fire from the ashes (MINWON)

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PROLOGUE

Royal Palace, summer 1529.

Hanyang.

The ashes that covered the ground stretched farther than the young prince could see, kissing the horizon, where the sun hung inert in the sky, about to set, dismissing the horrors of the day for the promised solace of the night.

But there would be no consolation. Not for someone like him.

Maybe he should be happy that the ashes had replaced the burning flames, that the ground was covered in white and almost looked like snow in the middle of summer, that he no longer saw the color red even when he closed his eyes, but Jeon Wonwoo doubted that he could ever truly knew happiness again, if life was kind to him and someday granted him another joy, it would be only a mocking shadow of the emotion that the young man could once harbor in his heart.

One of his feet was unshod, he had no idea where his shoe had gone, in the chaos, the guards had taken it upon themselves to carry him away, Wonwoo had not had time to take any of his belongings, he had not had time to look his mother in the eyes for the last time.

The cries of agony grew dimmer with each passing minute, some because those who uttered them had reached the sweet consolation of death, others had been blessed with the salvation of some agile hands and kind hearts.

The smell of death was already around the palace, however. And Wonwoo knew that he had to get out of there, but he couldn't, he was petrified. He wondered if he stayed there how long it would take for the wind and ashes to turn him into a statue.

Death, fire, destruction, ashes.

That was all he had seen the last two years, and that was all that was left.

The hand that had once been strong, rigid, the hand that Wonwoo had feared for so long, rested on his shoulder softly, almost a caress. Now it was bony, skeletal, thin and fragile like a butterfly, Wonwoo could have torn it to pieces so easily.

"It's all over, son. It's finally over," he announced, his voice filled with some kind of emotion. It didn't matter, Wonwoo knew that he was only capable of feeling anger.

It was all over, yet Wonwoo still felt the metallic taste of blood dancing on his tongue, he still choked on the sulfur he breathed, and his skin still felt the demons' claws tearing.

Isn't grief more painful than death itself?