IMMORTAL KING

EPISODE 1: "Blood Oath - 피의 맹세"* The garden was the only place in the palace that didn’t smell like gold and fear. Gold, because everything was covered in it. The railings, the roof tiles, even the cups the servants carried. Fear, because every time footsteps echoed down the marble halls, someone flinched. A maid dropped a tray. A guard gripped his spear tighter. But in the garden, there were peach trees. Dirt. Wind. And for a few minutes, no one was watching. I was 4. Min-ho was 4. We were dirt under the guards' boots. Two names nobody bothered to learn. The other children had tutors. They had silk. They had mothers who combed their hair and called them "young master." We had the back kitchen. We had bruises. We had each other. Tae-hyun. Min-ho. That’s what the old cook called us when she remembered. Most days she didn’t. The ministers had a different name for us. "Glass Boys." I heard it the first time when I was hiding under a table. Three men in red robes, drinking tea that cost more than a year of rice. _“Those two in the garden,”_ one of them said, laughing. _“The orphans.”_ _“Glass Boys,”_ another replied. _“Put them near fire and they’ll crack. Put them near power and they’ll shatter. They’ll never be kings.”_ They laughed again. The sound was sharp. Like the tea cups. Min-ho heard it too. He was always near when I was near. We didn’t plan it. We just... ended up in the same shadows. That night he didn’t speak. He just stared at the ceiling of the storage room we slept in. The next morning, he was already awake. “Come on,” he said. “Where?” “The garden. Before they lock it.” We ran. Bare feet on cold stone. Past guards who didn’t look at us. Past maids who stepped around us like we were puddles. The garden was empty. Early. The sun was just starting to cut through the peach tree branches. It made the leaves look like they were on fire. But it didn’t feel warm. Min-ho sat down under the oldest peach tree. The one with bark that looked like scars. He didn’t look at me for a long time. Then he whispered, “Do you hear them?” “Hear who?” “Them. In the halls. Talking about us.” I nodded. My throat felt dry. “They called us glass,” he said. “I know.” “They said we’ll break.” My hands were in my lap. I picked at a scab on my knee. “Maybe we will.” Min-ho turned then. And his eyes weren’t shaking. Mine were. “Then we don’t break alone,” he said. He stood up. Walked to the edge of the garden bed and dug his fingers into the dirt. He pulled out a sharp stone. Jagged. White. He held it up to the light. “Put your hand out,” he whispered. I did. I don’t know why. I was scared. But not of the stone. Of being ignored one more day. Of being called nothing one more time. The stone was cold. He pressed it to his palm first. A line of red opened. It wasn’t deep. But it was real. Blood welled up, dark and slow. He didn’t make a sound. Then he took my hand. His fingers were warm. Mine were ice. He cut me. It hurt. But not as much as the words from last night. Not as much as being stepped around. Not as much as being invisible. The blood came fast. My blood. Red like his. We sat there, two bleeding 4-year-olds under a peach tree, while the palace woke up around us. “If one falls,” Min-ho said. His voice was low, but it didn’t shake. I finished it. Because I’d been thinking it too. “The other catches.” He looked at me. “If one burns,” I said, “the other saves.” We pressed our palms together. My blood. His blood. Same color. Same heat. It mixed on our skin. Sticky. Real. “Swear on the sky,” he said. I looked up. The sky was blue through the branches. No clouds. “Swear on the scars,” he added. “Blood oath,” I said. My voice cracked. “Blood oath,” he said. Steady. In the distance, palace bells rang. Three times. That meant the morning meeting. That meant the ministers were gathering. That meant someone would notice we were missing soon. Someone was shouting for us. A guard’s voice, far away. “Where are those brats?” Servants. Guards. A kingdom that didn’t want us. But we didn’t move. Because in that moment, under that tree, we weren’t nobody. We had names. We had a vow. We had blood that meant something. Min-ho pulled his hand back first. He stared at the cut. “It’s going to scar,” he said. “Good,” I replied. “Then we’ll remember.” He nodded. Then he did something I didn’t expect. He smiled. Small. But real. “Promise?” he asked. “Promise,” I answered. The wind moved through the peach trees. Petals fell. A few landed on our bleeding hands. White on red. We didn’t wash it off. Not for hours. We sat there until the sun was high and our palms started to sting. Until we heard footsteps coming closer. We ran. Back to the kitchen. Back to the storage room. Back to being invisible. But we were different now. That night, the cook yelled at us for tracking dirt. A guard cuffed Min-ho on the back of the head for being in the wrong hall. I got slapped for spilling water. It hurt. But when Min-ho and I curled up on the same thin mat, we pressed our scarred palms together under the blanket. It didn’t hurt anymore. Days passed. Then weeks. The ministers kept drinking their expensive tea. _“Glass Boys,”_ they said. _“They’ll break.”_ They didn’t know we already broke. And put ourselves back together with a promise. Three years passed like that. We grew taller. The scars on our palms turned white. We learned which guards were cruel and which were just tired. We learned which doors were unlocked at night. We learned to be quiet. To watch. To remember everything. And then the king died. No one told us. We heard it from a maid crying in the hall. _“The king is dead. The princes are fighting. The empire is burning.”_ Palace bells rang all night. Not three times. Hundreds. Fire in the distance. Shouting. Min-ho found me in the garden again. Same peach tree. He was 7 now. Taller. His eyes were older. “They’re going to kill us,” he said. Not scared. Just stating a fact. “Or sell us,” I answered. We looked at each other. No one was coming to catch us. No one was coming to save us. Except us. “Blood oath still stands?” he asked. “Still stands,” I said. That night we left. We didn’t take gold. We didn’t take clothes. We took the scar on our hands and the promise in our chest. 14 years. That’s how long we stayed gone. 14 years of dirt, and hunger, and learning how to fight. 14 years of building something the palace would never expect. Because the ministers were right about one thing. We were glass. But glass doesn’t just break. Glass cuts. And 14 years from that day under the peach tree... We were coming back. And the kingdom would learn our names. _Min-ho: "Promise?"_ _Tae-hyun: "Promise."_ The wind moved through the trees. And the blood on our hands dried into a vow. *END OF EPISODE 1* ---