The first thing he felt…
was cold.
Not the kind that bites the skin—
but the kind that settles deep in the bones, unfamiliar and unwelcome.
His eyes opened slowly.
The sky above him was pale, washed in early light. No towering palace ceilings. No silk curtains. No guards.
Just open air.
And silence.
"…where…"
His voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper.
"…am I…?"
No answer.
Only the distant sound of wind brushing against dry leaves.
He pushed himself up, body weak, head spinning.
Everything felt wrong.
The ground beneath him was rough. Uneven. Real.
His hands trembled slightly as he looked down at them—
clean.
Uninjured.
No sign of struggle.
No memory of how he got here.
A pause.
"…who…"
The question caught in his throat.
His breath hitched.
"…am I?"
Nothing.
No name.
No face.
No past.
Just emptiness.
—
"Oi—!"
The voice came sharp, cutting through the quiet.
Footsteps approached quickly.
"You're awake?"
He turned.
A boy—around his age—stood a few steps away, holding a small bag, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"You dropped out of the sky or something?" the boy muttered, crossing his arms. "Found you lying there like a corpse."
No response.
Yoon—though he did not know that name—only stared.
"…I don't…"
His voice faltered.
"I don't remember."
The boy blinked.
"…what?"
"My name," he said slowly. "Where I'm from."
A pause.
"…anything."
Silence stretched between them.
Then the boy sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Great," he muttered. "Just my luck."
—
"You can't just stay there."
The boy tossed the bag lightly toward him.
"Eat first. You look like you'll collapse again."
He caught it—barely.
Inside was simple food. Bread. Water.
His hands hesitated.
"…why are you helping me?"
The boy shrugged.
"You looked like you were dying."
A beat.
"And I'm not that heartless."
—
By the time the sun rose higher, they were walking.
Slowly.
Carefully.
"Name," the boy said suddenly.
He blinked.
"…I told you—"
"Not yours. Mine."
A small smirk.
"It's Haru."
A pause.
"You need one too."
He frowned slightly.
"…a name?"
"Yeah," Haru said casually. "Can't keep calling you 'hey you' forever."
Silence.
The wind moved softly around them.
"…then…"
He hesitated.
"…give me one."
Haru glanced at him, surprised.
Then, after a moment—
"…Yoon."
The name settled between them.
Soft.
Unfamiliar.
And yet—
something about it felt…
right.
"…Yoon," he repeated quietly.
For a second—
just a second—
his chest tightened.
Like something deep inside him had stirred.
Then it was gone.
—
**5 years later**
"Stay close."
Haru's voice dropped suddenly.
The air had changed.
The forest around them—once quiet—now felt heavy.
Watching.
Yoon frowned slightly.
"…what is it?"
Haru didn't answer immediately.
His grip tightened on the small blade at his side.
"…we're not alone."
A rustle.
Then another.
Shadows moved between the trees.
Not natural.
Not human.
"Run," Haru said sharply.
Too late.
They stepped out.
Three men.
Rough. Armed. Smiling in a way that made the air feel colder.
"Well," one of them chuckled. "Looks like we got lucky today."
Haru shifted in front of Yoon.
"…stay behind me."
Yoon didn't move.
Didn't understand.
Didn't know why his heartbeat had suddenly started racing.
Not fear—
something else.
Something deeper.
Something… familiar.
—
The first man lunged.
Fast.
Too fast.
Haru moved to block—
but before the blade could reach him—
Yoon stepped forward.
Without thinking.
Without understanding why.
His hand shot out—
grabbing the attacker's wrist mid-air.
The movement was clean.
Precise.
Impossible for someone with no memory.
The man froze.
"…what the—"
Yoon's grip tightened.
His expression—calm.
Too calm.
For a moment—
everything went silent.
Then—
a faint glow.
At the back of his neck.
Unseen by him.
But not by them.
"…his neck—"
One of the men stepped back, eyes widening.
"That mark—"
The glow flickered.
Then vanished.
Yoon blinked.
Confused.
His hand loosened.
The man stumbled back, ripping his arm free.
"…what… was that…?"
No one answered.
Because for the first time—
the balance had shifted.
—
Far away—
in a palace that had not known peace for five years—
one prince froze mid-step.
Kim Min-jae's eyes narrowed slightly.
His hand lifted—slowly—toward his ring.
A faint warmth pulsed against his skin.
Once.
Soft.
But unmistakable.
"…Yoon…"
The name left his lips like a breath he had been holding for years.
And for the first time—
since the day the world lost him—
something answered back.