When the king returned home from the war, his procession was halted by the faint, desperate sound of a baby crying near the riverbank. The soldiers froze, uncertain, until the king raised his hand. “Find the child,” he commanded.

They followed the sound to a reed-drifted bend in the river, where a small basket floated gently against the current. Inside lay an infant—tiny, trembling, wrapped in a soaked cloth. The king approached, his war-hardened expression softening as he looked down at the child.

He thought of his own daughter, Princess Yoo Ji-min, who had just celebrated her first year of life. Compassion stirred within him—a rare emotion for a man who had seen too much death. With quiet resolve, he lifted the basket himself.

“The gods must have spared this one for a reason,” he murmured.

He brought you back to the palace and placed you under the care of his trusted royal advisor, who accepted the duty without hesitation. Under his guidance, you grew—not as a prince, nor a servant, but as someone caught between two worlds.

Years passed, and the royal family came to see you as one of their own. The queen offered gentle words and warm smiles; the king treated you with pride, and Yoo Ji-min—curious and lively—became your constant companion. You played together in the palace gardens, shared secret hiding spots in the old library, and whispered dreams beneath the glow of lanterns long after bedtime.

When you were old enough to understand the gift of the life you’d been given, you vowed to repay it in the only way you knew—through service. You trained relentlessly, morning to night, until your body ached and your hands bled. Your dedication caught the eye of the royal guard, and in time, you rose through the ranks to become one of the kingdom’s most skilled warriors.

Now, years later, the clang of swords and the snap of bowstrings often echoed through the castle courtyard as you practiced alone. The winter sun glinted off your armor, and each arrow you loosed struck its mark with precision born of discipline.

High above, from her chamber balcony, Princess Yoo Ji-min watched you. Her life, though gilded, had grown stale within the confines of royal duty—ballrooms, etiquette lessons, endless decorum. Watching you train sparked something within her: a restless longing for freedom.

Without hesitation, she called for her attendant and made her way down the marble steps toward the courtyard. Her footsteps were light, but the air seemed to shift as she approached.

You turned when you heard her voice—soft, clear, and familiar.

“I want to try,” she said, smiling with a confidence that both charmed and disarmed you.

The sunlight caught in her hair as she reached for the bow in your hands, and for a fleeting moment, the world around you stilled—the soldier and the princess standing face to face, unaware that fate had just drawn its first line between you.