest heaving, lifted her head weakly to glimpse the child.
The physician held the baby aloft, his expression unreadable. "A son," he announced, though his voice lacked the joy such news usually carried.
The queen's heart swelled as she extended her trembling arms. The physician hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing the child in her grasp.
"He's… beautiful," she whispered, her voice filled with both awe and exhaustion. Her fingers brushed over his soft skin, her tears mingling with the sweat on her cheeks. But as her gaze lingered on his face, a shadow passed over her expression.
The child's eyes, though barely open, glinted with an unnatural light. His cries were strong, almost commanding, as though he were protesting his very arrival into the world.
The soothsayer stepped forward, her movements slow and deliberate. The room seemed to hold its breath as she approached the queen, her piercing gaze fixed on the infant.
"A storm child," the old woman said, her voice resonating with eerie certainty. "Born under the wrath of the heavens. His fate is bound by shadow and flame."
The queen's grip on her son tightened. "What are you saying?" she demanded, her voice shaking. "What fate?"
The soothsayer ignored her, instead lifting a hand to the child's forehead. The attendants gasped, and one even dropped a silver bowl with a clatter as the old woman's chant grew louder. The infant's cries faltered, replaced by a strange stillness.
"Stop this!" the queen cried, her voice breaking. "He is my son, the prince of this kingdom. No curse, no fate, will take him from me!"
The soothsayer's lips curved into a knowing smile, but she said nothing. Instead, she turned away, her voice lowering into a whisper that only she could hear.
The physician cleared his throat, stepping between the queen and the soothsayer. "Your Majesty, the child is healthy. That is what matters."
But the queen was not listening. Her eyes followed the soothsayer as the woman retreated to the shadows, her words echoing in her mind: Bound by shadow and flame.
Before she could demand answers, the chamber door burst open, and a royal guard entered, his face pale. "Your Majesty," he said, his voice trembling. "The king has ordered your presence immediately. He says it is urgent."
The queen's heart sank. She looked down at her son, who had fallen silent, his tiny face peaceful despite the storm that had heralded his birth.
"I will come," she said softly, her voice steeling with resolve. She handed the infant to an attendant, her fingers lingering on his soft skin as though reluctant to let him go.
As she rose from the bed, her legs weak beneath her, she turned to the soothsayer one final time. "If my son's fate is as you say, then tell me this: can it be changed?"
The old woman tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "Fate is a river, Your Majesty. You may dam it, divert it, but it will always find its way."
The queen shuddered, her mind racing as she followed the guard out of the chamber. Behind her, the storm began to abate, but the sense of foreboding remained, clinging to the air like the remnants of a nightmare.
As the queen disappeared into the corridor, the soothsayer approached the sleeping infant, her eyes glinting with a mix of pity and something far darker.
"Min Soo," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You will be the light that blinds and the shadow that consumes."
The storm outside gave a final roar, as though in agreement, before the palace was plunged into an uneasy silence.
In the silence that followed, the newborn stirred, his tiny fingers curling as if grasping for something unseen. From the corner of the chamber, the soothsayer's chant began anew, softer but more insistent, weaving through the air like a thread of smoke.
Then, as the last echo of thunder faded, the infant opened his eyes fully for the first time.
The attendant holding him gasped, her grip faltering. "His eyes… they're—"
Before she could finish, the chamber door slammed shut on its own, the sound reverberating like a warning bell.
In the hall, the queen paused, her breath hitching. She turned back toward the chamber, her chest tightening with dread.
And then, from behind the door, came the soothsayer's voice, cold and final: "The storm has only just begun."
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