Joseon, Year of the Dragon, The Last Known Spring
"There is no salvation without destruction.And there is no end to winter without the cry of the last Ice King."
In a dark alley behind the eastern wall of the Royal Palace, two figures cloaked in heavy mantles stood in the fractured shadow of the night. The flicker of a lantern barely illuminated between them, casting fleeting light on the gaunt face of Grand Counsellor Yun Daechang.
"Are you sure?" whispered the other hooded man, his voice rough like a dry branch. "If so, there's no stopping what's coming."
The counsellor nodded with tight lips."The omens do not lie. I have seen the signs in the queen consort, and her spiritual puncture points are sealed. Everything points to the new bearer of the White Eye... being born tonight. And it won't be on the edges of the world," he paused, lowering his voice further, "It will be here. In the cradle of Joseon. Within the Royal Palace."
The stranger clenched his teeth. Though he cast no shadow, something trembled beneath the flickering light."Of royal blood? This is unexpected... Then the Great Spirits intend to change the fate of worlds."
Yun did not deny it."That's why I summoned you. I need you to reinforce the border seals and the incurable cracks. I cannot guarantee that winter won't seek revenge and possess the heir's body. The Emperor, however, will want to kill him before the ice consumes him."
"Is it because of the spiritual memory?"
The counsellor turned his gaze toward the Palace walls, where the echo of a woman's screams pierced the shifting twilight blizzard."The child must not know the truth... Not yet. If we open the memory of previous bearers too soon, the new cycle could be disturbed by the vengeful will of the ninth calamity."
The stranger did not reply. He only turned and vanished into the empty streets like another shadow of the night.
Yun stood there for a few seconds, motionless, staring at stars veiled by storm clouds. The air grew damp and the still silence of spring was torn apart by the flash of lightning.
"May the heavens have mercy," he whispered before returning inside the Palace.
***
The rain did not cease throughout the night. It fell over blue tiled roofs, royal pavilions, and sleeping plum trees, over stone corridors gleaming like blades beneath the lightning's glare. Deep within the gynaeceum, amid burning lamps and tense faces, a woman screamed.
The labour had begun at dusk, but dawn was nearly upon them, and it still wasn't over. The wind howled like a wounded beast around the eaves of the White Ash Palace, and the sky seemed to tear in two with every thunderclap. In the chamber perfumed with ginseng roots and blood, Queen Consort Yun Min—still young, but marked by fear—clutched the soaked sheets with trembling hands.
"She's malpositioned!" shouted the midwife.
"More hot water! Bring more lamps!" ordered another.
But nothing could soothe that womb that seemed to tear as if birthing not a child, but a dragon.
And then, amid the chaos, it came.
A sharp, dry sob —like the cry of a heron in the mist.
The queen consort lifted her head, spent, hair plastered to her face. The world fell silent.
"A boy," announced one of the midwives, but her voice was tight, wrinkled by dread.
All fell quiet.
The boy was beautiful, with pale skin and lips like azalea petals. But when he was raised into the lamp's light, silence turned absolute. One of his eyes—the left—was completely white. Not milky nor sickly. White. As if it held at its core the first snow of a winter that would never melt.
"No, the prince...!" whispered a handmaiden, falling to her knees. "It's a bad omen from the Great Spirits."
Despite their words, the queen took him into her arms, her body still trembling, cradling him to her chest. The child stopped crying instantly. He opened both eyes and looked at his mother for the first time.
She felt something in her soul break—not from fear, but from love. A fierce love, full of a primal anguish, as if she already knew that this child of hers, perfect and imperfect, would be feared by the world.
The doors burst open. Her father entered: Grand Counsellor Yun Daechang, beard wet from the downpour and face pale as marble. He approached under the watchful eyes of midwives and handmaidens. First, he looked at his daughter, who bit her lips; then his gaze fixed on the crown prince.
The room held its breath.
Daechang, in a gesture that chilled the handmaidens, knelt before the child. His hands did not tremble as they joined in a bow that seemed like a vow. His pearl-like forehead touched the polished floor, and his voice did not falter when he spoke.
"The Eye of the Abyss has awakened..." he murmured, almost a revelation, "The cycle of the moon begins anew."
The midwives exchanged confused glances. No one in the room understood the meaning of those words. No one but him. Yun Min, meanwhile, clutched the child tighter in her arms.
"He is a boy, Father. My son. The crown prince!" she replied.
"He is the moon's shadow, an heir of the Great Spirits," announced the Grand Counsellor as he rose and moved closer to the queen consort. "You will have to be strong, daughter. His destiny has already been written in the stars."
"He is not a shadow, abeoji[1]" whispered the queen, shielding him with her body like a she-wolf. "He is only a child. A beautiful one. Perfect."
The Grand Royal Counsellor turned toward the monarch, who had just arrived with his eunuch.
King Yi Gyeong, also young but worn by wars and betrayals, dared not look at his son for more than a second. Something in that white eye made him recoil. It was not fear of deformity, but fear of the unknown. Of what could not be controlled. Still, the monarch did not reject him. He was his firstborn. The future king.
"The child... heir of Joseon, must wear a patch for the rest of his life. From today, we shall say he was born blind in that eye."
The queen consort raised her head slowly. The child shifted against her chest, small, fragile, silent.
"And his name?"
"Yi Hwan," said the king with a trembling voice. "He who shines."
A white silk patch was secretly sewn by the most loyal nursemaid. The midwives swore an oath of silence. In the royal records it was noted: "Robust health, mild blindness in the left eye at birth."
But the truth beat on, intact, in his mother's embrace.
That night, when all had withdrawn and only the echoes of the storm remained, the queen held the child in her arms beneath the scant light of a lamp.
He looked at her with his one uncovered eye. The other—white as the moon on snow—was hidden behind the silk like a shield.
"I swear I will not let the world break you," she whispered, brushing her forehead against his. "I will make you a king who brings light to the world. Peace. Harmony. Even if I must defy the Great Spirits, no one will harm you."
The child did not answer. He only breathed deeply, as if he already knew.
That night, the moon was the colour of bone. Swollen, too large, and radiant.
Thus was born Yi Hwan, the prince with an eye sealed by ice, covered not by blindness, but by fear of what it might mean.
And with him came winter. An eternal one.
[1] T: Father.