Goryeo — 945 AD.

Twilight presses gently against the palace walls.

King Jeongjong, Wang Yo, sits alone in a jeongja, the wooden pavilion poised above the still waters of the royal lake. A porcelain cup of tea rests in his hand, steam coiling upward like a fleeting thought. Behind him, the palace glows in muted amber, heavy with authority and watchful eyes — but here, there is only silence.

He does not speak. A king does not need to.

Koi stir beneath the surface. A crane settles on the stone bank. Somewhere nearby, bamboo chimes answer the wind.

For a brief moment, the crown feels distant. The court, the factions, the fear — all fade.

Here, he is only a man who has reached the throne… wondering whether being forgotten is a luxury he craves — or the fate he fears most.