Miye's eyes snapped open.
It was the same dream again.
He'd lost count of how many times it had returned.
He turned his head toward the window beside the bed. A massive full moon hung outside, pouring silver light across the room.
Every full moon, the dream came.
And every time, it ended the same way.
"Ugh…" He pressed a hand to his temple as a dull throb pulsed through his skull. His long, silky hair spilled over his pale face, clinging to his skin. Sleep had abandoned him completely.
He swung his legs off the bed and hurried toward the mirror.
The reflection staring back at him looked like someone crawling out of the afterlife. His lips were dry and cracked, his hazel eyes sunken with fatigue -- a small mole lingering below his left eye. He lifted a trembling hand to his cheek, touching himself gingerly -- as if to confirm he was still real. His lean frame hinted at months, maybe years, of strict dieting.
The dream felt too real, so much that he needed the reassurance.
His white top had come slightly undone from his tossing and turning; he retied the loose knot and turned back toward the bed. Then his gaze drifted across the room.
Right. He wasn't just anywhere.
He was a royal of a Joseon district.
The chamber around him was spacious and solemn, adorned with traditional paintings that lined each wall. In the farthest corner stood a medium-sized, vase-shaped object covered under a cloth dusted white with age.
Miye's brows furrowed. He needed to have it cleaned soon.
The day was nearing.
Almost without thinking, he returned to the window where the enormous moon gazed back at him with eerie intensity. He lowered himself slightly, resting his chin against his hand, tilting his head as he looked up at the glowing sphere -- eyes filled with a strange longing, as though waiting for someone to step out of the moonlight and descend to him.
A tune drifted into his mind. He didn't know where it came from, only that it lingered at the edges of memory. Softly, he began to hum.
The melody lulled him, pulling his eyelids lower and lower.
Before he knew it, Miye had fallen asleep again -- this time curled beside the window, bathed in the moon's cold light.
....
A soft glow formed in the darkness. A woman's figure stepped into the light.
Miye's heart eased. His lips parted with a trembling whisper.
"Mother…"
She was breathtaking, almost divine. Her beauty felt too ethereal, as if she had descended from the heavens solely to protect a fragile human child like him. Her dreamy brown eyes were framed by long black lashes, her rosy lips matching the gentle flush on her cheeks, blending perfectly with her fair skin.
Dressed in royal attire and crowned with elegance, she held the small hand of her only child --Miye, whose clothes were torn and worn, completely opposite of her grandeur.
"Son, we don't need to live here anymore."
Her voice was soft, melodic… enchanting.
"What do you mean…?" Miye turned toward the small, decaying house where he and his mother had lived all their lives. Its collapsing frame and cracked walls looked painfully unfit to shelter them anymore.
His mother leaned down, brushing dust from his cheek with a tender touch.
"My son, the king has recognized us."
"…?"
Miye blinked in confusion.
"We no longer need to live here. You can have every luxury you wish for now." She smiled gently, but her eyes carried a sorrow so faint and mysterious that the six-year-old could not understand it.
At his age, all he could comprehend was one thing -- sweets. Royal sweets. The thought alone filled him with pure joy. He wrapped his tiny arms around her waist, laughing.
"So my father is the king?"
"Yes."
"Then when are we going?"
"We can go now, if that's what you want. Do you want to go now?"
"Yes!!"
He answered without hesitation, eyes shining brighter than the moon. He truly believed he was about to enter a dream world.
But fate was never kind to Miye.
The moment they stepped into the royal court, his future began shifting into something twisted -- something he would soon be forced to obey, trapped in a life where he was nothing but a pawn.
Clinging to his mother's extravagant skirts, Miye peeked out. Before them stood the king, and beside him a boy around fourteen, poised with cold dignity.
The Prince of Hwachon.
The prince didn't bother to spare Miye a glance. His eyes remained on the beautiful woman instead, unreadable but sharp.
"From now on," the king declared, "you are the queen and Lady of Hwachon. You will serve and abide by me."
The woman bowed gracefully. "I am honored by your acknowledgment. I will devote myself to Hwachon and the kingdom."
"Us?"
The king's gaze dropped to the trembling boy half-hidden behind her.
"Right. That little boy. Come forward."
Miye looked up at his mother in fear. Her soft smile urged him forward, but something about her expression felt distant.
With hesitant steps, Little Miye approached the king and bowed.
The prince's eyes widened slightly but Miye couldn't understand why.
"Father," the prince spoke suddenly, "I want him."
"What?"
"Since it is my birthday, I finally know what I want as a gift." He pointed directly at Miye. "I want him."
The king showed no surprise. He simply turned to the newly crowned queen.
"My son says he wants this boy."
"Then he may take my son," she replied calmly. "Since they are siblings now, I trust the prince will care for him as his own."
The prince stepped forward and grasped Miye's hand.
"You're mine now."
He was tall for his age, fair-skinned, with deep black eyes and bangs shadowing his forehead. His grip was tight -- not painful, but firm, claiming.
"My name is--"
"Your name will be Hwa Mi-Ye, Prince of Hwachon," the prince interrupted with a small smirk. He named him so easily… as if Miye were nothing more than a toy. Miye frowned in confusion, unsure whether to feel honored or frightened.
"Since you belong to me now, you're coming with me."
Miye turned toward his mother in silent plea.
But she no longer looked at him.
Her eyes were fixed solely on the king --colder, emptier than they had ever been with him. The warmth she once held for her child had vanished without trace.
Why… won't she look at me?
The prince tugged his hand, pulling him away.
If only Miye had never wished for royal sweets…If only he hadn't wished for things his mother couldn't afford…
Would she have looked at him, just once, before he was taken away?
"No… Mother… MOTHER!"
A sharp knock on the door tore through the dream.
Miye jolted awake, breath trembling.
That made two nightmares in a single night.