Miye staggered into his chambers, one hand pressed tightly over his chest. The moment the doors slammed shut behind him, he broke into a run, barely reaching the washroom before his knees struck the floor.

A violent retch tore through him.

Bile and bitter liquid spilled from his lips, burning his throat as he gagged, breath shuddering. The memory clung to him like a curse.

That sight...disgusting, disgusting, unbearable!!

His fingers trembled against the cold porcelain. It was all his fault. That vile man. That so-called Prince.

Yugwon.

Miye's vision swam as the image resurfaced. It was the bloody, mutilated flesh that laid bare within the ornate chest. A tongue. Torn brutally from its owner's throat, the stench of iron and decay still clinging to it.

His face drained of color.

He thought he had learned the limits of Yugwon's depravity. He was wrong. So wrong!

"That bastard…" Miye whispered hoarsely, clutching his throat as though the pain were his own. "He truly knows no bounds."

Slowly, he forced himself upright, bracing both hands against the basin. The room was silent… too silent.

No one must know.

This must never leave these walls. Not the box. Not what had happened to Yuna.

He splashed water over his face, though it did little to wash away the horror etched into his widened eyes.

"Is she… dead?" he murmured.

The mere thought sent ice cascading down his spine. His breath hitched, and before he could stop it, tears welled up like fragile crystals slipping down his cheeks.

When was the last time he had cried like this? This brand of overwhelming emotion… truly, it had not been felt since “that” day.

His legs gave way, and he sank against the wall, memories rising like ghosts he could no longer suppress. 

It was many years ago. And on the Hour of the Sheep.

He was merely ten years old, returning from the Great Hall with a full stomach and a lighter heart. His swordmaster had promised to teach him a new skill, and excitement thrummed through his small body; he felt he didn't have enough space within himself to contain the joy.

The old swordmaster stood at the drill grounds, waiting patiently. Seeing his mentor, young Miye waved heartily, grinning wide. He began to run toward him when…

A heinous shade of crimson erupted from the master's chest. Cold metal shone brightly under the sun, instantly stained with the master’s lifeblood. Miye’s feet slowed, eventually coming to a rhythmic halt.

What… just happened? Why is Master making… that face?

Miye thought the master’s expression looked exactly like his mother’s when he was being dragged away from her, and when he had looked at her one last time, as if her soul had been snatched away. 

So why is Master making such a face now, too?

The master’s body fell face-forward. Miye, paralyzed by a shock he couldn't process, watched a figure reveal himself from behind the falling corpse.

Hwa Yugwon…?

The Prince stood there in training robes and armor, his expression unreadable. His frantic bangs cast a deep shadow over his eyes as he stared down. His grip on his sword was white-knuckled; even though he had just committed murder, he looked entirely unsatisfied.

Then came the wails, the screaming of voices familiar to him. Miye did not want to turn, but his body moved of its own accord. The child, who could not yet fathom the brutal murder of his master, was forced to watch the bodies of his loved ones consumed by flames.

The Great Hall, the drill grounds, the stables, the chambers where he slept. It was all burning.

Little Miye could do nothing but watch in horror, eyes wide, weeping without understanding the source of his own tears.

“Don’t you see what you did?” Yugwon’s voice was deep and hollow. “You killed them.”

Miye’s eyes began to twitch furiously, his breath turning raspy, as if on the verge of a seizure. “I… killed them?”

“Yes,” Yugwon stepped forward. “They are suffering because of you. It was you who consigned them to the flames, and…” He grabbed Miye’s small hands, coating them in his master’s cooling blood. “It was you who killed Master Su.”

“I… I didn’t…” His voice trembled, tears flowing uncontrollably. What was the Prince talking about? 

“W-What did I do?!”

“You dared to become an obstacle to the throne I must inherit.” He seized the back of the child's hair, forcing Miye to look up at him. “Your sin is that you were born male. And that you continue to breathe as one.”

Unable to utter a word, Miye remained in a state of catatonic shock. Yugwon continued, “So, to atone for your sins, you shall no longer live as a Young Master.”

He maintained his grip on the boy’s hair, dragging Miye across the moist soil. Miye screamed and wailed in agony, the low sound of a metal sword clanking against the earth, leaving behind a trail of blood and a furrow in the dirt. 

It was as if… a sheep had been slaughtered that hour. 

That was the birth of the Flower Princess of Hwachon.