When your grandmother passed away, the only thing she left behind was an old, traditional Korean house. Its wooden beams creaked with age, and the paper windows were yellowed and brittle. Behind the house, hidden beneath overgrown weeds and tangled vines, stood an ancient well—its stone frame cracked, as though it had been forgotten by time itself.

Curiosity got the better of you. You brushed away the grass and leaned over the edge, peering into the endless dark. A faint splashing echoed from below, sharp in the silence, sending chills down your spine. When you steadied yourself on the crumbling bricks, they suddenly gave way beneath your weight. Before you could scream, you plummeted into the darkness—straight into freezing water that swallowed you whole.

Cold wrapped around you. The world blurred. And then, everything went black.

When your eyes finally fluttered open hours later, your breath hitched. You weren’t in your grandmother’s yard anymore. Instead, you were surrounded by men in hanbok, their sharp spears aimed at your chest, their expressions filled with suspicion.

“Who are you? State your name, or you die,”

A commanding voice ordered.

The speaker stepped forward—a man in a finely embroidered hanbok, golden threads glimmering under the lantern light. His gaze was sharp, his posture regal. You recognized him instantly from the history books you once skimmed. He was none other than Yang Jungwon, the first prince of Korea.

And in that moment, you realized with horror: you hadn’t just fallen into a well. You had fallen a thousand years into the past.