The Shape of Foundations
1082 Words
The following day, the servants moved in hurried steps through corridors and courtyards, their composure strained. Eunuchs called out in hushed urgency, careful not to draw attention beyond the inner grounds. Maids searched the gardens, lifting curtains, peering behind stone walls, and entering storage rooms.
“His Highness was last seen near the eastern wing—”
“No, the kitchens—he passed through the kitchens this morning—”
“Find him before word reaches the Crown Prince.”
Their voices overlapped, restrained but frantic.
Within an abandoned structure at the far edge of the palace grounds—
He sat undisturbed.
Dust lay thick across the wooden floor, stirred only by small movements. Broken beams leaned against the walls, and narrow shafts of sunlight slipped through the cracks above, casting uneven light across the space.
Here, no one came.
Here, no one watched.
Young-Sik sat cross-legged among scattered wooden blocks.
He stacked them carefully.
Watched them fall.
Tried again.
And again.
Each attempt collapsed just as quickly as the last.
His jaw tightened.
With a frustrated groan, he swept the blocks aside.
They scattered across the floor—
Some roll farther than the rest.
One came to a stop near a familiar pair of feet.
Young-Sik looked up.
Eun-Ae stood there.
She did not speak at first.
Instead, she crouched quietly and gathered a few of the fallen pieces, turning them lightly in her hands as if studying them.
Then, without asking, she stepped closer.
Young-Sik watched her, saying nothing.
She began with the base.
Placing the blocks in a circular formation—leaving small, deliberate gaps between them.
Layer by layer, she built upward.
Balanced.
Measured.
Until a small tower stood firm.
Then, with equal care, she shaped the remaining pieces into a miniature palace.
Young-Sik leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the structure.
“…Why are there gaps?”
“You do not have enough pieces,” she replied. “They must be distributed properly.”
She tapped the base lightly.
“Yours collapsed because its foundation was weak.”
Young-Sik frowned.
His gaze lingered on the structure… then shifted to the scattered blocks he had abandoned.
“What difference does that make?”
Eun-Ae pressed her palm lightly to her forehead.
“…Your Highness.”
She pointed again.
“If the base cannot support what stands above it… Everything will fall.”
Before he could respond—She knocked the structure down.
The blocks scattered once more.
“Try again.”
Young-Sik stared at the pieces.
For a moment, he did not move.
Then, slowly—He reached forward.
This time, he followed what he had seen.
Careful placement.
Balanced spacing.
He hesitated once… adjusted a piece… then continued.
When he finished, a sturdier structure stood before them.
Eun-Ae clapped softly.
“You learn quickly, Your Highness.”
A small smile began to form on his face—before a voice cut through the stillness.
“Your Highness… why are you playing with someone like her?”
Young-Sik turned.
Lim Ji-Hye stood near the entrance, flanked by two other girls of noble birth. Their silks were unmarked by dust, their presence out of place within the quiet ruin.
Their expressions were less than pleased.
“She is beneath you,” Ji-Hye continued. “You should not associate with your servants.”
Eun-Ae lowered her gaze—but did not move.
Young-Sik glanced between them, his expression tightening.
Before he could speak—One of the girls stepped forward.
Then the other.
Their movement was deliberate.
Eun-Ae barely had time to react before they shoved her aside.
She stumbled—then fell hard against the stone floor.
A sharp edge tore into her arm.
For a brief moment, there was only silence.
Then—a quiet cry, quickly stifled.
She curled slightly, clutching the wound.
Red spread beneath her fingers.
Young-Sik froze.
The space seemed to narrow.
“Be grateful,” Ji-Hye said coldly, “that we are not less merciful.”
They reached for him.
Seizing his arm.
He pulled away.
“…Why would you do that?”
Ji-Hye frowned.
“You are of noble blood. You must not lower yourself to the level of peasants, who could not even read or write.”
Young-Sik’s gaze shifted—from her—to Eun-Ae.
Curled on the ground.
Silent.
Bleeding.
Something tightened in his chest.
For a brief moment—he hesitated.
Then—“She is my friend.”
The words came firm.
Certain.
He turned and ran to her.
Eun-Ae sat curled in on herself, her breathing uneven, tears slipping quietly down her face.
Without a word, he knelt before her and drew out a finely embroidered handkerchief.
He hesitated—Then he pressed it gently against her wound.
She flinched.
“Stay still.”
His voice was softer now.
Careful.
He wrapped the cloth as best he could, his movements awkward but deliberate.
When he finished, he sat back slightly.
Then, using his finger, he traced symbols into the dust beside them.
“…What are you doing?” she asked softly.
“That,” he said, brushing his hands together, “is your name.”
Eun-Ae looked down.
At the unfamiliar strokes.
Then slowly—She reached out and copied them.
Carefully.
Line by line.
“…Is this correct?”
He leaned closer, studying it.
Then nodded.
“At the very least, no one may call you illiterate now.”
She stared at the characters a moment longer.
Then at him.
Something in her expression shifted—quiet, but present.
He stood and extended his hand.
She hesitated—then took it.
He pulled her gently to her feet.
Before either could speak—Hurried footsteps approached.
“Your Highness!”
The eunuch arrived, breathless, followed by attendants.
Relief flooded his expression.
“We have searched everywhere for you.”
Young-Sik gestured toward Eun-Ae.
“She is injured. See to her.”
The attendants moved at once.
Eun-Ae bowed.
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
She reached to remove the cloth—But he stopped her.
“Keep it. It will serve you better than me.”
She lowered her hand.
“…Yes, Your Highness.”
As he was led away, he glanced back.
Eun-Ae stood watching him.
Her hand rested lightly over the cloth.
For a brief moment—something unfamiliar stirred within her chest.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Something quieter.
Something she did not yet understand.
Then she turned, guided toward the infirmary.
- Writer
