Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Seungcheol stood rooted to the spot just a few steps inside the hallway, his hands clasped behind his back as the black royal vehicle slowed to a stop in front of the Jeon estate’s entrance. The tires crunched gently against the gravel, and the morning light glinted off the sleek windows. The servants moved swiftly into position, bowing in sync as the door was opened, and out stepped Joshua with his usual composed grace, followed closely by Jeonghan.

The moment Seungcheol laid eyes on them, the world seemed to stop for a second.

It had been a month—only a month—since he saw them both. Since the world shifted beneath his feet. Since his name, his face, and his very existence had been swallowed up by death… again.  And now here they were, the two people who had stood beside him day after day within the palace walls, unaware that he still breathed, hidden behind borrowed magic and a face that no longer belonged to him.

Joshua still carried his signature warmth in his expression, the same subtle smile that used to ease tensions in even the most rigid courtrooms. Jeonghan, however, was different.

He wasn’t the regal Crown Prince that Seungcheol had been used to following around with a pen and clipboard. He wasn’t the poised, sharp-eyed figure who gave orders and led the council with composed authority. Today, Jeonghan looked tired. His shoulders were sloped, his face pale, and the spark in his eyes dimmed. There was a fragility in his presence that Seungcheol had never witnessed before, and it pulled something deep in his chest, an ache he couldn’t name.

In that moment, all Seungcheol wanted was to reach out, to take Jeonghan’s cold hands in his, to pull him close and whisper reassurances against his temple. He wanted to tell him that he was here, alive, and that everything would eventually be alright.

But he couldn’t do any of that. Not in Wonwoo’s face. Not while Jeonghan still believed Seungcheol had died—twice. His sudden reappearance without warning would be a shock the Crown Prince didn’t deserve, not while still nursing the grief of what he thought was a second loss.

So, Seungcheol did the only thing he could.

He kept his head low and followed Mingyu and Jihoon’s lead, bowing respectfully as Advisor Jeon greeted the guests at the gate. The estate’s senior guard escorted the royals through the main hall and into the formal study, the same space used for welcoming royal guests. As tradition dictated, the Jeon sons waited a short while before entering as well, allowing the formalities to settle before they joined the meeting.

Once the signal came, they entered calmly. Seungcheol stayed close to Mingyu, heart hammering in his chest, carefully adjusting the glasses that perched on the bridge of his nose. The servants moved around the room quickly but quietly, serving warm tea and small refreshments as everyone settled into their seats.

Joshua was the first to speak. “I want to thank you for allowing us this visit, especially with such short notice,” he said gently, his voice as soft as silk, “and for your patience. We meant to come sooner, but…”

“There is no need to apologize, Your Highness,” Advisor Jeon interrupted kindly. “You are welcome in this house any day, any hour. We understand the time you’ve taken to grieve. And we share that grief.”

The room fell quiet for a moment. It wasn’t a heavy silence, but it pulsed with unspoken thoughts.

Then, conversation continued gently for a few minutes, mostly polite formalities—updates from the palace, condolences, and exchanges of goodwill. But it wasn’t long before Jeonghan quietly interrupted, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked toward Advisor Jeon.

“If it’s not too much to ask… I’d like to see his room.”

For a moment, the room was still. Advisor Jeon blinked slowly, then gave a gentle nod of acknowledgment. “Of course, Your Highness,” he said, his voice equally soft. “Please allow one of my sons to accompany you.”

Jeonghan gave a polite shake of his head, lips curling faintly into a hesitant smile. “I know the way. You don’t have to trouble anyone.”

But Advisor Jeon only smiled knowingly and turned his head toward Seungcheol—still cloaked in the borrowed face of Wonwoo. His gaze lingered for a second, something quiet and reassuring passing between father and son. Then he turned back to Jeonghan and said firmly, “Even so, it would be discourteous of us to allow a guest to wander the halls alone. Wonwoo will show you the way.”

Caught in the moment, Seungcheol slowly stood, legs stiff but movements controlled. He gave a small bow in compliance, then moved around the table and took his place beside Jeonghan. Without another word, they both made their way toward the corridor.

They walked in silence, the sound of their steps muffled against the thick carpeted floors. The atmosphere felt strangely nostalgic—so familiar yet jarringly different. Seungcheol kept a respectful step behind Jeonghan, just like he always used to when they were in the palace. He remembered those mornings clearly, when Jeonghan would walk briskly through the corridors, listing out their daily appointments and court obligations while Seungcheol tried to keep up, arms full of scrolls and parchment, ears attentive to every detail.

But this wasn’t the palace. And Seungcheol wasn’t that person anymore. His hand briefly curled into a fist at his side, nails digging gently into the fabric of his sleeve as they approached the familiar wooden door of his former room.

Jeonghan stopped in front of it and rested his palm lightly against the frame, his expression unreadable as he stood there. Seeing that subtle hesitation, Seungcheol quietly stepped forward, brushing his fingertips across the ornate handle before slowly opening the door for him. He offered a respectful bow as Jeonghan passed through the threshold.

He was about to step back, intending to leave and give Jeonghan the privacy he clearly desired, when Jeonghan turned his head slightly and spoke.

“Stay. You don’t have to leave.”

The words were gentle, almost hesitant, as though Jeonghan wasn't even sure why he asked.

Seungcheol froze mid-step, startled for a heartbeat. But after collecting himself, he nodded once and took a quiet step inside. He didn’t move too far, instead choosing to remain near the door, close enough to be present, but far enough to not intrude.

Jeonghan stood in the center of the room for a moment, glancing slowly around. It had been left untouched—just as it was the last time Seungcheol had used it. The bedding was neatly folded, the windows slightly cracked open to allow light and air to drift in, and a faint scent of incense lingered from the last ceremonial rites performed here. Everything felt too clean, too still, as if time itself had been paused in this space.

He moved forward and took a seat on the edge of the bed, fingertips brushing lightly over the blanket, not in a search for dust or comfort, but as if hoping to sense the presence of the one he had lost.

For a while, he said nothing. And Seungcheol didn’t speak either. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was thick, heavy, mournful.

Eventually, Jeonghan let out a long breath and spoke in a voice that was barely above a whisper. “Did you… did you get to see him? One last time?”

His question was addressed to Seungcheol—or rather, to the ‘Wonwoo’ he thought stood behind him.

Seungcheol swallowed hard and gave a small nod. His voice failed him in that moment, knowing any attempt to speak might tremble under the weight of all the things he wished he could say but couldn’t.

Jeonghan nodded faintly in return, eyes still fixed ahead. “I wanted to see him one last time,” he whispered. “But I know that’s not possible anymore.”

There was a silence. Long and heavy.

“I promised I’d bring him back safely,” Jeonghan added, his voice cracking just slightly. “And yet… I couldn’t. I failed him. Again.”

Seungcheol’s fingers curled tightly by his side. He wanted to speak, to offer comfort, to tell Jeonghan that none of it had been his fault—that everything he’d done had only been out of love and fear. But his role today did not grant him that freedom.

Then, for a brief moment, Jeonghan turned his head toward him, his lips parting like he wanted to ask something else. But after holding the thought in the space between them, Jeonghan swallowed it down and faced forward again, letting the question die in silence.

Realizing that this was his cue to leave, Seungcheol bowed his head slowly, just as he imagined Wonwoo would have. “Please take your time, Your Highness.” he said softly, then turned toward the door.

He paused for a second before stepping out, casting one final glance back at Jeonghan. The image of him sitting there—so composed yet fragile, surrounded by silence and memories—carved itself into Seungcheol’s mind like a wound. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to walk back in, fall to his knees, and confess everything.

But he couldn’t. Not yet.

So, with a heavy heart, he stepped out and gently closed the door behind him, sealing Jeonghan inside with his grief—and himself outside, with all the truth he wasn’t ready to share.

Although Seungcheol had excused himself and stepped away from Jeonghan’s room, he didn’t leave immediately. Instead, he remained just outside the door, standing still like a statue in the corridor bathed in quiet golden light. His heart beat in a strange rhythm beneath his ribs, heavy with a tangle of emotions he couldn’t quite name.

It was strange to stand here again after all this time, in the same hallways he once walked as a different man, a different version of himself—one that didn’t yet know the weight of a buried past. Now, everything he had left behind had started to catch up with him, and he wasn’t sure if he could outrun it anymore.

Seeing Jeonghan again had shaken something loose inside him. Even with the protective mask of Wonwoo’s borrowed face and mannerisms, his heart hadn't been able to hide. Jeonghan’s presence had always affected him deeply—back then, as an assistant with quiet, growing admiration, and now, with the slow and painful realization that the affection he once felt had never truly faded. In fact, it had only grown stronger.

The sadness in Jeonghan’s eyes was something Seungcheol could still feel in his chest. The way Jeonghan looked at the empty bed, the quiet tremble in his voice as he spoke of promises left unfulfilled, it all painted a portrait of grief that hadn’t healed. Seungcheol had always wondered who Jeonghan had loved so deeply—back in the palace, when he'd caught glimpses of the Crown Prince looking longingly at an old diary or gazing out the window in silence. He used to be curious. Who had left such a deep mark on the Crown Prince’s heart?

It was ironic now, painfully so, to learn that the person Jeonghan had loved all along… was him.

Just as Seungcheol turned to walk away, a soft sound stopped him. It was faint, barely audible, but unmistakable—a muffled sniffle, the kind that broke past someone’s efforts to stay composed. Seungcheol frowned, his hand hovering mid-air as he instinctively turned back toward the door.

He hesitated, unsure if he was invading something too private, too raw, but his feet moved on their own. He took a slow step forward, then another, until he was standing just in front of the door again. He raised his hand to knock, maybe to ask if everything was alright, when Mingyu appeared at the far end of the hallway.

Mingyu’s voice was low, casual. “Is everything okay?”

Seungcheol lowered his hand but didn’t move away from the door. “Nothing. Just thought I heard something.”

Mingyu didn’t press further. He simply nodded, then said, “Joshua’s looking for you.. well, he’s looking for Wonwoo, actually. He said he wanted to talk. I told him I’d pass it along.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Seungcheol replied.

Mingyu turned and walked away, leaving Seungcheol alone again. He hesitated for a moment longer, about to step away, but then came the sound again—a soft sob, so quiet it could have been imagined. Yet it tugged at him with such force that he turned back to the door, hand hovering just above the knob. He pressed his palm gently against the cool wood, trying to hear more clearly, but what greeted him wasn’t sound. It was light—soft and shimmering.

Before he could register what was happening, the surface beneath his hand turned translucent. It shimmered faintly like a curtain of magic being lifted, and suddenly, the wooden frame became glass-like. Seungcheol’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t dare move or speak, fearing that even the slightest motion might break the spell.

Through the transparent veil, he saw Jeonghan curled forward on the bed, his head buried into the crook of his arm. His entire body trembled with every shaky breath, silent sobs wracking his frame in a way Seungcheol had never witnessed before. The image was gutting. It tore through him like a sharp wind, unraveling the threads of restraint he had carefully sewn around his heart.

Jeonghan was crying. Really crying.

He whispered Seungcheol’s name like it was sacred, as though saying it too loud might cause it to disappear. His voice cracked on the syllables, each one soft and reverent. The sound of it reached Seungcheol’s ears, though it shouldn't have. The walls were soundproof, and yet he heard every word as clearly as if Jeonghan were speaking directly into his ear. It made no sense—and yet, somehow, it did.

Seungcheol stood frozen, one hand still pressed to the door, the other clenched tightly at his side. He didn’t know how long he stood there, watching as Jeonghan pulled himself back together. The Crown Prince sat up slowly, taking long, steady breaths to calm himself. He wiped his eyes with a handkerchief, folding it neatly even as his hands trembled. His face still held the faint traces of tears, but he straightened his posture with practiced elegance.

Seungcheol’s chest ached with the effort of keeping still. Every part of him wanted to go inside, to kneel beside Jeonghan and wrap him in a comforting embrace, to whisper the truth, that he was here, that he was alive, that he never meant to leave. But he couldn’t. Not as he was now. Not with this face that didn’t belong to him.

He was so lost in thought, so caught up in the whirlwind of emotion that he didn’t hear the shift of footsteps inside. The door in front of him solidified in an instant, reverting to its normal form, and swung open.

Caught off guard, Seungcheol stumbled forward with a soft gasp, landing awkwardly on the floor in front of Jeonghan. His breath was knocked out of him more from the shock than the fall.

Jeonghan stood in the doorway, startled at first to see ‘Wonwoo’ sprawled on the floor. His brow furrowed in concern, and Seungcheol braced himself for a reprimand. expecting Jeonghan to chastise him for eavesdropping or clumsiness. But the scolding never came.

Instead, Jeonghan offered his hand without hesitation. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said gently.

For a brief moment, Seungcheol forgot how to breathe. Slowly, he reached up and took Jeonghan’s hand, letting the warmth of his palm seep into his own skin.

And in that very instant, time seemed to stop.

The world around them faded into a blur as Seungcheol’s mind was consumed by a sudden rush—memories flooding in like a crashing tide. Images exploded behind his closed eyes. Hundreds of them.

Jeonghan’s smile, radiant and genuine.

The sound of his laughter echoing through the palace garden.

The scent of lavender oil as Jeonghan combed his fingers through Seungcheol’s hair late at night, whispering soft lullabies.

The cool feel of Jeonghan’s lips against his fevered forehead.

Jeonghan smiling beside him on the palace balcony.

The soft lull of Jeonghan’s voice as he read letters late into the night. Their first walk through the royal garden.

The warmth of Jeonghan’s hand on Seungcheol’s waist during their engagement ceremony.

The bittersweet laughter. The vows. The final day.

It all came back, slamming into him like waves crashing over a crumbling wall. His knees wobbled beneath him, and darkness threatened the edge of his vision, but strong arms steadied him from behind. Jihoon’s presence was immediate and grounding, holding him upright with gentle urgency.

“Hey, hey—breathe. Just breathe. You’re okay,” Jihoon said firmly, his voice steady and grounding.

Jeonghan stood a few steps away, his own expression unreadable, though his worry was evident in the way his hand hovered at his side, uncertain whether to reach out again.

Seungcheol blinked rapidly, the memories still spinning behind his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat and managed a soft reply. “I’m fine. Just… surprised.”

Jeonghan nodded slowly, seeming satisfied with the answer. “Alright. Be careful,” he said quietly, brushing a hand lightly across Seungcheol’s—Wonwoo’s—shoulder before turning back toward the hall. Hyungwon appeared silently from the corridor and joined Jeonghan’s side as they walked away, leaving Seungcheol and Jihoon alone in the hallway.

Only once they had disappeared from view did Seungcheol allow himself to sag slightly in Jihoon’s hold, his hand still tingling from the touch. The memories echoed in his mind, vivid and impossible to ignore. For the first time, they didn’t feel like distant dreams. They felt real. They felt like his.

And now… he had to face them.

Jihoon walked slowly alongside Seungcheol, his pace measured and his gaze shifting back and forth between the tiled floor ahead and Seungcheol’s expression. His hand hovered close to Seungcheol’s back, ready to catch him in case he stumbled or wavered. Seungcheol noticed the subtle tension and stifled a small laugh under his breath. He tilted his head slightly, throwing a teasing glance toward his brother.

“Jihoon-ah,” he said, the amusement clear in his voice, “I’m not made of glass. I’m fine. You’re acting a bit... out of character, you know?”

Jihoon immediately stepped to the side as if caught red-handed, his eyes darting around the hallway to make sure no one had heard them. His ears turned slightly red from embarrassment, but he didn’t deny it. He just cleared his throat quietly and adjusted the sleeves of his robe, muttering something inaudible.

Seungcheol shook his head with a soft smile, reassuring him again. “Really, I’m okay. Go back to whatever it is you were doing. I’ll just go meet Joshua-nim now.”

Jihoon nodded reluctantly, giving one last glance to make sure Seungcheol’s steps were steady before turning away.

The corridor opened into the main sitting room where Joshua was already waiting, seated gracefully with a cup of tea held in both hands. His posture was calm, but his eyes—those warm, perceptive eyes—lifted immediately and followed Seungcheol as he stepped into the room.

Seungcheol bowed politely before taking the seat across from him. The room was quiet, only the soft clinking of porcelain breaking the silence as both men lifted their teacups. For a few minutes, they sat in comfortable stillness, sipping the warm drink, neither rushing the moment. It was Joshua who finally broke the quiet with a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking this, Wonwoo.” Joshua began, his voice carrying a mix of hesitation and curiosity. “But since you’re the eldest Jeon—other than your father—you probably know about the deeper magics your family specializes in, right?”

Seungcheol’s heart skipped slightly, his grip on the teacup tightening just a fraction. He gave a careful nod, keeping his expression neutral as he gestured for Joshua to continue.

Joshua took a slow breath, clearly choosing his words with care. “May I ask something… unusual?” He gave a faint smile, almost apologetic. “Maybe even impossible.”

“I’ll try my best to answer.” Seungcheol said quietly, unsure of where this was going.

“Do you think it’s possible for someone to… wear a different face?”

The words hung heavily in the air. Seungcheol froze, his breath caught mid-inhale. His thoughts began spiraling in a dozen directions at once. He stared at Joshua, but the prince didn’t look amused or accusatory. He simply looked… curious. Hesitant. Confused, even.

Joshua, noticing the hesitation, continued softly, “I know it sounds insane. Trust me, I wouldn’t even entertain the idea if I had been the only one to experience it. But Jeonghan—he saw it too. We both did.”

His voice trembled slightly at the end. “It felt so real.”

Seungcheol lowered his gaze, his hand tightening subtly around the delicate handle of the teacup. Panic prickled at the back of his neck, cold and creeping. Joshua had seen something. And worse—Jeonghan had seen it too. But what exactly had they seen?

He remained silent, unsure what he could say without unraveling the fragile thread of disguise he was barely managing to hold together. Of all the questions Joshua could have asked, this was the one he feared most. And yet, here it was, laid bare between them. The truth was, he was wearing someone else’s face right now. Not his own. Not the face Joshua had seen. But how could they have known?

Seeing his struggle, Joshua quickly added, “It’s alright if you think I’m just seeing things. Maybe grief is warping my perception. Maybe we were both just… seeing what we wanted to see.”

Seungcheol shook his head slowly and placed the teacup down with measured care. “No,” he said quietly. “Nothing in this world is without reason, Your Highness. Every vision, every coincidence, every echo of memory—it’s all tied to something. Maybe… maybe it’s a sign. Maybe it’s something heaven wanted you both to see.”

Joshua studied him carefully, absorbing the words. “You believe that?”

“I don’t know what magic could do what you described,” Seungcheol admitted, and it wasn’t entirely a lie. “But I don’t believe anything in this world happens without purpose. Especially not something that powerful.”

Joshua nodded slowly, as if comforted by the thought. “Then maybe it means there’s something left for us to find. Something we haven’t seen yet.”

He stood then, brushing the front of his robe, and offered Seungcheol a respectful nod. “Thank you, Wonwoo… for listening. I know I must sound like I’m chasing ghosts. But sometimes… the ghosts are the only ones who know the truth.”

Seungcheol gave a faint smile, keeping his face neutral as Joshua gave him a final smile and made his way out of the room.

The moment the door closed, Seungcheol let out a heavy breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His shoulders slumped slightly, and he set the teacup down with a soft clink, his fingers trembling faintly.

He stared at his hands for a moment, wondering again. If what he and Jeonghan saw wasn’t just imagination, then whose face had they seen? Was it truly his face—his old face? And if so, how?

Seungcheol reached up and rubbed his temples. There were too many questions. Too many half-truths. Too many blurred memories hiding behind walls of forgotten time. He knew there was only one place that held all the answers. One place where everything began and everything was destined to return.

The palace. The heart of their pack. The center of their history. The place where it had all begun. His past, his magic, his title—everything was connected to that place.

Seungcheol’s expression hardened slightly as he stared ahead. If he truly wanted to unravel the full truth behind his fate—behind his existence as the prophesied Luna—then he would have to return. To walk back into the halls that had shaped his destiny, and perhaps, to finally uncover the last pieces of himself buried in the silence of that palace.

The quiet hum of the fireplace was the only sound that filled the room, its warm glow casting flickering shadows against the cream-colored walls. Seungcheol sat in the middle of the large living room, cross-legged on the thick carpet, feeling the weight of every single gaze on him. The table before him was filled with an untouched spread of hot tea, sliced fruits, and sweet rice cakes, but no one made a move to take anything. The earlier lighthearted energy they shared during dinner had vanished the moment Seungcheol had voiced his intent.

He hadn’t meant to drop it so casually, but the thought had been swirling in his mind for weeks now. Tonight, as they all laughed over the grilled meat and hot soup, it just… slipped out. “I think I need to go back to the palace,” he had said, quietly but clearly.

The silence that followed had been immediate and absolute. It had hung over the table like a dense fog, heavy with unspoken questions and cautious disbelief. Their father, ever composed and careful, had set down his spoon and simply said, “We’ll talk about this after dinner.”

Now, with the dishes cleared and their conversation resumed in a quieter, more serious setting, Seungcheol could feel the tension again. His father sat across from him, hands resting lightly on the armrest of his chair. To his right, Jihoon leaned slightly forward, brows furrowed in thought. Mingyu lounged a little more relaxed than the others, but his eyes hadn’t strayed from Seungcheol once. Wonwoo sat calmly beside their father, hands folded over one knee, unreadable as always.

Seungcheol took a slow sip of tea, mostly to buy himself time. The warmth barely registered on his tongue.

“I meant what I said,” he said at last, gently placing the cup back on its saucer. “I want to go back to the palace.”

Silence stretched again. Then Jihoon cleared his throat.

“What exactly is your plan?” he asked carefully, though his voice held the edge of concern. “You can’t just walk into the palace unannounced. Even if we are of noble blood, there’s protocol. Especially after all that’s happened. They’re not going to welcome a stranger—especially one with a face they don’t recognize.”

Wonwoo nodded in agreement, his eyes steady as they met Seungcheol’s. “The palace is dangerous,” he said, voice low and firm. “You’ve only just begun piecing your life back together. Returning there… it might undo all the healing you've done.”

“I know,” Seungcheol admitted, his voice steady despite the churning thoughts in his head. “But I keep dreaming of the palace. I see corridors I don’t remember walking, I hear voices I feel like I know. Every part of me is drawn back to that place. I don’t have all the answers, but I believe the palace is where I’ll find them.”

Jihoon leaned back slightly, folding his arms. “And how do you plan on getting in? Are you going to go as yourself? Or…?”

“I’ll borrow your faces,” Seungcheol said, his tone quiet but resolute. “I’ll rotate between you when needed, depending on the situation. You’re all high-ranking nobles. It’ll give me just enough reason to enter the grounds if necessary.”

Mingyu finally spoke, the concern in his voice more prominent than the others. “That’s not going to be easy. You’d have to train your expressions, your speech, your posture. You’ll need to act like each of us without hesitation. Even the smallest inconsistency could raise alarms. Not to mention, we don’t appear in court regularly anymore. Jihoon hyung and I are assigned to outer districts, and Wonwoo hyung’s mostly stationed on the western border. If any of us suddenly appear in the capital too frequently, questions will start forming.”

“And father is oficially retired. His appearance at court would be even more suspicious,” Jihoon added, crossing his arms. “We’re already being watched, whether you realize it or not.”

Seungcheol let out a long breath and stared down at the tea cup in his hands. His shoulders slumped slightly, weariness creeping into his posture. “I know it’s not ideal,” he admitted. “But… something inside me tells me that I need to go. I need to stand in that palace again. Maybe it’ll help me regain my memories. Maybe it’ll help me understand my place, my power… this prophecy everyone keeps talking about. I can’t keep waiting for answers to come to me.”

His father sat in silence, hands clasped together, listening. After a long pause, he finally nodded, eyes fixed on Seungcheol with the calm focus of a seasoned strategist.

“You’re not wrong,” Advisor Jeon said quietly. “The palace is the key. It’s where everything began. And it’s where you’ll learn what it truly means to be the Luna. The awakening is near. You were born to serve a greater purpose, my son. The prophesied Luna doesn’t just carry power—he carries responsibility. The time will come when your magic fully returns, and when it does, you need to be prepared to wield it with clarity, not confusion. That is why you need to be in the center of it all. You need to see the politics, the players, the real shape of the kingdom you’re destined to protect.”

Seungcheol looked up, startled by the certainty in his father’s voice.

“The dreams are not coincidences,” his father continued. “They’re echoes. Warnings. Fragments of what’s to come. You are being called back to your rightful place.”

Jihoon and Wonwoo exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Then Wonwoo turned toward Seungcheol and spoke with quiet resolve.

“If this is really what you need… then we’ll make sure you get there safely. But not alone.”

Seungcheol blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“There are allies beyond us,” Wonwoo explained. “People who owe favors, people we can trust. Some within the court, some outside of it. If we’re going to place you in the palace, even under disguise, we’ll need eyes everywhere—people to cover for you, to communicate with us, to watch your back when we can’t be near. We’ll take care of it.”

Their father gave a small nod, as if approving the unspoken plan his sons were already forming. Mingyu leaned back slightly, still tense but clearly thinking, probably already mapping out scenarios and risks in his head. Jihoon remained quiet, deep in thought, his expression unreadable again.

Seungcheol exhaled slowly, the weight in his chest lightening just a little. He didn’t have all the answers yet. But he had made a decision. The journey ahead would be treacherous, but for the first time in a long while, Seungcheol felt like he was walking toward something—toward answers, toward the truth, and toward the role he had been born to fulfill.

The door to the living room burst open with a loud thud, slamming into the wall with a force that startled everyone in the room. Seungcheol didn’t even have time to react, let alone stand up and offer a greeting, before he was immediately pulled into a fierce, desperate hug.

Warm arms wrapped around him with the kind of desperate strength that only came from someone who had mourned and hoped in equal measure. And as soon as Seungcheol registered the familiar scent—earthy, warm, and tinged with something nostalgic—he let out a soft gasp and melted into the hug without a second thought.

His arms wrapped around the figure without resistance, holding just as tightly as he was being held. No words were exchanged, no greetings, just the sound of rushed breathing and the quiet thump of two hearts that had once shared laughter under the polished arches of the palace halls.

It had been two years. Two long, exhausting, comforting years with this person by his side as he navigated life as an assistant to the Crown Prince. The one who had kept him grounded when the days at court became unbearable. The one who had never hesitated to shield him from court politics, even when it wasn’t his place to interfere.

Jun clung to him tightly, arms trembling as though letting go would make Seungcheol vanish again. After a long moment, he finally pulled back just enough to cup Seungcheol’s face in his hands. His eyes were red and swollen, still swimming with unshed tears, and his expression wavered between furious scolding and utter heartbreak.

“You idiot,” Jun muttered, voice cracking as he tried to hold himself together. “You reckless, stupid, beautiful idiot.”

Seungcheol gave him a sheepish smile, guilt tugging at his chest as he reached out to wipe a tear that escaped down Jun’s cheek. He gently led Jun toward the couch, and they sat together, shoulders brushing, fingers naturally linking like they used to during their long hours together in the palace.

“I thought I lost you forever,” Jun said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “When the news came—when they said you died… I thought I’d never get the chance to see you again...”

Seungcheol looked down at their joined hands, thumb lightly brushing over Jun’s knuckle. “I’m sorry, Jun-ah,” he said softly, his voice raw and filled with guilt. “I didn’t know what was happening either. I didn’t know the truth. I only found out recently… and I’m still trying to process all of it.”

Jun stared at him for a moment longer before suddenly standing from the couch. He bowed, deep and respectful, so sudden it took Seungcheol off guard. Jun’s expression shifted to something far more formal, even reverent, his back bent low, his voice soft with restraint.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” Jun said. “Forgive me for acting so informally. I came here as your friend, but I should’ve greeted you properly. You are not just my Seungcheol anymore…”

Seungcheol scoffed, rolling his eyes at the sudden change in tone. “Oh, stop that,” he muttered in exasperation. “The Crown Prince Consort died eight years ago. And I’m not the Luna. The King Alpha and Queen Luna are still very much alive and well.”

“Maybe not yet,”Jun insisted, lifting his head but keeping his posture respectfully straight, “But you will be. You’re the prophesied Luna, whether you acknowledge it now or not. And no matter how close we were, there are protocols I cannot ignore. Especially not as the Second Prince’s personal assistant.”

Seungcheol groaned quietly, resting his face in his hands for a brief second. “Stop being so damn rigid, Jun.”

That finally earned a real smile from Jun—small, tired, but genuine. He chuckled softly and said, “I’m still the Second Prince’s assistant. You know how much time I spend memorizing etiquette. I can’t help it. Formality is etched into my bones.”

There was a small, warm silence between them after that. A comfortable stillness that only came between people who had once shared far too many secrets.

After a moment, Seungcheol tilted his head. “So… are you here to help me or not? Or you’re just here to scold me?”

“I am,” Jun replied quickly. “Of course, I am. But I’m not the only one who came.”

Seungcheol frowned at that, curiosity overtaking him. He leaned forward slightly, watching as Jun turned toward the door. Without saying another word, Jun stepped out of the room. A moment later, footsteps echoed against the hallway tile, and then Jun returned—with someone behind him.

The moment Seungcheol saw the figure, his breath caught in his throat.

The man bowed deeply as he entered, dropping to one knee with reverence that came not just from respect, but something far more personal. “Your Grace,” Hyungwon whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re here. I… I finally get to see you again.” His eyes were already shining with tears, and when he finally looked up, his expression was filled with something between grief and relief.

Seungcheol’s heart twisted. The title didn’t feel like a burden this time, not from Hyungwon. Not when his voice was filled with that much sorrow and reverence.

“Hyungwon-nim…” he breathed, stepping forward instinctively. He reached out, about to touch his shoulder, when his fingers froze.

The moment their eyes met, something inside him stirred—an ancient emotion buried deep within his soul. Memories rushed in like a flood. Laughter in the palace garden. Warmth by the fire on cold nights. The way Hyungwon had once stood by him, guarding him not just as a knight, but as an older brother figure, a protector who never once left his side.

His knees weakened slightly from the sudden rush of emotion. His hands trembled as they reached for Hyungwon’s shoulders again.

“Hyungnim…”

The word left his throat gently, almost reverently, and it was Hyungwon who sobbed next, pressing his hand over his heart.

“Can I… can I hold you, just once?” Hyungwon asked shakily, reaching toward him.

But Seungcheol was already moving. He crossed the space and threw his arms around him, holding Hyungwon tightly, burying his face into the older man’s shoulder as Hyungwon wrapped both arms around him protectively. The hug was grounding, like returning to a safe place he had long forgotten existed. The scent, the warmth, the familiarity—it was overwhelming. His throat tightened as he choked back a sob.

Hyungwon’s arms wrapped tighter around him, his frame shaking as he whispered apology after apology into Seungcheol’s ear.

“I’m sorry,” Hyungwon whispered, voice cracking with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace… For everything. For not saving you the first time. For failing you again the second time. For not telling you the truth when I had the chance. I’m so, so sorry.”

Seungcheol didn’t answer right away. He just held on tighter.

As if making up for every lost year between them.

And in that moment, the room was still.

No palace. No titles. No bloodlines.

Just two people holding onto each other like the world had stopped spinning.

Still holding onto Hyungwon, Seungcheol slowly pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again. A heavy silence hung between them, not uncomfortable but full of emotion that needed time to settle. The tears had begun to dry on their cheeks, but the warmth of the moment lingered in the air like the final light of dusk. Seungcheol looked at the man who had once stood beside him like a shadow, silently protecting him through the most vulnerable years of his youth. He studied his features—Hyungwon looked a bit different now, a little more tired, a little more weathered. But the sincerity in his gaze was still exactly the same.

“Hyungnim…” Seungcheol said softly, his voice tentative. “Did you... recognize me? Even like this?”

There was a slight pause before Hyungwon responded. His eyes softened with a quiet conviction as he straightened his posture, hands clasped in front of him respectfully.

“Of course I did,” Hyungwon said without hesitation. “I would recognize you anywhere, Your Grace.”

His voice didn’t waver, and the sincerity behind it hit Seungcheol straight in the heart.

“I was tasked to be your personal aide the moment you arrived at the palace.” Hyungwon continued gently. “Back then, you were just a young boy, and everyone in court was either intimidated by your title or fascinated by your power. But I saw you more than that.”

His expression grew nostalgic, almost wistful, as memories flickered in his eyes.

“I watched you grow through every season, through every lesson, through every ceremony,” Hyungwon said. “I helped you into your ceremonial robes. I prepared your medicinal teas during the long winters. I stood by your side when you were crowned as the Crown Prince Consort. For tall those years, I was always just a few steps behind you. I knew your expressions, your habits, your silence, even the way your energy moved through a room.”

He chuckled quietly, though the sound was tinged with sadness. “So how could I not recognize you? Even if the whole world saw someone else, I would still know.”

Seungcheol’s breath hitched. The knowledge of that silent watchfulness, that devotion that had followed him for years without him realizing… it settled into his chest like something warm and aching.

“You knew?” he whispered. “When I came back—as Jeonghan’s assistant?”

Hyungwon nodded slowly. “I didn’t know at first. But I had my suspicions. You moved differently. Spoke in ways that felt too familiar. At first, I thought I was imagining it. I kept telling myself it couldn’t be you. That there was no way you’d survived that night. But then…”

He trailed off for a moment, his eyes flicking toward Wonwoo and Jihoon, who stood not far from the doorway.

“…Then I found out the truth from the Jeon family.”

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol whispered. “Back then, when we met again... I didn’t remember you.”

Hyungwon reached forward and gently placed a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Your Grace, None of it was your fault. What happened to you—what they did to you—it erased more than just your memories. It took your life, your identity. All I ever wanted was for you to be safe. And now, you're here. That’s all that matters to me.”

Seungcheol looked up slowly. His eyes glistened with emotion, and after a pause, he asked the question that had been lingering in the back of his mind ever since he began this journey of rediscovery.

“Do you remember my old face?”

Hyungwon nodded solemnly. “I do.”

Without another word, Seungcheol closed his eyes. The room seemed to shift slightly as the air grew thicker with quiet anticipation. A soft golden glow flickered around him, shimmering faintly, like the surface of a still pond catching the light of the moon. His facial muscles tightened as he focused, willing the image in his heart into existence.

And when he opened his eyes again, the change was complete.

Gone was the face of the palace assistant that the Jeon family had carefully hidden behind. In its place stood the dignified and ethereal appearance of the Crown Prince Consort—the face that had once graced the royal court, the face immortalized in portraits and hearts alike.

Immediately, the atmosphere shifted. Jihoon, Mingyu, Jun, even his father—all of them rose instinctively from their seats and bowed. Hyungwon knelt without hesitation, lowering his head to the floor. The reverence in the room was unmistakable.

But Seungcheol just stood there, shoulders heavy with discomfort.

“I hate this face,” he admitted, voice low and weary. “It forces people to bow.

It feels like I’m watching someone else’s life through this skin. Like I’ve slipped into a role that’s no longer mine. But I don’t want to be that person again—he died eight years ago.”

He turned to Hyungwon. “Do you think I should keep this face?”

Hyungwon slowly rose from his bow and took a long, careful look at him. Then he stepped closer, his expression soft but resolute.

“That decision is yours to make, Your Grace.” Hyungwon said. “No one can dictate the face you wear, or the life you choose. But… if you want my honest answer—”

He paused for a heartbeat, his eyes flickering with pain.

“I miss that face sometimes. It was the face of the boy I cared for, the boy I swore to protect. But it also holds too many memories. Too many nights of sickness. Too many bruises from training. Too many lies, too much pain. It was a beautiful face… but it lived through too much darkness, and I wouldn’t wish that burden on you again.”

He paused, letting his words settle before he continued.

“I’d rather see you as you were when you were living your life freely,” Hyungwon added softly. “The face you wore when you were working in the palace again, not as the consort, but as yourself. That’s the face that smiled without being watched. That’s the face that belonged to you, not to your duty.”

Seungcheol’s lips trembled slightly, and he gave a faint nod. With another deep breath, he closed his eyes again, and the transformation reversed. The glow returned briefly, before dissipating into the air. When he opened his eyes again, he was back to the face he had grown to know in recent years—soft, familiar, quietly powerful.

“I prefer this face too,” he admitted, exhaling slowly. “It feels like me. Like someone who isn’t being worshipped or watched or weighed down by a prophecy. Someone who doesn’t need to command a room or carry the title of consort.”

Hyungwon gave him a warm smile, stepping back with a respectful incline of his head. “No matter what face you wear, Your Grace, you are still the prophesied Luna. And nothing can change that.”

Seungcheol hesitated for a moment, then met his gaze steadily.

“But this time,” Hyungwon said gently, “you’re no longer a child bound by the decisions of others. This time, you are old enough to choose. To live your life on your own terms. To decide who you are, what you want, and what kind of Luna you’ll be.”

Seungcheol stared at him for a long time, those words echoing inside his chest. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders began to melt. Because now, he know the future belonged to him. He wasn’t walking a path that someone else had drawn for him anymore. He was carving it himself. One step at a time.

Seungcheol sat quietly near the edge of the bed, watching Hyungwon move with sharp precision across the room. His hands were steady, his expression focused, and there was something calming about the way he double-checked each item with quiet discipline. The room was filled with a faint rustle of fabric and the soft clicks of zippers being drawn, buckles being fastened.

On the bed, several bags had already been neatly arranged. One was packed with Seungcheol’s daily necessities—clothes carefully folded, grooming tools, and discreet items to help him maintain his assumed identity. Another held a supply of medicines and tonics, the ones he was still required to take regularly while his body continued adjusting to the gradual return of his power. A third bag was softer, bulkier—it contained his pheromone blanket, infused with the calming signature of his true scent, a comfort and safeguard for whenever he needed grounding.

Hyungwon paused briefly at each bag, rechecking everything, crossing off lists in his mind, then repacking things just to be certain. Every corner of his actions screamed discipline, but Seungcheol could sense the anxiety that lingered beneath the surface. This wasn’t just a simple relocation. This was a carefully orchestrated infiltration, a reintroduction into the palace—the heart of the kingdom, and the root of all the truths Seungcheol sought.

Their earlier discussions had been long and intense, full of caution and calculation. In the end, the safest and most efficient way forward was clear. Seungcheol would assume the faces of Jun and Hyungwon—two individuals whose presence in the palace was trusted and familiar. Jun, as the Second Prince’s assistant, had access to the less restricted spaces of the court and was often moving between different departments. Hyungwon, on the other hand, remained one of the most trusted aides by the Crown Prince’s side, involved in both internal operations and royal security.

Through them, Seungcheol would be able to navigate the palace discreetly, gather information, observe the movements of others, and—when necessary—slip between identities with as little suspicion as possible. Their appearances, routines, and even mannerisms had already been studied and rehearsed with Seungcheol, and he was confident he could carry their likeness for short periods at a time.

But to ensure full coverage, they had crafted a third layer of protection. Seungcheol would also take on a newly created role: a palace guard stationed near the staff quarters. The position was low-ranking, deliberately designed to avoid attention, and it allowed him freedom to move without constant questioning. If anyone ever inquired about the unfamiliar face, it would be Hyungwon’s authority that shielded him—an assignment ordered under the guise of internal staff reorganization. It was all prepared. All accounted for.

He was still lost in thought when Hyungwon approached and bowed formally before him, one hand placed over his chest.

“Your Grace,” he said softly, “everything is ready.”

Seungcheol blinked back to the present and slowly stood from the edge of the bed, casting one last glance at the open suitcases and neatly arranged checklists beside them. His gaze lingered on the pale silver stitching of the Jeon family insignia on the side of the largest bag, the quiet symbol of the home that had welcomed him after death. He nodded once, more to himself than anyone, and walked to the bed. The mattress had already been made, the blanket tucked with immaculate precision under Hyungwon’s care.

He laid down with a sigh, his muscles relaxing against the softness of the mattress, but the weight of tomorrow hung above him like a silent storm cloud. Hyungwon approached and gently pulled the blanket over Seungcheol’s waist, making sure it draped just right. The motions were instinctual, practiced—done countless times before, though Seungcheol’s memory only now began to understand that.

“Do you need anything else, Your Grace?” Hyungwon asked softly, his tone careful, as though unsure whether to hover or retreat.

Seungcheol chuckled under his breath and raised an eyebrow. “Do you always fuss over me like this, hyungnim?”

Hyungwon’s face turned slightly sheepish. “Old habit,” he confessed. “Back when you were still the Crown Prince Consort… this was part of my duty. Ensuring your comfort before bed, preparing the room, standing watch until you fell asleep.”

Seungcheol tilted his head curiously, frowning. “I always thought you were the Crown Prince’s aide,” he said. “Jeonghan-nim’s butler. Why… were you always by my side then?”

Hyungwon smiled wistfully, walking slowly over to the nearby armchair and taking a seat, allowing his posture to relax for the first time in hours.

“I was raised alongside His Highness, yes,” he said. “But I was never meant to be his butler. I was selected from childhood to train for the role of the Royal Butler—not to the Crown Prince, but to serve his future consort. The Luna. When the prophecy of your arrival was announced, my training was refocused. They needed someone who could guide the Luna, serve him, protect him.”

His eyes softened as he looked at Seungcheol. “When you entered the palace all those years ago, I was formally appointed to you. And from that moment forward, I swore myself to your service.”

There was a quiet intensity in his voice, one that made Seungcheol pause. He hadn’t expected to learn that his protector had been chosen long before he even knew of the palace’s existence.

Hyungwon continued, “When you were declared dead, the court intended to dissolve the entire staff assigned to you. But Jeonghan-nim refused. He insisted that all your people be reassigned under his name, so no one would be lost. That’s how I ended up in the Crown Prince’s Office. It was never supposed to be permanent, but… we both needed a way to hold on.”

He hesitated, his gaze growing distant. “We used to talk about you at night. About the things you used to say, your laugh, your terrible jokes. He never truly moved on. That’s why, when you returned—even if you didn’t remember—he couldn’t let go of the possibility.”

Seungcheol was quiet for a moment, his throat tightening. “So that’s why he treated me like that,” he said, eyes focused on the ceiling. “He was trying to convince himself I wasn’t the same person. Because if I was… he’d have to accept the pain all over again.”

Hyungwon gave a solemn nod. “That’s exactly it. At first, I think he hoped you were someone else. But deep down, he already knew.”

Seungcheol let out a low scoff. “I wasn’t supposed to work under him, you know. I was meant to work under Joshua-nim. He stole me.”

“That he did,” Hyungwon said with a small smile. “He saw your name on the application and intervened before Joshua could finalize the assignment. He didn’t tell anyone, not even me, until much later.”

“Always so stubborn,” Seungcheol muttered, half amused, half exasperated.

Hyungwon’s expression turned more serious. “You haven’t remembered everything yet. But when you do… I hope you’ll look at him with a clear heart. And then, make your own judgment. Don’t let anyone else’s feelings—including mine—influence how you see him.”

Seungcheol nodded slowly, eyes distant as he processed everything.

“Thank you, hyungnim,” he said quietly. “For staying with me. For always being here.”

Hyungwon offered a small bow, his tone warm. “Of course. It’s where I’ve always meant to be.”

He turned to dim the lights in the room, adjusting the curtains slightly so only a sliver of moonlight filtered in. The space fell into a quiet stillness, serene and comforting.

Seungcheol leaned back into the pillow, eyes growing heavier by the second. Hyungwon pulled the blanket up gently, tucking it around him like he used to so many years ago.

As Seungcheol’s breathing slowed, Hyungwon remained for a moment longer, standing silently beside the bed, watching over him.

When he was sure Seungcheol had finally fallen asleep, he turned toward the door, his steps soundless as he moved.

Just before he closed the door behind him, he whispered into the quiet air.

“Sleep well, Your Grace. This time, I’ll make sure you live a life filled with happiness.”

Then, with quiet footsteps and a heart full of silent promises, Hyungwon slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him.